18. Thirty-Three Fouettés
A s much as I hate to admit it, I think I fucked up today.
The second I slipped out of her, I saw it happen, watched her shut me out in real time. Weird thing was, she kept talking. But it wasn’t to me. It was at me.
Rapid-fire sentences came at breakneck speed, as if her orgasm high set her on fast forward. She had to expend the energy somehow, and her mouth was her best bet—saying nothing and everything all at once, piling on words like she was trying to bury what we did beneath the noise.
And yet in all her breathless conversation, she hasn’t breathed a word that we might’ve made a little Fury together.
Goddammit, what the hell did I do?
And is it fucked up that I’d do it again?
I’d feel less fucked up if we could just talk about it.
But I gave her space instead, letting her avoid what needs to be said a little longer.
The timing worked out, because I had to clear more trail before either nightfall or the storm swallowed my daylight.
I didn’t make it, though, and worked well into the night.
The machete I found in the cabin is duller than a butter knife now, and rain drenched me clean of the mud and grime I earned.
Luna hadn’t wanted me to leave without her, sassing me that I was overprotective about her sprain. But there was nothing for it. No matter how many times she insists, her ankle is not fine.
So when I return around one A.M., I don’t expect to see my little bird fluttering around, twirling in the firelight.
She’s shoved all the furniture aside, and the cast-iron stove radiates a halo around her as she spins, arms above her head. Her tattered tutu lifts, revealing the sexy tattoo I designed for her, and her satin slippers are frayed to mere threads while her bodice slips low on her perky, round tits.
I stop in the doorway, awestruck. She’s hypnotic as she dances, though a little off-kilter, like the broken ballerina in my mom’s old music box.
But unlike the little figurine, Luna’s legs are cut up and bruised, her tangled curls bounce down her back, and she clutches a jug of moonshine in one hand.
She whips out fouetté after fouetté, just like her Black Swan solo.
Each one is perfect, controlled, and I count out of habit.
… Twenty-nine.
Thirty.
Maybe her ankle’s better than I thought.
Thirty-one.
Thirty-two…
Wait, she’s still going.
Thirty-three ? —
She sways on the extra turn, laughing, and I drop the machete and crossbow to lunge just in time, catching her before she cracks her head on the mantel behind the stove.
Her giggles are infectious but seem pressured, her smile is too bright, and the firelight flickers in her pupils, so wide I can barely make out their clear blue rings.
Something’s off with my girl.
“Luna,” I say gently. “Doesn’t your ankle hurt?”
“Nuh uh,” she chirps, leaping out of my hold before I can set her upright. She points her toes, showing off the tight bow at the top of the tulle-wrapped limb. “See? I even made it cute.”
“So you did,” I chuckle, peeling off my sopping wet shirt and hanging it on a rafter. “I was worried?—”
“Well, don’t be,” she snaps.
My brows shoot up.
“Okay…” I scratch the back of my head. Cold droplets roll down my nape, making me shiver. “Uh, it’s kinda late to be up, isn’t it? I’m assuming you ate dinner?”
I don’t actually assume that, since I cooked her trout before leaving earlier and the ceramic plate still sits on the stove with tin foil over it.
“Nope.” The word pops on her lips. “Couldn’t sleep. Wasn’t hungry.”
I force a smile. “Aw, even though I picked the bones out for you and everything?”
But she’s already humming to herself, off somewhere else in her head as she sways again. That’s when I see the mason jars by the hearth, the jug that rolled out of her hand when I caught her.
I run my tongue over my teeth. The jug’s corked, but I can’t tell if it or the jars have been cracked open.
Honestly, given what I’ve put her through, I wouldn’t blame her for taking the edge off.
I’ve never seen her quite like this, though, the franticness in her eyes much different than her normal party buzz.
“You been drinking, Luna?”
She grins. “Nope.”
I hesitate. “You sure?”
Her jaw clenches before she grits out, “I’m sure.” Her smile is brilliant except for those eyes, accusing and sharp. “Your baby is fine.”
“Jesus.” My chest cracks. “It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it about? Wait. You know what?” She waves me off. “I don’t care. Come dance.”
She reaches for my hand, but I pull back. “What the hell, Luna? I care. What’s going on right now? This isn’t like you.”
