Page 61 of Unveil
Challenge makes my lips purse, and I snatch the mug. This time when I drink, I hold his smirking gaze through squinting eyes. The taste is awful, but the warmth filling my veins isn’t unpleasant.
When I set the cup down again, my body shivers like a cold chill came over it, but my ankle doesn’t hurt at the movement. I frown, twist it gingerly, and shrug.
“Huh, gotta hand it to them. It does feel better.” I tilt my head, testing how far I can point my toes. “I barely feel anything at all, actually.”
“Annndthat’swhen you stop.” He snorts and slides the mug behind him. Then he hands me a blue glass bottle.
“Try this instead.”
I sip warily, but it’s pure, delicious water.
“Jesus, that’s refreshing.”
He laughs again, scooping more fish from the tin foil to set it on my plate.
“That’s spring water for you. Water ’round here’s ’bout as fresh as it gets, but I boiled it and strained it just in case.” He places my plate in front of me. “Here you go. Got the fish out for you.”
“Oh, um, thanks,” I mumble, my cheeks heating at his kindness.
His grunt must be his version of “you’re welcome,” and we settle into a comfortable silence. Forks lightly scrape ceramic, the fire crackles, and the storm rumbles overhead. The ambience allows my mind to drift, and with Orion so intent on his meal, I inspect my kidnapper.
The last time I saw Orion Fury, I was sixteen. I’d walked into my parents’ study to find Momma staring in horror at the TV with Dad beside her trying to comfort her in French. The documentary was titledWildes and Furys: The Appalachian Capulets and Montagues.The headline was dramatic, but Momma’s teary voice stopped any joke I might’ve made.
“The Wildes did this to them? How… oh my God, how awful. The oldest is hardly a year older than our babies.”
The exposé on the Wilde-Fury feud focused on the “King” branch, complete with their crimes and mugshots, then scanned a graveyard burned to a crisp with blackened headstones. The program skipped to a blurry panning shot, taken by a nosy photographer, and paused on the three King Fury boys leaving a hospital.
Two looked like mirror images, flanking a younger one with black hair streaked white at the front. He walked stiffly, like he had steel for a spine, and the boys helped him, one with hands wrapped in bandages. Two wore sunglasses, but I could still see the rage and anguish filling their faces.
The tallest scowled at the camera, jaw clenched even in the blur, a threat in his eyes. If the photographer got any closer, the boy would’ve no doubt murdered him where he stood. The hate in his expression was way too much for someone his age and left me shuddering.
It was like he was glaring straight at me, and I’d stared back like I knew him. Because… I did.
The fever dream from the Troisgarde family meeting when I was twelve flitted through my brain. My parents never talked about it, I certainly couldn’t admit I’d eavesdropped, and the Furys never returned to New Orleans. So I forgot, wiping it from memory like only children can.
But with the boy staring back at me through the screen, I remembered the curiosity and determination in those eyes as he flicked his knife open and closed, open and closed, before leading his mother out of the auditorium, protecting her.
“That’s him, isn’t it? Orion?” Momma whispered, pointing to the hate-filled boy. She shook her head. “It can’t happen, Sol. They can’t take her into that life. Use her as leverage. She can’t be their hostage.”
“They’ll take her over my dead body,ma muse. You can count on that.”
Finally understanding, I gasped. They turned, both their eyes wide, and Momma broke down.
They confirmed the pact was no fever dream, but Dad assured me it wasn’t something to worry about. Even though the Wildes and Furys were dangers to themselves, no one could touch me in New Orleans.Hewas the most dangerous man in the South, the Phantom of the French Quarter, dead set on protecting his princess. I believed him. My father could do no wrong in my eyes.
And yet, here I am now. Alone in the stormy wilderness with the very man I was told wasn’t a threat.
But as I eat the food Orion cooked for me, drink the water he gathered for me, and wear the shirt he used to cover me, I can’t help but wonder if he’s a threat at all.
Don’t let him fool you. He kidnapped you, for God’s sake.
I blink away from him, and a flash of silver under a net near the stove catches my gaze. My eyes flick to Orion, who’s still focused on eating every last tender piece of fish. I slowly,casually,stretch my arms down my legs to hold my healthy ankle with one hand and sneak my other under the net, inching toward the knife handle?—
It’s snatched away from me, and my body snaps up like a rubber band. “Hey!”
He smirks, effortlessly rolling the knife between his fingers. “You thought I’d let you stealmyknife right under my nose?” He tsks. “Come on, you’re smarter than that.”
I grumble, “A girl’s gotta try. I’m Sol Bordeaux’s daughter. If you think I’m gonna skip down the aisle over a little fish and some water, you’ve got another think coming.”
