Chapter 29 Briella
Briella
“TAKE brIELLA TO MEET OUR OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS.”
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Black Hole Brain”
It’s not enough. But it’s a start.
It wasn’t too hard. Especially when I learned how Rory takes his coffee. The laxative was practically screaming at me in the bathroom closet. All I had to do was wait for him to grab his ingredients and start prepping.
I saw the nearly full bottle of Scotch on the bar cart in the pantry and figured he’d be back for it. I had just a few seconds, but it was enough.
A string of muffled curses and threats, followed by the toilet flushing, echoes from the downstairs bathroom. I’m still riding the high, but ignoring Seth’s proposal, even if he’s following me around the kitchen on his knees while I clean up.
“Seth,” Raphael interjects in his dark, warning voice, and the lumberjack lifts his head and looks at his alpha. “Go fix the south fence line.”
He jerks up and takes a step toward the door.
I place some dishes in the sink when his body heat suddenly swarms mine.
Before I know it, he’s cupping my chin and kissing me, his mouth like a fever on mine.
Passionate. Wanting. Needing. I’m just melting into it when he pulls back, tucks my curls behind my ear, and kisses my cheek.
“Just think about it.” He winks. “You be my Darling wife. I’ll be your doting slave of a husband. ”
“Seth,” Raphael raises his voice.
Seth practically bolts out the front door, leaving me a little breathless.
I glance at Jude for a heartbeat, but I can’t stare too long, or I really will melt.
So, I center my gaze on Raphael. Better to be scared shitless than wet and swooning.
My insides warm with pride when I think of how Rory will be shitless by morning.
Even Vincent seems lighter, eyeing me more. The second I start to wipe up the counter, a strong hand covers mine. I flinch as his body overthrows mine, bulky muscles dominating me.
My breath catches when I summon the courage to look up at the hoodie-wearing giant. He takes the sponge from me and chucks it into the sink, staring down at me with his warm, brown eyes—so heated, I’m caught up in his gaze. And the way my hand tingles beneath his touch.
“Vincent,” Raphael interrupts. He still hasn’t moved from the wall. “Take Briella to meet our other family members. Jude will clean up.”
Jude brings more dishes to the sink, winking at me. “I always clean up. Go on, Babydoll.”
Vincent doesn’t look at him, but judging by how he tenses and looks at me, he’s not about to argue. I swallow a hard knot, wondering what Raphael means by their other family. Maybe…the animals?
Before I can part my lips to ask, Vincent hauls me with him. I rush to keep up with his massive stride as he leads me out of the cabin.
The ground is cold, and I’m still barefoot. Goosebumps break out all over my skin since the sundress doesn’t provide much warmth.
Every step reminds me of my wounds as Vincent leads me past the cluster of five cabins.
Their chimneys puff lazy ripples of smoke into the cold morning air.
Raphael’s must be the largest one in the center, surrounded by the other four.
A rain barrel sits beneath each sloped cabin roof, some already brimming.
A plastic pipe funnels runoff from the gutters.
I pay attention to my surroundings, knowing I’ll need to learn the environment if I want to escape. When I escape, I correct myself.
Stacked, corded firewood sits neatly under handmade awnings, split and sorted by size. Seth’s handiwork, I imagine.
The smell of wood smoke and damp pine fills the air. Thick redwoods tower over the area, cloaked in fog.
We pass a crude, fenced garden wrapped in netting.
There’s a small hoop house, too, just big enough for seedlings or herbs.
Fog covers the glass panels. Overall, Jude was right.
Their produce-tending could use a facelift.
Not that I should be thinking about that when I won’t be staying longer than a couple of weeks.
We cross a narrow path, freckled by autumn leaves, the trees thinning, until we reach the far east side of the compound, where a barn sits. The smell changes. Earthier. Muskier. Like hay, earth, fur, and heat. Connected to the barn is a fenced-in pen full of curious, bleating goats.
An unexpected warmth spreads in my chest as Vincent leads me to the pens. His steady boots crunch the straw. He doesn’t talk much, which I appreciate. With him, silence isn’t uncomfortable. It just is.
The brisk wind catches my curls, casting them about my face and chilling my skin.
“These are our kids,” he says, motioning toward a pen where a dozen goats blink at me with judgmental eyes. He has no hesitation about hopping over the fence where they gather around him.
