9. The Clitblocker is the Enemy
M y hand surfs the waves of mountain air as we drive.
We round each bend and switchback up and up to the peak, where we’ll picnic after this long ride.
Momma and Daddy tucked me and Nox into the back of the car late last night, so when we woke up, we’d be in a different world, one that feels old in my bones and untamed in my blood.
Now mist kisses my palm, crisp and light despite the same heavy humidity that feels like a thick coat back home.
Pine and maple trees pass in rows or tangled thickets until the road curves and a valley of mountains dips and rises in layered blue hills. A deep, low croon fills my ears…
…in time with the rhythmic thumps against leather. I smile at the handsome voice singing along with the folk music on the radio and snuggle into a warm blanket and pillow that smells like maple, bourbon, and pine.
But my eyelids scratch like sandpaper as I try to peek them open.
It takes several blinks before I can see the tattooed fingers drumming against the steering wheel.
The driver leans back, one arm resting on the center console, slowly bobbing his head to the murmured lyrics.
His five o’clock shadow might as well be midnight, and the guy’s strong jaw is free of scars like my dad’s.
His hands tell a different story, though. Red and glossy scars peek between the webbing of each finger. A cool skull glares out from the top of his hand, and I squint at the black letters rolling beneath the knuckles on his long fingers.
F
U
R
Y—
“Fury!” I bolt upright, and a blaring headache pierces me behind my eyes. My arms hang uselessly at my back, but fiery pins and needles explode as life pours into them again. “ Jesus , what the hell?”
“I guess that answers my question as to whether you’re feeling okay.”
“I actually feel enraged, thanks for asking,” I hiss.
“Well, good morning to you too. Or afternoon.” Orion Fury’s stunningly mismatched, two-toned gaze locks on mine in the rearview. “We’re almost there. Just a couple hours left.”
There?
I glance out the window of the high-end off-roading SUV, expecting to see city streets, brick buildings, Juliet balconies, and shotgun houses. But nope.
Walls of thick trees block the view on both sides. We’re climbing a mountain, the winding road ahead as empty as behind us, its faded yellow lines barely visible. Colors are richer, green, brown, a touch of yellow and orange on turning leaves, all more vibrant under the overcast sky.
My heart squeezes. This is just like the autumn family vacations we used to take. We haven’t been back in ten years, not since…
… not since King Fury came to New Orleans and threatened my family into an arranged marriage pact.
Fuck the Furys.
“You kidnapped me?”
This is what I get for making fun of how my parents met. I don’t care how cute they are, I will not be suckered into loving a black-masked stalker. No matter how hot he is.
“Well… you’re an adult, so, there’s that.” He shrugs. “Maybe call it a honeymoon, instead?”
“No, jackass! I’m not calling it anything, because I’m not going anywhere with you,” I rasp around my dry mouth then kick the back of his seat. “Let. Me. Go!”
“Shoot, really? But I got you a pillow and everything.”
“What do you want me to say? Gee, thanks for the blankie with a side of kid-nap-ping ?”
“Ah, now that’s not nice, little bird.”
“Little bird?” I mock. “How cute, Fury .”
It actually is kinda cute. I loved hearing it until he enacted his deranged, evil plan to steal me. Especially in that deep Southern drawl, a lyrical, mountain hollow accent that dips and flows like something sinful.
Of course I’ll never tell him that. Not when my bodice digs into my underarms and its white feathers stab my boobs. I’ve worn this same piece for hours of rehearsals, but lying in it? I’ll take torture instead, thank you very much.
I shift against the seatbelt to scratch where the feathers itch me, but my arms won’t move, numb from being immobile behind my back for so long. And why?
Oh right. Because this madman kidnapped me !
“Why am I still tied up?” I snap, tugging at the makeshift cuffs that dig into my wrists. There’s barely any room to loosen them. “Thanks for ripping my favorite tutu, by the way.”
“You didn’t mind before,” he chuckles.
I lift a brow. “That was before I realized you were the same guy who couldn’t even get me off the first time. If I’d known, I would’ve never gone to that dressing room with you. You… you clitblocker .”
He snorts before a full-throated laugh breaks through.
“Don’t laugh at me! You left me hanging! I had to use a vibrator and spicy romance books for weeks to get rid of you.”
And I never really did.
I bite back that truth, but it still thickens the air between us as hotly as if I’d said it out loud. A second ago, his gaze in the rearview mirror was warm with laughter. Now his eyes smolder, and the intensity there forces me to squeeze my legs together.
