9. The Clitblocker is the Enemy #2
“No. If I’d wanted to, I would’ve. But believe me, if I could go back in time, he’d be worse off than his cousin.
Because this—” he zooms in on a blister pack of pills on the body, “—is a new party drug, Pining. My brother confirmed it from the tree stamp on the pill. It’s basically Rohypnol mixed with Molly.
You remember how I took your drink before we danced? ”
Dread pools in my stomach. “Yeah?”
“We found the drugs on Rufus after Bart hinted at making you more ‘compliant.’” That last word rumbles out on a murderous growl as he carelessly tosses the phone into the passenger seat.
“I thought that was the laced drink. Then you said it was the shot.” He massages his forehead.
“What were you thinking, babe? Taking a drink from Bartholomew Wilde?”
“Wilde?” My eyes widen. “No, no… they’re Thrashers. Family friends.”
He shakes his head, face grim. “Your dad’s intel was wrong. Ozias’s stepdad is a Thrasher. Ozias and his cousins? Wildes. But besides all that, you just met Rufus and Bart last night. It was reckless.”
“I’m not reckless . Nothing bad like this has ever happened to me.”
“Yeah, because I was protecting you.”
“What are you talking about? My dad protects me. His shadows. My brother, Benoit?—”
“And me,” Orion cuts in, jabbing his chest. “I’ve been in New Orleans for years. Watching you. Making sure no asshole did exactly what happened when I wasn’t there for just five goddamn minutes.”
I glare. “Blaming the victim much?”
“Hell no. If anyone, I blame myself. But fuck, babe, you’ve gotta be more vigilant.
Your father’s a king on this board, but that makes him and everyone he loves a target.
He’s tried to protect you, but he’s stretched too thin after taking over most of the South.
Ozias and his cousins slipped past his defenses.
The Wildes had the Troisgarde daughters in their sights since they found out about the pact. ”
I sift through all that information, deciding which facts to argue over and which ones open doors to more answers. He’s singing like a songbird now, but Dad taught me to ask the right questions before the answers dry up.
“My father said I had nothing to worry about with that pact. He refused to comply because it was bullshit and you Furys know it. If I’m in danger, it’s because you dragged us into a war by telling your enemies there’s an alliance that’s never gonna happen.”
“The fuck we did,” he snarls. “Your father’s the one trying to renege on a vow he made.
My family’s followed the pact to the letter, including keeping quiet.
We know more than anyone what’s at stake, and we’d never put our brides at risk.
We even put out rumors that we weren’t coming for y’all until you were twenty-five, and yet the Wildes struck hours before your twenty-second birthday.
Which means there’s a rat in the Troisgarde. Your father needs us.”
I scoff. “My dad’s more afraid of me running away and getting into trouble than anyone hurting me.”
“Your father’s not afraid of you running away. He’s afraid of you being hunted.”
My pulse stutters. “What do you mean?”
“Think about it. You’re not allowed anywhere but Masque anymore. You’ve been locked down at Bordeaux Conservatory for weeks.”
I shift. “I was rehearsing. Benoit and Nox are the ones who always want to go to Masque. That’s nothing new.”
“Exactly, it’s nothing new, because they know the city isn’t safe for you anymore.
People like your father can sense restlessness like that, like a storm’s coming.
You didn’t notice because he shielded you from everything, but he closed ranks.
Hell, he didn’t even let you be alone with your disappointing boyfriend for longer than two minutes. ”
I scowl. “He’s overprotective.”
“And why would he be so overprotective in a world he owns?”
I glare at the back of his head. “Maybe he sensed you were coming.”
“Except he didn’t. I’ve coasted under your dad’s radar all this time. Way before your twenty-first birthday. I’m good at staying hidden, but not that good. And with the way the Phantom of the French Quarter used to haunt his streets, I expected him to find me like”—he snaps—“that. But he didn’t.”
He lets that reality rest before continuing. “I was the only one who saw the Wildes close in. That’s a problem. But our family can help yours. Together, we could make the Wildes think twice before they burn shit to the ground.”
I huff. “No one’s burning anything to the ground.”
“They already have!” he snarls, making me bite my tongue.
That reaction was too strong, the deep growl torn from his chest too raw and pained. My chest squeezes. He’s not speaking metaphorically.
He releases a harsh exhale. “Look, the reality is, no one up here is a cohesive front. Whether you’re in Dark Corner, Old Bridge, or Foxfire Hollow, we all use old-school guerrilla warfare tactics more than anything.
And don’t get me started on what they’re up to on Devil’s Mountain and Ravenstree.
Point being though, certain Wilde and Fury factions want to stake their claim farther and wider than they ever have, including the Southeast, the North, and even the West. We’ll wipe each other out if the King line doesn’t take the throne. ”
“And you’re so much better?”
His brow raises. “Yeah. We are. We’re lawless, but we at least abide by pacts and codes.
But without the Troisgarde-Fury alliance, we can’t expand.
None of our families will survive.” His gaze returns to the curving roads.
“Bottom line? You aren’t safe in New Orleans anymore. It was time I brought you home.”
Home.
Outside the window, the walls of trees break to a gorgeous view that surrounds us on all sides, and I suck in a breath.
The mountains’ mist lifts under a single ray of sunlight, unveiling hills, valleys, and hollows, with lakes and meadows scattered between.