“Nothing’s going on. This is just the real me.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not. You don’t talk like this.”
“Like what?” She picks up the jug, letting it dangle at her side.
“Like you don’t give a shit about anything.” I swallow. “Like you don’t give a shit about what happened between us.”
She hesitates, then shrugs and points the jug at me.
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But you wouldn’t know. There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Like how I’m not drunk. My ankle’s just being dumb, and the jug helps me balance.” She makes her point with a pirouette and a wicked smile. “Or that I wish you’d just finish what you started earlier.”
Her free hand slides down my damp chest before her plush lips suddenly crash to mine in a hungry, messy kiss. Sure enough, no hint of moonshine, though.
What the hell?
Her nails rake down my abs with feral abandon and sink past the waistband of my jeans, already slung low from water weight.
“Whoa, no… stop,” I mutter in a half-assed order. If my jeans come off, it’s game over. I’ll take her eager ass right now.
But she’s fumbling with my belt, trembling and frenzied like a woman possessed. Like she has to do this.
I growl, clawing up willpower from the depths of my black heart. “I said no , Luna.”
She freezes. I exhale and place firm hands on her shoulders to guide her away from me.
“Let’s take a beat, okay?”
She doesn’t make a move for me, but her tongue darts over her lips as her gaze trails down my heaving chest.
I groan. “Don’t look at me like that.” My cock throbs in my jeans, but I force myself to focus. “We need to talk about today before we do anything like it again.”
She blinks, then tilts her head and smiles thinly.
“I don’t want to.”
Worry needles the back of my skull.
Okay, pivot.
“Fine. We won’t yet.” I let go of her and back up, giving her space. “So, what’d you do today?”
“Oh, you know. Literally nothing .” She huffs. “Oh, wait, I danced in the rain. That was fun.”
“The rain? It didn’t start raining until nightfall, and it’s been thundering and lightning ever since. Luna, that’s dangerous.”
“Jee-zus, you’re a buzzkill. I stopped before it got really bad.
” Then she grins impishly. “Or did I? Maybe lightning was my spotlight. Maybe the thunder was my applause. Maybe I was reckless . You know, my M.O.? Doing all the wrong things. Giving in to all my impulses. Or maybe I got it all that out of my system by almost fucking my kidnapper .”
“Back to that, huh?” I tongue my cheek, then nod once. “Alright, baby. You said you don’t want to talk, but obviously you do. So let’s talk about it.”
“No,” she flings back. Using the jug and the mantel behind the iron stove for balance, she turns her feet out and bends at her knees. “I don’t want to.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “So you’re choosing to be passive-aggressive instead?”
She flinches to a stop, and I wince.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. That was harsh?—”
“It was fine! I’m fine. You know why? Because I. Don’t. Care.” Her voice flutters like silk but cuts like steel. “I said I don’t want to talk, and I don’t.”
“Well, I do.”
She pushes off the mantel to spin, faster this time. “Too bad. There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Yes, there is.” I catch her hand. She scowls at our touch like the connection personally offends her. “We need to talk about earlier. It seems like it’s bothering you. The lake. How it ended…”
Her eyes widen, then her lips press into a thin line. “I definitely don’t want to talk about that.”
I search her face for anything that could tell me what’s going on. After watching her for years, I know this girl. But it feels like she’s trapped somewhere behind this wall, a defense I can’t sneak past this time.
“Why don’t you wanna talk about it?”
“Pick a reason!” she explodes, dropping the jug.
“You stalked me. Murdered someone. Kidnapped me?! And earlier? God, you might as well have fucked me. Get a girl pregnant without so much as taking her virginity? I might’ve been a tarot hack, but I can assure you dying a virgin wasn’t in my cards.
Why didn’t you just finish the job? It’s not like any of it matters. ”
I stumble back, letting her hand go. Stabbing me with my own knife would’ve hurt less. Somehow, she’s found my softest spot and pressed the bruise mercilessly.
I swallow hard. “You might not think it matters, Luna… but it matters to me. I’ve done so much wrong when it comes to you. Us. Making you mine, doing it the right way, that matters to me.”
For a second, vulnerability softens her eyes, but it’s gone in a blink as she props her hands on her hips.
“So you think getting me pregnant before taking my virginity is ‘doing it the right way’? Spoiler alert. You’re wrong, because it sure felt like the right time to me!”
