36. I Saved You #3
“As you can see, growing pains are expected with any shift in power. But Hatton is right. The Wildes will target the others next. My boys will do what they can to protect the remaining daughters, but the Wildes are dogs with bones.”
Sol’s nostrils flare, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. But he gives King one stiff nod.
“The Bordeauxs are on your side. For Luna’s safety. But know this. I don’t trust you. If I knew my family would be safe tomorrow in a world without you or your boys in it, I’d finish you off like”—he snaps his fingers—“that.”
“But you won’t,” King says, gaze drifting to Luna. “Because now she’d never forgive you. And you know it.”
Sol’s jaw ticks as he glances between the three of us, finally landing on Luna, sleeping safe and sound now that we’re home.
“I love her, Sol. I’ll let her make her decisions, but whether I get to love her by her side or from a distance, I won’t give her up without a fight. No matter what, though, she’ll be safe.”
I pause, letting that truth settle, then deliver the rest. “But she’s your daughter. Which means I can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to do. If she chooses me, it’s because she wants to, and you’ll have to respect that.”
I’m pretty sure his molars crack, but before he can bite back, King speaks with finality.
“Work this out with the other families. They need to accept our resources and knowledge. Until they do, their daughters are in danger.” Genuine concern furrows his brow. “Don’t take too long to make the right decision.”
King leaves on that note. Sol glares daggers at his back, his expression so deadly I have no doubt he’s already mapping out which grave to bury him in at Lafayette Cemetery #2. Meanwhile, my thoughts couldn’t be more different.
My eyes narrow at the scars rising out of the collar of the black Henley he borrowed, then slide to the fresh burns peeking from the cuff. Burns I don’t have, all because he came back for me.
I clear my throat. “How were you able to pull me from the fire?”
He frowns, eyeing me like he’s weighing how to answer. But then he slowly rolls up the sleeve. Every inch reveals old glossy scars, now marred by new raw, puckered burns.
I’m careful to school my expression. I hate the looks I get when people see my hands. His wounds are like mine. I hadn’t realized they covered so much of him. Like Hatch’s do. We’re each so different, but in our wounds, this fucked-up life made us the same.
He holds his arm to the light, twisting it, rolling his hand into a fist like he’s studying it all for the first time.
“I mastered the fire a long time ago, young Fury. Its pain, its scars, the fear of it.” His low voice is steady like a teacher’s. “Once you do that, you can do anything.”
He rolls the other up to join the first, that side untouched, roughly yanking the last inch of sleeve to fold it over.
“ Except keep his daughter from a man just like him, apparently,” he mutters dryly, shaking his head. Then he sags into his chair and sighs. “I never wanted you for her.”
I swallow past the strange lump in my throat. “So why’d you do it, then? You hate me, so why save me?”
He watches me carefully for a minute, then juts his chin toward his daughter.
“Because of her. Ma petite luné .”
“Ah… makes sense. I’ve saved her, you saved me.” I nod. “Life for a life.”
“No,” he says firmly. “I took your name off my hit list because you saved her.”
His face softens as he looks at his daughter. Then he meets my eyes.
“I saved you because she loves you.”
My heart nearly stutters to a stop. I already suspected how she felt, but hearing her own father confirm it makes everything I’ve hoped for— wished for—all the more real.
The emotions suddenly clogging my throat are too much, and not for him to witness. I clear them away and play everything off with a smile.
“Aw, gee, you think she loves me?”
Sol looks irritated all over again, crossing his arms.
“Much to my immense dismay.” His gaze flicks away from me and back to her. Then his voice lowers. “I’m afraid she’ll choose you.”
My jaw works, as all the times I fucked up flash like a heat storm in my mind.
“I’m not so sure about that,” I whisper.
Almost like she’s arguing with me even in her sleep, a faint furrow creases her brow, and her bottom lip juts out in an adorable pout. So rebellious, and yet still so, so soft.
“I am.”
My gaze snaps up to Sol’s. “How do you know?”
He huffs wryly. “Call it father’s intuition. She’s a lot like her mother, but more… spirited, as you know. We’ve been white-knuckling Luna’s love life since she turned eighteen, terrified she’d pick a masked, stalking asshole.”
He gestures to me. “And lo and behold.”
I almost snort, but hold it back in time as his face stays serious.
“So, when she chooses you—if not now, then later—take care of our daughter. And better than you did this last time,” he growls.
“I will. I promise.”
“I’m serious, Fury. If you hurt her?—”
“I won’t.”
“But if you do…”
“I’ll give you the gun myself, Bordeaux,” I finish evenly. “Locked and loaded.”
He holds my stare for a beat longer, then rises to stand. “Her mother’s on the way. In the meantime, I’ll be downstairs. Send my daughter to me as soon as she wakes.”
I will not be doing that, but I agree with a grunt anyway as he leaves. He doesn’t need to know I plan to soak up every second I have left with Luna, just the two of us, until the world and everyone else in it crowds back in.
Right before he’s gone, Sol pauses at the doorway, hand on the doorjamb. He taps it like he’s thinking, then speaks over his shoulder without looking at me.
“And Fury? If I see another bite mark on my daughter, I will rip your fucking head off with my bare hands.”
Then he’s gone.
It takes a second before I finally snap my slack jaw shut. Not gonna lie, the murder in his voice was alarming. There’s no way on God’s green earth I’ll stop marking my wife, but I might ask Luna to carry a scarf whenever we’re back in New Orleans.
I give a two-finger mock salute to the empty doorway and smirk as I whisper to the ghost of him, “Yes, sir, Phantom, sir.”
My smile softens as I brush Luna’s hair back, caressing the mark beneath the neckline of the shirt she borrowed from me. The mark that, one day, might very well get me killed.
But the proof of my claiming settles something in me that’s been on edge for a long fucking time.
I breathe her in and, ignoring the pain radiating through me, snuggle her closer. My heart thumps under her cheek with desperate hope. Hope that, when I give her the choice, she chooses to claim me too.