Page 68 of Whispers of Fire

He swallows hard. “Tell me everythin’, I wanna know exactly what happened’.” His voice is blank, like a soldier ready to fight.

“I had doubts,” I write. His eyebrow lifts slightly but his gaze deepens as he looks at me like he’s expecting a confession. “About him, about the community.” I lower my head, ashamed to admit it. He lifts my chin with his index finger, forcing me to face him.

“Told ya before, none of that with me, Angel.”

I exhale deeply, letting the tension leave my body.

It’s Vox. I’m safe. He would never leave me in distress. He cares about me, that's why he wants to know.

“It didn’t sit right with me, knowing he bought guns from your club.”

Vox nods slightly, “Go on.”

So I tell him everything, from the cold laugh of the Shepherd, to the talk about staying at home with his children, and me running away to hide in the library. Vox's chest is heaving when I finish and the knuckles of his hands turned white. Fidgeting next to him, I bite my lips, avoiding his gaze.

“Angel?”

I shake my head, still looking down, ashamed of myself for admitting this.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” His voice is low and raspy with a tint of softness.

God, these nicknames will be the end of me.

“There’s more you’re not tellin’ me.” It’s not even a question, more of a statement. His blue eyes piercing my soul.

Taking the pen, I write, “He said he would take me in his bed, whenever he wants to.” Letting the pen fall on my lap, I rest my palms on my eyes, hiding beneath it, wanting to bury myself under the couch and disappear.

I’m not allowed to talk about those matters with anyone. I shouldn’t bring this up with Vox. But then again, I shouldn’t even be here in the first place.

Vox doesn’t say anything, his body still like a statue, his chest heaving so loud I wonder if he’s having a sort of panic attack. Then his voice echoes in the room, his tone harsh and distant, making a shiver run down my back.

“When’s the fuckin’ wedding?”

Vox

Any man who touches my angel has a death warrant hangin’ on his head. But a man who claims her in this sick twisted way is in for a fuckin’ treat. He won't know mercy or forgiveness. I’ll torture him for days, sewing back his wounds to stop the bleedin’, lettin’ him feel his body die slowly, painfully until there’s nothin’ left but pieces of flesh spread around the room.

I hope I’ll get the opportunity soon.

“At the end of the month. Last Sunday during the morning service.” Less than a month. So fuckin’ short.

“What time exactly?” I need to know every fuckin’ detail.

Furrowing her brows, she writes, “Why does this matter to you?”

Damn, I don’t know how to tell her. Despite it all, I need to know those details cause there’s no way in hell I’m lettin’ her go through with it. I’ll fuckin’ take her with me when she’s at the altar if I need to. Don’t give a fuck about her folks or her so called community. They don’t deserve an angel as pure as her. Don’t know when I got my mind around it, but from the moment she told me about this wedding joke, I knew I wouldn’t stay and watch the show. Only, I don’t know how I can tell her that when on they other side of my life stands Ares and his fuckin’ order to move to the other side of the country.

“Everythin’ you do matters to me,” I say in a shaper way than I wished for. “Fuck, Rose, a month, that’s basically tomorrow.” Runnin’ a hand in my hair, I watch as heavy tears falls on her cheeks, her lower lips tremblin’ and her gaze locked with mine with an intensity that takes my damn breath away.

Don’t cry, Angel, I’m right here.

Called her Rose a few time this evenin’, as if I was tryin’ to put distance with her even if it felt like the most unnatural thing to fuckin’ do.

“Plea-se don’t…” she tries to say, but I stop her, watching her throat ache like someone’s chokin’ her.

“Don’t ya dare hurt yourself for me, Angel.” She scribbles something fast, then hands it to me.

“Please don’t leave me alone.” My heart hammers in my chest at her words.

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