I pause. The way she phrased that… she’s not upset over the possibility of carrying my child. She’s furious I didn’t claim her.
Hope puffs in my chest, where a literal growl builds as I step forward.
“I’m going to take you, wife. In every way I can.
” My voice deepens, gravelly and possessive.
“Having a baby with you is just one of the ways, so I’m not sorry for coming inside you today.
Not when I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
And I won’t apologize for wanting to savor the moment I make you mine.
When I do, there won’t be an ounce of doubt that it matters to you too. ”
She shivers, the fight slipping from her shoulders. Then she shakes her head. Her voice is pained when she finally speaks.
“No. No, this feels too much. I was right. I can’t do this.”
Dread gnaws at me, and I approach her as gingerly as I would an injured bird, further closing the gap between us with another cautious step.
“Look, I don’t think any of this is what you’re upset about. Not the lake. Not me coming inside you.” I watch her carefully. “Something happened while I was gone. But if I had to guess, something started happening before that.”
Fear reflects back at me in her silver-blue eyes like a mirror. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been talking nonstop. You didn’t eat. Your pain tolerance is unreal. You’re not tired, meanwhile I’m exhausted. And your moods?—”
“What about my moods?” she challenges.
I grimace. “I hate to sound like a dick, but they feel all over the place. You’re happy one second, pissed the next. Sad after that.”
She turns away from me, fists clenching and opening, over and over again. As if she’s trying to burn off energy any way she can. Her legs vibrate with it, and I have no doubt if her ankle was healed, she’d fly away from me before I could catch her.
My brow furrows. Try as she might to keep herself under control, it’s like she can’t help unveiling a part of herself she’s not ready for me to see. I don’t know if she needs me to stop it or help her through it. Or if there’s anything I can do at all.
Fuck, if I feel this helpless, I can’t imagine how she feels.
My voice cracks. “What’s going on, Luna? Are you okay?”
She snorts, still facing the wall. “Naturally, he wouldn’t think about the hypersexual component?—”
My pulse spikes. “The what?”
“Nothing. Forget it. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Luna—”
She wheels around, shouting, “I’m fine !”
The venom she spits would knock anyone else back, but I’ve already braced myself for everything she’s got in this hidden arsenal of hers. I might not know what’s going on, but I’m a quick learner when it comes to my girl.
“Baby,” I exhale. “I don’t think you are.”
“You don’t know a goddamn thing about me, alright? You think following me around gives you all the answers? You don’t know . You haven’t been… here .” She stabs a finger into her chest. “You haven’t seen what I’ve fought like hell to keep out, and within one week, it’s all up here .”
Her finger jabs her temple so hard that I curse and lunge to grab her hands. A desperate cry rips from her, and she clings to me even as she tries to push me away. Emotions drown her, and her eyes plead for relief, still untamed but hers .
“It’s too much, Orion. I feel everything . I’m not me ?—”
She cuts off the last with a sob that absolutely guts me as she shatters against my chest.
“It’s okay. I’m here. You can talk to me. Just slow down.”
I try to wrap my arms around her, but she pushes me away.
“No, no, no, no .” Her tears spill freely now as she grabs the jug again and holds it to herself like it’ll protect her. From me, what’s inside, or both, I don’t know. I physically ache to comfort her, at a loss for what to do as she rocks back and forth on her feet.
“Don’t make me, please. If I talk, I feel. I can’t feel any more. I’ve felt too much. It’s too much, Orion, please ?—”
“Okay, okay,” I say softly, stepping back and trying to ignore the guilt hollowing me out. My heartbeat and thoughts race for ways to help her, when instinct answers loud and clear.
“Then we’ll dance instead.”
She starts at that. My heart pounds as I hold out my hand.
“May I have this dance?” I ask for the second time, more nervous than I ever was the first.
Her teary eyes turn skeptical, flicking down to my palm and back up again.
“You… you want to dance with me?” Her voice is so, so small, the uncertainty and hope in it splitting my chest open like a bloom through pavement.
My vow is strong, more sure than I’ve ever been. “I’ll always want to dance with you, little bird.”
Her glossy gaze sparkles as she shyly bites her lip. Then a slow smile tugs it free, and Luna Bordeaux takes my hand to dance.