Chapter Seventeen
What do you believe a lover to be?
Violet scowled into her cup of tea from her solitary seat in the tavern.
The brother called Saint had brought her a cup before disappearing again.
On the one hand, she was grateful, on the other hand, she wished to vent.
Knight, with his hard face and rolled up sleeves, had stopped her when she’d wanted to return to her shop.
No amount of glaring had moved the man. He had, however, allowed her to send word to Angelica to pause all orders.
But these Furys had better know that they would be compensating her for the business lost!
This is what curiosity got, Violet.
She should have left well enough alone from the very start.
Perhaps then she wouldn’t be haunted by humiliation and that blasted question.
Haunted by the face of the man she’d once glimpsed her brother patting on the shoulder in their stables when she was waiting for her horse to be saddled.
She had thought nothing of it at the time.
Her brother kept unsavory company as a matter of habit, and she had long since learned not to look too closely at the men who came and went from his world.
Now, with this memory, Violet had what she’d hoped never to gain.
Confirmation. Confirmation that her brother was not just part of this feud with Drake Fury, but the feud.
That man had been her brother’s cutthroat.
Her brother’s cutthroat had tried to kill Drake.
Violet sighed.
What did it matter at this point what she believed a lover to be? Or how much she wanted her lover to be Drake. An invisible wall had been erected between them the moment her mind caught up to the whisper of familiarity of that dreadful ruffian’s face.
Still . . .
What did she believe a lover to be? The blasted question would not let her be despite the fact that the longer she kept her identity a secret, the more complicit she became.
Lovers were lovers.
Was that not obvious? What were lovers? People who shared intimacy. Was that no more than what they’d been doing, starting with their first kiss in the courtyard? Perhaps she was too innocent. Hah. Not innocent enough not to bed, but innocent enough to not keep bedding.
Indeed, she’d gotten ahead of herself once again, blurting the words without much thought. But then, how much thought was appropriate for such decisions? They’d already done all the things lovers did. Did it not come down to whether they wanted to do it again or not?
Violet had never been so conflicted in her life.
Mad, sad, overly glad that he hadn’t accepted her proposition to be her lover.
Which made no sense whatsoever, and she was aware of that.
A person could not simultaneously want something and be relieved to have been denied it, could they?
Except apparently, she could, because what she had wanted was not merely a word. Not merely the title.
What she had wanted . . .
Urgh.
Was a moot point now.
She was not so ignorant as to believe lovers shared every truth.
Except she wanted a partnership founded on openness, on trust freely given.
Perhaps Drake sensed that in her. Perhaps that was why he’d opted for vague deflection.
For what if all he could ever offer was a portion of himself, the rest kept carefully, deliberately, in shadow?
And what about her? Could she expect him to trust her if she couldn’t bring herself to be truthful?
Honestly, she was now certain the man was looking for the identity of the Bulldog, which she’d known all along.
A dungeon awaited her if he discovered the truth though, didn’t it?
Persephone, at least, had been offered a throne alongside her chains.
The thought stopped her cold. Was that what she truly wanted? A throne next to his?
“What has you so down, petite fleur?”
Violet glanced at the man who’d sidled up to her, taking a seat next to her. She pulled a face. “Will it get back to your brother if I tell you?”
The man arched a brow. “Someone is in a mood today, petite fleur.”
“Stop calling me little flower,” Violet scolded. “I am not.”
“You look pretty little to me.”
She lifted her chin, regarding this Fury. “As I told your brother once, some flowers have teeth and they bite.” Some were poisonous, too.
He tossed his head back and laughed. “You are a spirited one, aren’t you? I thought you would have demanded your release by now.”
“Am I a captive?” Violet retorted, even knowing the answer was not as simple as yes or no.
He shrugged. “Depends on the perspective.”
She snorted. Exactly. “Well, given that I am still here, I suppose the danger hasn’t passed.”
He grinned, then taunted devilishly, “The danger is locked in our dungeon. You know something about that, don’t you?”
Coldness swept through her. Did he know? Blazes, please tell her he didn’t know! She wasn’t ready to face the truth yet. Deflect! Calmly. “If you are referring to the time I locked your brother in a dungeon, I suppose I do.”
His smile slipped and said flatly. “You locked Drake in a dungeon?”
