14. He’s a Gentleman #3
“The King kin had nothing to do with it, and trust me, we have every right to call life for life,” he scolds, then gentles while stabbing the trout mercilessly. “But no one cares about who deserves what anymore. No one even remembers how this war started.”
“Yeah? Well, the Bordeauxs know exactly how we were dragged into it.”
Orion doesn’t take the bait, only eyeing me. “You know, I was gonna do this the right way. Win my bride over by dating the girl I couldn’t stop wanting instead of”—he twirls his fork at the cabin again—“all of this.”
I snort, trying to play off that those foolish butterflies are back. “So what changed?”
“You started dating a Wilde.” His jaw tightens. “Not just any Wilde. Bossie Wilde’s kin. You may hate me for how things went down, but if I hadn’t stepped in, worse would’ve happened. Worse did happen when they drugged you.”
I wince, and resolve fills his voice.
“They won’t touch you again. King taught us to protect our wives to our deaths. That’s what my brothers and I are gonna fucking do.”
I swallow and hug my knee, tugging his long shirt over it. “This is too much. I just want to be free.” Then I add the lie, “I don’t even want to marry anyone.”
He shakes his head, eyes softening at the edges.
“Yes, you do. I know what you want, and I’ve seen the way you look at your parents. You idolize them and the way they love each other. You can have what they have and freedom. I can give you both.”
I bite my lip, then meet his determined gaze as I whisper, “You have no idea what I want.”
Even as I say it, memories rush in. My favorite flowers, our dance, the way he touched me like he needed me…
Like he can read my mind, a knowing smile lifts his lips. “I know you better than you do, little bird. We established that the first time we met.”
I shiver and glance around to think of anything else, taking in the little room. The shine shack, as Orion called it.
I frown. Sure, spider webs cling to the corners and the worn floorboards have seen better days. But the cot’s comfy, the iron stove heats my skin, and moonshine and dinner warm me from the inside.
“Seems kinda rude to call it a shine shack ,” I murmur idly.
His head tilts before he looks around the room. “But… it is though?”
I shrug. “Seems more cabin-ish to me. A shack doesn’t feel like a home, ya know? This room is small, but it’s got ‘home’ potential.”
Something flickers in his eyes, then he asks in a thick, velvet tone. “This feels like home to you?”
I don’t know what that reaction’s about, but I look around again before giving my verdict.
“If you spruced it up a bit, it’d be quite cozy.” There’s a pause between us, and I sigh. “Do we know where we are? You know, before we go all Southern Living magazine up in here?”
When I meet his gaze again, he clears his throat and quickly looks away. He takes one final bite and sets his plate on the wooden floor.
“Best I can figure is we’re in a Lost Cove holler.” He chuckles dryly. “Only you could accidentally find the lost cove.”
“A ‘ holler ’?” I frown.
“A hollow , but we call it a holler. It’s a small valley cut off from everything else.
” He dips a washcloth in a bucket, wipes his hands, then passes it to me.
“I went as far as I’d let myself with you unconscious, but we’re good and trapped, with rock walls all around.
With your ankle and this weather,” he huffs.
“We’re stuck. At least until the rain clears. ”
“Stuck.” My eyes widen. “Wait, stuck? ”
He sucks his teeth. “Yup. We’re safe for now, but we’re too close to Old Bridge, Wilde territory, for my liking.
I reckon it’s as impossible to get down in here as it is to get out, though.
I set traps for good measure, but I want to get us to Dark Corner as soon as this ‘Storm of the Century’ passes. ”
“Are your brothers not hotshot trackers like you? Call them. Maybe they can come get us.”
“Call them with what?” He points to a phone nearby, screen cracked to smithereens.
“Turns out in a game of rock, water, SAT phones, SAT phones always lose. And even the best hunters can’t win against washed-out tracks.
I’ll work on clearing a path while you heal, and as soon as you can walk, we’re outta here. ”
“And then you’ll take me back to New Orleans.”
He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“It’s like you said. I’ve declared war between five families back there.
The Troisgarde, the Furys, and the Wildes.
We all want you for different reasons, and the only way you won’t be trapped is with me.
It’s love or bondage at this point, little bird.
” He sips the water, then shrugs. “Better get used to it.”
He hands the water to me.
“I don’t have to—” at one sip, my bladder perks up after its long rest. “Oh my God, I have to pee.”
He chuckles and grabs his jacket before holding out his hand. “I’ll help you.”
I swat him away. “The hell you will.”
“I won’t give you an inch so you can fly a mile again. Besides, you don’t even know where to go.”
“So! I’ll figure it out.” I wag my finger at him as I stand. “You may kidnap me, chase me, drug me, but I draw the line at watching— ah !”
Blinding pain shoots through me again at the slightest weight on my foot, and I land in his outstretched arms.
“Jesus, you reckless little bird. What am I going to do with you?”
I groan. “Take me to the bathroom, I guess. Oh God, this is going to be embarrassing.”
He laughs again as he scoops me up in a bridal carry, making me squeal. I cling to him, and I have to admit, I hate him, but with his warmth and the muscles of his naked chest moving against the thin shirt I’m wearing, I don’t mind this.
With my arms around him, he shifts so one arm is under my butt and he can grab a roll of toilet paper by the door. He hands it to me, then covers my head and body with his jacket.
