Page 44 of Forged By Shadows

Wyatt moves so fast, a shriek escapes me. His arms crush me into him, all sense of gravity failing me. My back hits the wall, trapped beneath his muscle. Unable to touch the floor with my tiptoes, I wind my legs around his waist on instinct, and Wyatt’s hands on my thighs hold me there. Shorts were a terrible choice, after all. My core clenches.

“Wyatt,” I say too breathlessly. He refuses to look at me.

“I can’t have you like this.” His reply is spoken directly into my ear. I phase in and out, bringing a hand between us to trace the ink at his collar bone. It dips into the neck of his t-shirt, barring me once again from seeing the full tattoo. Fuck, I want to know what it is so bad. “I’m not allowed to have you like this.” Despite his words, Wyatt’s thumbs stroke my thighs. The belt on his jeans pushes against my center, giving me a false perception. I’ve had this dream; Garrett has all but forced it upon me.

Grabbing a handful of messy brown hair, I drag Wyatt’s head back to look at me. The hatred is still present in his green glare, but there’s more there. I can see it clearly now. His full lips are pressed together, his jaw ticking, but he’s not withdrawing.

“This…” Wyatt looks over my face. There’s no indication of him liking what he sees, but it strikes me fiercely with how much I want him to. “This will never happen again.” His hands retract as quickly as they lifted me. I drop to the floor, evidently sliding down his body. My hands don’t get the memo as they settle on his hips and my head presses against his chest. A harsh pounding beats against my ear, causing me to smile. Well, look at that. Wyatt has a heart after all.

Everything from then on is a blur. The punishing grip on my wrist, the room spinning. My bare feet grace the rough carpet of the hallway, a loud banging causing me to wince. Words float through the air as I’m thrown forward into another hard body.

“Deal with your mutt.”

Arms envelop me, just as muscled and firm as the last. Dax places a finger beneath my chin, bringing my face up to meet his.

“Oh, what did you do, Swan?” His piercing blue eyes are an anchor to the storm I got swept into. I was so close to breaching the center, to seeing Wyatt’s true intentions. On reflection, I didn’t need to see it. I felt it. The biggest grin spreads across my face as I sway into Dax’s hold.

“I got answers.”

Chapter Thirty Two

Ihaven’t seen Wyatt all day. Well, to be honest, I’ve barely seen anyone beyond the silhouettes through my cracked eyelids, passing me meds and water while we traveled the last leg of the journey. I spent most of the car ride spread across Dax’s lap with an eye mask on. To my credit, I only threw up on him once. Without him caring for me, there’s no way I would currently be sitting upright in this busy restaurant, just about ready to stomach food.

The restaurant is in the heart of a bustling city, and thankfully is packed tonight. Every table is filled with smartly dressed people of all ages, chatting and laughing over their meals. Amongst the masses, and given the table’s position off to the side, I’m visibly invisible to all who don’t know I’m there. Servers rush back and forth from the open kitchen, balancing plates of steaming food on their trays. The chefs work at a furious pace, and I welcome the distraction whilst wringing my hands in my lap.

“Darling,” Nixon’s voice rings out amongst the clinking of cutlery and noisy chatter. I smile at my adoptive father, standing to accept his hug. His salt and pepper hair is pushed back and his blue eyes hold a startling amount of clarity for his age. The waistcoat of his three-piece suit rubs against my cheek as our embrace lasts a few more desperate seconds, then I’m swiftly ushered back into the high bench seat. Nixon opts for his back to the door, his neck slightly hunched as if trying to shrink into the cushion.

With less caution and a whole load of new curiosity, I settle back in my comfortable jumpsuit. Sea blue and cinched at my waist by a fabric belt, the floaty material swishes around my legs. There’s a teardrop cutout in the bust, held in place by a halter-neck strap. Around my neck, I’ve taken great care in applying concealer to hide the faint bruising that lingered.

“You look beautiful.” Nixon attempts a smile. It falls flat. “Where is your brother?” I use the distraction of a waiter taking our drink order to hide my blush. Especially after last night, I don’t want to think of Wyatt as my brother ever again.

“He’ll be here soon,” I attempt to answer casually. As I meet Nixon’s searching gaze, I can only hope my voice doesn’t betray the fluttering sensation in my stomach. The sound of Wyatt’s words play on repeat in my mind, his searing green gaze as heated as the touch that had lingered on my skin.

I’m not allowed to have you like this.

“So, how is business?” I ask after clearing my throat. A feeble effort for some normality, but Nixon isn’t truly present. His eyes are darting everywhere, looking at everyone who passes. In the dimmed lighting at the back of the restaurant, his skin appears gaunt, cheeks slightly hollowed.

“Business is as fine as it can be,” Nixon responds, his gaze sweeping back to me. His smile is tainted with a hint of melancholy that had not been there a minute ago. “You know how cutthroat the corporate world is. But enough of that, tell me all about your schooling. Have you made some good friends?”

Opening my mouth, I close it again. My gaze travels over Nixon’s shoulder, over the booth’s high back. And there he is. Wyatt confidently navigates through the restaurant as if he owns the place. Brown hair gelled back, sharp jaw freshly shaven. The black ink swirls around his open top button. Deftly unhooking his jacket button with one hand as he walks, Wyatt slips into the role of the millionaire’s son with ease. This is why he was always asked to attend the award ceremonies and charity events. Being a cocky, charming bastard is second nature to him.

“Father,” Wyatt holds out a sharp hand. Nixon stands and shakes it, briefly patting his son on the shoulder. Seats are taken and I hold my breath, tightly pressing my ankles together beneath the table. Wyatt’s attention stays on Nixon, not bothering to even acknowledge my presence. “Did I interrupt anything?”

“Avery was just about to tell me how school is,” Nixon nods for me to continue.

“Um, yeah. It’s good, I suppose.” I sip my water. I hadn’t planned to get to the point so quickly, but the opportunity has presented itself earlier than expected. “But I really think I would be much better off returning to the manor. There are so many…distractions at Waversea. My education isn’t progressing anywhere nearly as quickly as it did with the tutors. And then there’s Counselor Lorna who doesn’t know anything about me and I have reason to question her client confidentiality.”

I shoot Wyatt a look but he’s only interested in the menu. Lowering my gaze to my own, I quickly decide I can’t stomach any of these rich dishes. Soup it is.

“You’re in the right place, Avery.” Nixon states, leaving no room for argument. Clearly he forgets how headstrong I can be.

“Can this be open for discussion?” The waiter approaches again, delivering our drinks and producing a small tablet in his hand. Wyatt asks for a whiskey, to which Nixon swiftly says no. Instead, he orders a bottle of red wine and my stomach rolls. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I order my soup and wait for him to leave before placing a hand on Nixon’s arm.

“Please Nixon. I spent a long time carefully constructing a cage around myself in the manor. It’s where I feel safest.” I try once more with a gentler tone. Nixon’s blue eyes soften, his hand covering mine. I know from the small incline of his head, I’ve got him.

Sure, I’d miss the guys, but their fleeting interest in me hasn’t changed anything. I’m a shiny new toy, something to play with. I still envision a future for myself where I can work from the study, dance in the ballroom, and be in total control of who enters my life and when. Besides, they could visit, if they wanted to.

“That’s a shame,” Wyatt comments, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “You’re supposed to be the prima ballerina at the Winter Showcase.”

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