4. Sawyer
LUNA
Sawyer did a good job with Persephone’s dress.
I carry the torn scraps of fabric with my arms delicately positioned as if it’s her body I’m holding, rusted blood marring the white fabric. The frayed edges are a nice touch. If I didn’t know what really happened to the girl, I would believe she really was eaten by an animal.
Pausing outside my father’s study, I knock once before stepping back.
“Come in,” he slurs through the door.
I step inside without a word, quietly shutting the door behind me. My head bows as I present the dress. “This was all that was recovered… I’m sorry, Your Eminence.”
The leather couch squeaks as he sinks into it, a long sigh rushing from his lips, pelting me with the smell of whiskey.
“That’s disappointing.” Leaning forward, he snatches the torn pieces of cloth from my hand and tosses them to the edge of the sofa. It feels symbolic, though I don’t think he means for it to. Like he’s discarded Persephone as quickly as he acquired her.
I’m glad she’s gone.
“You were right.” He relaxes back in his seat, his foot lifting to rest on his opposite knee. “She was weak. And this is my fault. I should’ve forbidden her from going to the woods alone.”
“If you care for a girl like glass, she’ll become glass.”
“Care for her like stone, and she’ll become stone.”
Finally, I raise my eyes to find him staring at me with a small, sad smile. A man of strength who has no time to grieve. Or a sociopath who can’t bring himself to pretend.
“Is that what I did right with you?” He whispers as he looks at me in a way I used to think was love. Adoration. Pride.
Now… I don’t know what it is. Perhaps it is pride, but only pride for himself. Perhaps it is love, but only for what he has accomplished. He is Frankenstein and I am his monster.
He blows out a deep breath and rests his arm over the back of the couch. “You’re still angry with me.”
I lower my eyes once more and tense when he pats the cushion beside him. My heart quickens, the smell of wood polish intensifying. The reaction makes no sense—I’m far from surprised. I knew the price for his companion’s freedom.
But it’s been a long time since I’ve sat on this couch.
After a few moments of hesitation, I perch on the edge of the leather with my back straight. Father scoots forward to join me and pulls my hair off my shoulder to reveal my face. His hand reaches toward my swollen eye before retreating again.
“It was hard to watch you fight this evening… I hate to see you hurt.”
My eyes close. A sharp pain pierces my tongue as my canine digs a dent.
We’re pretending now. The bruises I knew he’d be sorry for are no longer his doing, but Alaric’s. Or mine.
Breathe slower.
“I know, Father… But the cause was worthy.”
“It sounded like you were challenging me.”
“No.” My head snaps toward him. “I could never challenge you. I was…” I relax my brow and let my head dip for a long moment, grateful for the strands of hair that fall. “I was trying to get your attention.”
I look him dead in the eyes and force my mouth to soften. Not too much. I am not an emotional creature, and he’s aware of that. But enough to stroke the ego he holds most dear. “I know I’ve been acting out, and I beg your forgiveness. I’ve just… I’ve been … lonely. Thorne is my mate, but he isn’t…”
“Me,” Father finishes.
I nod.
Father’s knee drags onto the couch as he twists to face me fully. “And I suppose Sawyer Hansley reminds you of me. The way Persephone reminded me of you.”
My stomach rolls, nausea lurching up my throat as my neck flushes.
Sawyer reminds me of no one.
No one but myself.
“Yes.”
His shoulders rise and fall before he looks off and combs fingers through his beard. My mouth feels dry, which is odd because I have the strong urge to spit.
“I’m sorry, my sweet.” He lets his hand lower only to raise it again to my shoulder.
He touches me softly, hesitantly, with one finger that he drags down my arm and back up again.
“I realize now that I’ve neglected you.”
“I forgive you, Father.” I hold perfectly still. It isn’t hard. My muscles seem to seize like they know what to do without my mind commanding them.
“Luna, my love… We’re alone. You don’t have to call me that.”
When his arm wraps around me and squeezes me to him, I close my eyes and hold my breath. His new scent is like a stamp on my brain. Frankincense. The smell of a man who fears aging.
He used to smell like wood polish and whiskey, just like his study. I think I hate frankincense even more.
I suck in when my lungs no longer humor my refusal for air, and I smell it again. Potent. Deep. Nauseating.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The whispered words brush my temple, a gentle sweep that spreads tingles to my ears. Goosebumps down my arms.
He pulls back my hair so he can press his lips to my neck. I angle it for him but don’t open my eyes.
“I’ve missed you,” he goes on as he guides me back against the couch.
I swallow. When the rehearsed lines spill from my mouth, they’re as sweet as rotten fruit—and taste just the same.
“I’ve missed you too, Daddy.”
His kiss on my neck dips to my collar bone while his palm slides over my stomach.
I open my eyes at his command and raise my arms so he can take off my sweater.
When he coaxes me to lay down, I obey without a word and point my gaze to his lone bookcase—the maneuver so automatic, it’s as if my body remembers the game as well as it remembers breathing.
There’s a photo of a young girl with blonde hair so fair you could mistake it for white and eyes bright and proud.
She sits on this sofa with her hands on her lap, and though she doesn’t smile, you can see the glee in her eyes.
This is her first time in front of a camera.
And her first time in her father’s study.
How incredible the feelings she was capable of. The way her eyes lit when he called her pretty, even for a demon girl. It was worth it to her, somehow. For years, it was worth it.
It’s hard to say when she died—the death was shamefully slow.
I don’t close my eyes again. It would be disrespectful. But while I wait for my father’s loneliness to be cured, I mourn the girl in that photo.
Silently.
With dry eyes and white knuckles grasping at the cushion.
When it’s over, and it’s time for me to find my voice, it sounds no different than when I arrived.
I bring up Sawyer’s money and his desire to reinitiate. Father agrees right away.
Until a replacement is found, my happiness is a priority.