Page 36 of Fated Wings
“I can explain—”
“There is nothing to explain.” Hershel stepped fully through the portal, which shimmered and vanished behind him. “You’re coming home. Now.”
Behind Newt, bedsprings creaked as Vaughn shifted his weight. The sound sent a spike of panic through him. His father couldn’t know about the bond. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Father, please, just listen—”
“I’ve heard enough.” Hershel’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Newt’s wrist with bruising force. “We’re leaving.”
Pain lanced up Newt’s arm as his father’s grip tightened. The bandages Quinn had so carefully applied last night pressed into raw skin, and he couldn’t suppress the cry that escaped his lips.
Everything happened fast after that.
A snarl ripped through the room, primal and terrifying. Vaughn moved with predatory grace, one hand clamping around Hershel’s throat before the older fae could blink.
“Let. Him. Go.” Each word dropped from Vaughn’s lips like stones into still water.
After a heartbeat that stretched like taffy, his father released Newt’s wrist. His hands flew to his neck, eyes bulging with shock.
Hershel’s face flushed purple, hands scrabbling at the fingers cutting off his air supply.
Vaughn’s hand remained exactly where it was.
“My son,” Hershel wheezed, “is not mated to a mutt.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Vaughn’s expression went dangerously blank, the kind of calm that preceded violence.
“I’m getting real tired of being called that.” His fingers flexed against Hershel’s throat, not quite tightening but making the threat clear.
Newt’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was spiraling out of control faster than one of his botched spells. He needed to do something before Vaughn snapped his father’s neck like a twig. Not that the idea didn’t have a certain appeal, but murder would complicate an already complicated situation.
“Vaughn.” He placed a hand on his mate's arm, feeling the tremor of barely leashed violence beneath the skin. “Please.”
For a moment, nothing changed. Then Vaughn’s grip loosened, though he didn’t step back. Hershel gasped, gulping air like a landed fish.
“You dare lay hands on me?” His father’s voice came out rough, but the outrage was building again. “I am Hershel Twistboots of the Unseelie Court, and you are nothing but an animal!”
Wrong thing to say. Really, spectacularly wrong. Newt watched Vaughn’s jaw clench, the muscle jumping beneath stubbled skin.
“Stop.” The word came out steadier than Newt felt. “Just…stop calling him that.”
Hershel’s gaze snapped to Newt, disbelief etched in every line of his face. “You’re defending this creature?”
“He’s not a creature.” Heat crept up Newt’s neck, but he forced himself to meet his father’s eyes. “He’s my mate.”
Silence dropped like a theater curtain. Hershel’s mouth opened and closed several times, no sound emerging. When he finally found his voice, it came out strangled.
“No. Absolutely not. I forbid it.”
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in Newt’s chest, bitter as burnt coffee. “You forbid it? It's already done, Father. The bond is complete.”
Understanding dawned in Hershel’s eyes, followed swiftly by rage that turned his face an alarming shade of red. “You stupid, selfish boy. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The marriage contract with the Silvermoon family—”
“I don’t care about the contract.” The words felt like breaking free from chains he’d worn so long he’d forgotten they were there. “I never asked for it. Never wanted it.”
“What you want is irrelevant!” Spittle flew from Hershel’s lips. “This is about our family's future, about rising above our station!”
“Your station,” Newt corrected. “Your ambitions. Your dreams. Never mine.”