Orion rolls the windows down and I breathe deep, closing my eyes.
Pine, rich earth, crisp air. Freedom fills my lungs, my veins.
I’ve never lived here, but I’ve missed it like it was home.
Still, Orion is the last person I want knowing that Appalachia, his home, is what I’ve always craved.
I lift my chin. “If they were so dangerous, why didn’t you come before now?”
“I wanted to. If something’s mine, I guard it with my life.
” His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, pulling the inked letters taut.
“But the amendment to the pact said we let the daughters live without interference until y’all’s twenty-second birthdays.
I waited as long as I could, but then Ozias went rogue, proposing like that.
He probably thought your engagement would keep me away from you. He was wrong.”
I nibble at my lip, unsure if I should bring it up, but go for it anyway. “What about my twenty-first birthday? Didn’t that break your rules?”
His slow, creeping smile has my cheeks flushing at the memory. Him whisking me from the dance floor, maple and bourbon kisses in the shadows, grinding against my core until we were seconds from throwing all caution to the wind…
Then my friends appeared, and he vanished.
When Orion answers, his voice is delicious caramel, like he was thinking about it too.
“Kissing you that night was the best rule I’ve ever broken. Until last night, when I devoured you until midnight.” His eyes flick up to mine, crinkling at the edges. “Seems you make me reckless too, little bird.”
I worry my lip. “And Bart? What happened to him? Is he…?”
“Not yet. But go ahead and decide how you want it done, because that motherfucker ain’t long for this world.
” His gaze holds mine. “The Wilde-Fury feud has a code. Blood for blood, life for life. I’ll risk both to protect what’s mine, and he hurt what’s mine.
” His jaw ticks. “I don’t know where that coward ran off to, but my brothers are on it.
Once they’re done running interference, Dash will find him. ”
“And how would he do that?”
His brow raises. “I can’t spill all our secrets, yet. That’s wife territory, and I’m gonna need you to at least like me first.”
“Hm. Guess I’ll never find out, then.”
“We’ll see about that, baby.”
I resist a shiver. His delicious accent grows thicker when he calls me “baby.” Slow and intentional, curling his tongue around the word like he wants me to feel every letter, and good God, it’s working.
“Now come on. Be a good girl and drink your water.” He picks up the bottle again and tilts it back.
I have half a mind to reject it again, but my throat aches, so I lean forward and drink like I’ve been lost in a desert.
As soon as I see my reflection in the review mirror, though, I almost recoil.
My hair is still half-up, held in place by my feather crown, but hairspray clumps strands that fight to tighten back into their natural curl.
Mascara smudged, foundation smeared, and my lips are swollen from last night’s makeout session. A freaking mess is what I am.
And yet Orion’s focus is solely on me, his eyes darkening.
Why is he looking at me like that?
I follow his gaze as it glides from my lips around the straw and down my body like a caress… stopping where my nipples peek out, trying to escape my bodice’s sweetheart neckline. Jesus, the little sluts are begging to be sucked by his sinful mouth again, and I will not have it.
Calm your tits, ladies. He’s the damn villain.
I suck the last of the water, and slowly sit back against my numb arms.
His eyes flash like he can read my mind.
“Luna… don’t you d?—”
I lurch forward and spit the water in a powerful stream right at his face.
He doesn’t even try to stop it, just accepting his fate. I lick the leftover drops from my lips and grin, anticipating an argument.
But he shakes his head good-naturedly and chuckles.
Chuckles.
His huge tatted bicep flexes as he untucks his black T-shirt to use the hem to wipe his face. The fabric rises, revealing the hilt of a sheathed knife, an F burned into the leather. My eyes drift from it to the rest of him, and my lips part.
“Damn, baby, I didn’t expect you to squirt all over my face before I even get to fuck you.”
“You’re disgusting,” I murmur, but I’m only half paying attention, because his tanned, corded back muscles ripple as he swipes the water from his face, rolling underneath fresh, angry cuts that crisscross his flesh over intricate tattoos.
I wince. They must be painful. Did he get them from fighting the Wildes?
I shudder, unsure what to do with that thought now that I know what happened last night.
My eyes snag on one tattoo in particular—a macabre ballerina skeleton with a gorgeous, painted skull face, dressed like the black swan , performing a fouetté turn en pointe up his ribs. She’s absolutely stunning, with her cherry cola hair flowing around her in waves…
Holy crap.
That’s me, right? This sexy stalker lunatic—who claims that one day I’ll magically agree to marry him—tattooed me dancing my favorite ballet on his droolworthy body before I ever even spoke to him.
He’s insane… right ?
And am I also insane because I think that’s hot?
Okay, yes and yes. Great. Awesome.
But in my defense, I’ve been influenced by Lucy’s books about fictional men who bestow mind-numbing orgasms and can’t actually stalk and kidnap me. This guy’s done all of the latter, and nary an orgasm in sight.
Bastard.
Said bastard’s shirt is back down and his lips now quirk sinfully. I scowl, but his eyes flick past me in the rearview mirror, brows furrowing.
My interest piques. “What?”
“Nothing.” He straightens, eyes darting between the road and mirror. “Just a bump in the road. A little company is all.”
I almost snort. These roads are nothing but bumps and potholes.
But I crane my neck to see a blacked-out Nyx Z2, a sports car model that’s not even released yet. Which means…
“That’s my dad and brother!”