“Shit, Luna.” He shifts in his seat. “Is that what all this attitude’s about? I’ll pull over and make up for lost time right now.”
I blink, only now realizing what I blurted out.
Wow, embarrassing.
“No, God no. I can’t stand you. Everything that happened back there was only because you were pretending to be my fiancé!”
“Ain’t no pretending about it,” he growls. “I am your fiancé. And you knew who I was the moment we kissed. I could tell. Which is the only reason I went as far as I did.”
I want to argue, but… he’s right. On some level, I knew he wasn’t Ozias. The bouquet alone was a major tipoff. Ozias treated me like an obligation. The fact I stayed with him so long proves how desperately I was looking for something. Probably the same something only this man’s ever given me.
And now look where that’s gotten me.
“We wouldn’t have gone far at all if you hadn’t tricked me!” I insist. “If it isn’t obvious, I don’t want you anymore.”
“Really?” he asks slowly, leaning his elbow on the center console, running his finger over his lips in thought before his brow raises in the mirror. “So if I buried my face between your thighs again, right now, you wouldn’t be ready for me?”
I shiver, all the heat in my body pooling in my core.
He chuckles low in the back of his throat. “Thought so. You’re pretty bold for a girl I can still taste on my tongue.”
Oh good God, don’t think about that. You’re angry, not turned on. Angry. Angry. Angry.
“You. Are. Infuriating!” I writhe against the seatbelt, stretching the tulle cuffs as far as I can while wishing I could smack the ever-loving shit out of him.
I know exactly what to do once I’ve got a little movement. Nyx model SUVs have much more space than the back of a cop car.
“Take these off me and maybe instead of drawing your death out long and slow, I can convince my dad to?—”
I suck in a breath.
Momma crying. My brother cursing. My dad getting shot with an arrow…
Guilt fills my chest, and I can barely breathe.
“Orion?” my voice breaks. “Did you kill my dad?”
His eyes soften at the edges. “No, baby. As much as Sol may hate it, Bordeauxs are family to the King Fury line. Plus,” he blows out a breath, “we need him. The bolt was a low-dose tranquilizer dart. It put him out for a few hours tops. Enough time for my brothers and me to get away.”
“So he’s safe?”
“Of course. The Bordeauxs aren’t our enemy.”
Relief courses through me, sagging me against the seat, until the rest of the night’s memories catch up.
“And Ozias?”
His face clouds. “In the hospital last time I knew.”
“The hospital?”
He nods. “I stabbed him. Dash said he’ll recover, but I made sure he’d never smile again.”
“Oh my God. You really are monsters,” I whisper, my voice hoarse again.
“That reminds me. I got something for ya.”
“I don’t want anything you give me.”
“Oh yeah, you do.”
He props his knee under the wheel to steer and plucks a bottle from the passenger seat. The bouquet he gave me mocks me beside his crossbow and a detached metal tube with a needle on the end. A tranquilizer dart.
My pulse skips, but I flick my gaze to the window pretending like I’m trying to get comfortable instead of working up a plan. As I shift, my phone and garter dig into my upper thigh. If I could just reach it, I could call my dad…
Orion flicks open the plastic bottle cap with his thumb, pops in a straw, then angles it so I can drink from my seat.
“Would a monster give you water? I bet your tongue feels like fuzzy peach skin.”
In answer, my dry tongue darts out to lick my even drier lips. But I stand my ground.
“I’ll drink if you untie me.”
“So you can attack me and run us off the road?” he scoffs. “I don’t think so.”
“Then I don’t want it,” I croak.
His good mood drops with his voice. “Drink your water, Luna.”
Now, why did that command vibrate through me down to my core? My inner muscles need to stop it with their freaking grand jetés and pirouettes.
I narrow my eyes. “What, are you trying to drug me again?”
His fingers crinkle the plastic, expression darkening with anger as he sets the bottle in a cup holder.
“I didn’t drug you. I did plan to tranq you?—”
“Semantics much?”
“—with the very low dose that I wound up using on your father.” He eyes me.
“I was only going to use it on you to get you out of there safely. But Luna, you were already fading before that, and the motherfuckers who actually drugged you had worse intentions. You can thank your sham of a fiancé for that.”
“ Zy ? Please. Ozias is a gentleman. A white knight. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“You think?” He grabs his phone from another cupholder, scrolls, then shows it to me.
The photo’s blurry, but I can make out a blond guy with a deadly slice across his throat laying on the bloody ground.
“Oh my God, you killed Rufus? Is Zy really in the hospital, or did you kill him too?” I cry, remembering the hazy scene from the alley.