Violet slowly arched a brow, mentally patting herself on the shoulder for keeping her cool. “You didn’t know?”
“Well, cock on a duck.”
Cock on a what? In any event, it appeared Drake kept everyone in the dark about certain matters, not just her.
Which rather exposed how foolish she’d been to think that taking her to the one place his brothers did not know about had meant anything at all.
It was simply another convenience. Another means to an end.
She was just another means to an end, which would explain his reaction to the prospect of a lover.
Anything more than a means to an end became an inconvenience, didn’t it?
“Wait,” Violet said. “What do you mean by the danger is locked in your dungeon? Did you capture some of those bandits?”
“Drake didn’t tell you?” He snorted. “The man is full of damn secrets. We have the two who tried to kill him. Your brute is with them at this very moment.”
“I see.” Violet returned her attention to her tea. He hadn’t told her. She understood. He had no obligation to inform her. And given the awkward way they’d parted, why would he? Her biggest concern now, if they’d caught her brother’s bandits . . . Did the one who’d stabbed Drake recognize her?
“Do you wish to see for yourself?” a new voice interjected.
Violet turned along with Reaper.
Deveraux grinned at them. “That is, if you’re not offended by our methods to extract information from our foes.”
“Deveraux,” Reaper growled from beside her.
“What, little brother? Her life was placed in harm’s way, too. Doesn’t she deserve to know?”
“Do you want to be shipped off in a crate to some godforsaken country?”
Deveraux shrugged. “If I’m weak enough to be tossed in a crate by you lot, then ship me across the ocean right now.”
Reaper rose to his feet slowly. “Didn’t you lose to us once already?”
“I recall you on the losing end, and me on the offering-an-olive-branch end.”
“Olive branch, my arse.”
Violet sighed. “Please don’t fight on account of me. As for your offer . . .” Don’t do it, Vi. You’ve already learned your lesson once. “Yes. I believe I would like to see for myself.”
Reaper cursed.
If her brother’s identity were to be exposed this day, she wanted to know. Plus, what if she’d been mistaken? A smidgeon of hope remained, didn’t it? What if the man wasn’t who she recognized in her mind? What if they simply looked similar?
There was only one way to find out.
*
Drake’s fist struck the cockchafer’s face.
Bone met bone with a satisfying crack, snapping the man’s head to the side.
The iron ring set into the wall chimed softly at the impact, answering the violence like an old accomplice.
Blood sprayed, dark against the stone floor, and still Drake did not relent.
The pressure inside him demanded an outlet, and his fists knew exactly where to find one.
He’d also barred his brothers from the dungeon, in no mood for their scrutiny.
And they would read him too easily right now.
He had never known such annoyance with himself before. Never known desperation like this. Who’d ever have thought regret tasted this bloody bitter?
His fist connected once again.
What do you believe a lover to be?
The words echoed far louder in his head than the crack of bone.
He shouldn’t have asked her that. Could he even answer it himself?
He’d never had a lover before. Only encounters that ended after a few hours.
No expectations. That had always been sufficient.
No entanglements. He had constructed his life with considerable care around the absence of exactly this kind of complication.
He’d never had a woman in his own bed either.
Never slept side by side with one.
He should have agreed. Should have said yes without hesitation. What use were definitions if refusing them cost him more nights with her?
He seized the fellow by the collar, hauled him upright, and drove him back into the wall hard enough to rattle teeth. “I won’t say this again. Talk,” Drake growled. “Now.”
The blackguard smiled.
“Who sent you?” Drake demanded. He held him there, close enough that the man had nowhere to look but at him.
The man spat blood at his boots.
Drake tightened his grip, knuckles white, forcing himself not to snap the man’s neck.
They did not kill. That was their one cardinal rule.
The rest—well, the rest was up for debate.
Drake shoved him back with a snarl and stepped back.
The man collapsed onto his knees, chains around his wrists scraping against the wall.
“Rook already told me who you are.” A blatant bluff.
The arse’s face instantly contorted.
Heh. That was answer enough. “Quite the chirpy fellow, that Rook. Understands the value of life.”
“I know no Rook,” the man spat.
“Just like you don’t know who ordered you to kill me?” Drake taunted. “Spare me the lies. The truth begets leniency.”
The man answered with a glare.