“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna watch. There’s an outhouse with a door and everything out back . ”
My nose scrunches. “Like… a port-a-potty in the woods?”
“Trust me, an Appalachian outhouse is a million times better than a Mardi Gras port-a-potty.” He snorts, already moving to leave. “And you better not do anything reckless.”
“Like what?”
“Run away.” He gives me a pointed look before grinning. “Well… limp away.”
I scowl, an argument on my tongue, but he’s opened the door, and a breathtaking mix of hot and cold gusts of rain-laced wind slams it against the wall with a bang.
“Shit.” Orion rushes out, hurrying to latch it closed behind him as thunder cracks and lightning leaves the sting of ozone scent in the air.
“Okay, I see your point about running being reckless,” I concede, yelling over the wind.
He hoists me up, pressing my head against his neck. “Gotta make it quick. Don’t wanna be out here for long.”
He holds me so tightly, I don’t even bounce as he carries me down the porch steps, and I can’t see where we’re going with his jacket blocking my view. After several steps, he gently sets me down, keeping the jacket over my head as he opens another door.
My eyes widen at the pitch-black space inside. “ Here ?”
“It’s either this or a hole in the ground!” He yells over the wind and uses his knee to keep the door open as he hands me the roll of toilet paper. “You gonna have a conniption, city girl, or suck it up?”
I can’t even argue the “city girl” on this one.
“I’ll be fine,” I grumble and climb in.
He goes to close the door, but pauses. “I’ll be right here, but if you hear somebody calling your name, don’t come out.”
I pause. “What if you’re the one calling my name?”
He shakes his head. “I won’t. Not your real name, anyway. First rule if you’re in the deep woods: If you hear someone call your name and there ain’t no one around, then no, you didn’t. Don’t answer.”
I roll my eyes. “Sounds superstitious.”
“It is,” he says, shrugging. “Until it isn’t.”
He closes the door, leaving me bewildered in what’s essentially a wooden closet. I wait for my eyes to adjust, and lightning flashes in the cracks to show a hole to hover over. He was right though. Any Mardi Gras or Saints’ game port-a-potty is much worse.
I shrug, do my business, then open the door, hanging onto it so I don’t fly away as I close it. Orion catches me as a strong gust makes me fall, wrapping his arms around my waist like we’re in a pas de deux. He mutters a curse then pulls me against him, murmuring in my hair.
“Careful now.”
Rain falls around us as I look up at him, clutching his neck. I swallow.
Butterflies, butterflies, so many butterflies, dammit.
Even in the dim light, I see his swallow trail down his throat, the water sluicing over his hard, bare chest. But he doesn’t give me time to appreciate him as he picks me up again and carries me with the jacket over me.
Back inside, he sets me on the cot and fluffs the pillow. Just the thought of laying my head down has me exhausted. I haven’t taken my medicine in four days, so normally I’d expect to be wired by now.
“I guess being drugged into sleep can really take it out of a girl,” I mutter.
Orion winces, and I watch as he goes about tidying up our plates, washing them with water from outside.
“We’ll leave as soon as the rain stops and you can put weight on your ankle,” he sighs, hanging his jacket on a rafter hook like it’s a million pounds. “Now we get some rest.”
Damn, he looks worn out, even wavering on his feet.
I watch him in silence as I take one of the blankets from my footrest and spread it over me. It’s nice, actually, soft and lightly smelling like firewood smoke.
Orion stokes the fire tentatively, jolting back when it pops, like he’s afraid it’ll reach out and grab him. Strange. This guy went toe-to-toe with my father—who’s much scarier than fire—and didn’t even flinch, yet something as harmless as embers makes him jump.
Before I can ask or tease him about it, he sets the poker aside and pulls down his crossbow from an exposed beam. Then he heads over, shoulders sagging as he pulls back the blanket, until I throw out my hand.
“What’re you doing?”
His brow furrows. “Sleeping?”
“Not in this bed you’re not. You’ll take the floor.”
He growls, “I’m not sleeping anywhere but beside my bride.”
I cross my arms. “Then it won’t be beside me. Because I—aka not your ‘bride’—am sleeping in this bed, and you’re sleeping on the floor.”
“The fuck I am.”
I shrug. “One of us is.”
He groans but grabs a blanket from a storage container and plops onto the floor in front of the door. Then he levels me with a glare.
“If you think we’re gonna be all Pleasantville with two twin beds back at the Fury compound, you’re mistaken.
” I open my mouth to retort, but then he stops me.
“And if you think you’re gonna escape through the windows?
That’ll be a mistake too. If anyone tries to open them, they’ll get rocked. Literally.”
He points at the ceiling where a few huge stones hang by some invisible strings, presumably to barrel right into the windows and door.
“Fine,” I spit. Laying my head on the pillow, I scowl at him. “I hate you, you know that?”
He closes his eyes, holding the blanket like a pillow in front of him. “You might. But you’ll love me soon enough.”
“How do you know that?” I yawn, wishing I could put some oomph into my anger, but I’m too tired to care.
My eyes, heavy from fatigue, narrow at him. His head tips back against the door, legs splayed, and brow relaxed.
Finally, when I’ve all but closed my eyes, he answers sleepily, “Because all you have to do is meet me halfway.”
We’re both asleep before I can ask what that means.