I stay behind the fence, but one approaches, bleating like it’s testing whether I’m friend or foe. I huff a breathy laugh and slowly stretch my hand to her. “They’re cuter than I expected.”
“Wait till you feed them.” He reaches into a nearby bin hanging from the fence and scoops out a handful of pellets, placing some in my palm and showing me how to hold my hand flat. “Like this. Don’t curl your fingers or they’ll nip you.”
I follow his lead, stretch my hand out beyond the fence, and immediately get ambushed by the hungriest goat in the bunch, a bloated white-bellied diva who nuzzles my hand with more entitlement than affection.
“She’s pregnant,” Vincent explains, a soft edge sneaking into his voice as he gently pats her belly. “Due any day now. Temperamental as hell, but she’s a good mama.”
Smiling, I rub the side of her neck, feeling her warmth, the steady thrum of life just beneath the surface.
“What a good girl…” I coo. “Carrying something so important.” An ache fills my chest, stabbing deep with the understanding. It will never happen to me.
Vincent watches me. Doesn’t speak. Just…sees me. I also noticed how he lit up when he saw the goats.
After a minute, I ask, “Why did Raphael want you to bring me here?”
He leans against the barn wall with multiple goats vying for his attention. “Because I take care of the livestock.”
I press my lips into a tight seam, staring him down because he knows that’s not what I meant.
After a few heartbeats of our stare down, he heaves a sigh and cracks his heavy-tattooed neck to say, “Because we trust him with our lives. He always knows what to do.”
I squint. “Even when that includes… me?”
“Especially then.”
“Why?”
He deadpans—eyes locked on mine like he’s delivering some sacred vow. “Because Level 5, Girly. You’re our Queen. Our Goddess. Now and always.”
My breath catches. The words don’t feel like a compliment or a manipulation. They feel like something planted deep in the earth—unmovable, terrifying in their sincerity.
But how can I believe that? Easthaven taught me what I was worth. The second I spoke up, fought back, or cried wrong, I was punished. They taught me my body could be broken down into obedience. That I could be thrown away every night, just to be picked up and broken again the next.
Like an endless nightmare, they pretended it was a perfect dream. Because they were “fixing” me.
Yet…here, even if they use me, abuse me, and I’m still not sure they won’t, they let me have my voice. My anger. My hunger. My self. They don’t see me as something to be fixed. I just am. And they just are. Part of something.
I shake the thought off before it digs in too deep.
“Why are you the best with the animals?” I ask, needing a change of focus.
Vincent shrugs and gestures for me to follow him past the goat pens. “Because they don’t lie,” he says. “And I prefer them over most humans.”
Like I prefer plants.
We enter the barn, where it’s mustier and darker, but the wind doesn’t bite at my flesh anymore. Passing stalls, we approach the end of the barn where two elegant equine heads flick up. One snickers softly, the other paws at the floor like it’s impatient for Vincent.
Vincent doesn’t rush. He just moves with quiet solitude, palms flat, voice low as he murmurs things I don’t understand. He strokes their sides and muzzles, cooing to them with affection I could never believe he possessed.
I stand back and watch.
They trust him. And if he wants me to trust him, too, then he’ll have to earn it.
They all will.
Why do I want him to earn my trust? None of them has any right to my trust. Not now. Not ever.
I tear my gaze away before the ache in my chest cracks into something worse.
When I shiver, I feel Vincent’s eyes on me.
I don’t get a chance to look up before a great, warm shadow of clothing falls over my shoulders.
Emotion forms a lump in my throat at the realization.
I may not know much about them, but I know this is important to him.
The hoodie overwhelms me with its scent, all dark musk and masculinity, sandalwood and earth.
The sleeves drown me, and it functions more like a coat since it falls to my knees.
When I glance up, my breath hitches. Holy moly, man muscles.
For the first time, I’m really looking at him.
It still dumbfounds me how much that hoodie hides.
A black tank is all he wears aside from his jeans.
Tattoos cover nearly every inch of exposed skin.
Bulging sinew and veins throb with hearty, masculine blood.
But it’s the scars. I wince, feeling the pain of my own. Except, Vincent has no bandages. All the recent welts and striped flesh? They’ve been cauterized, not stitched.
I murmur a ‘thank you’.
As he picks up a brush to groom the mare, the tension in his shoulders begins to soften.
I slowly zip up the hoodie and roll the sleeves up as much as I can before tightening the drawstrings at the top so it won’t slip.