Page 25 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

Chapter 25

Ghosts Love Flutterbuns

BELLE

" T hey’re…adorable." Cute aggression is becoming a very real problem as the flying rabbits with tiny horns fly around me, and I have to fold my hands into my stomach to keep from catching and squeezing the bajeezus out of all of them at once.

"They’re a disaster," Dominic snaps, his voice tight with irritation as he reaches up to shoo a particularly bold bunny-like animal off his shoulder. "And now they’re everywhere."

The creature chirps indignantly before flapping off, its wings brushing his cheek.

I cover my mouth, but it doesn’t help to suppress the giggle that escapes me. "What are they?"

Dominic glares at me, his jaw tightening, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes as he watches me try to compose myself. He swipes at the one on his shoulder but it swoops out of reach, letting out an indignant chirp before darting to a nearby bookshelf. "They are called flutterbuns."

One of the lighter-colored animals lands on my arm, its tiny claws tickling my skin. I lift it closer, marveling at the softness of its fur and the delicate veins that thread through its wings. It nuzzles against my cheek, and my heart squeezes to the point of pain.

"You’ve got to be joking," I murmur, stroking its tiny head. I might have dissolved into uncontrollable laughter at hearing that ridiculous word slide out of my husband’s mouth if I weren’t being so careful not to startle my new friend.

"I assure you, I’m not. They are creatures from the Midnight Realm." Dominic exhales sharply, the sound more resigned than angry now. "They weren’t supposed to get out."

"How could you possibly keep these little babies locked up?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Because they breed like. . .well, rabbits. They are illegal to have in this realm, and now that they’ve been released so unceremoniously, they will chew, claw, and nest in every little crevice of the house. Fae lords help us if they escape to the outside." Then he mutters something under his breath before striding toward the open door. "Help me get them back inside before they get the notion they own the entire house."

It takes longer than I expect with the flutterbuns fluttering just out of reach as if playing a game. Eventually, most of them settle back into the room, their tiny bodies clustering on shelves and ledges like living ornaments. Though I saw several of them swoop down the stairs and out of sight.

Hope that’s not a problem like Dominic predicts. . .

Dominic ushers a few stragglers through the door with a low growl, and I can’t help but notice how careful he is not to hurt them, despite his irritation .

Once the hallway is finally clear, Dominic pushes the door shut behind us with a decisive click, locking us inside. He drinks in the room with a pained expression as if it hurts to be in here.

It’s a bedroom, or it was once. The walls are painted a soft lavender, faded now with age. The furniture is delicate, feminine—a canopy bed with sheer curtains, a vanity cluttered with dust-covered trinkets, a bookshelf crammed with old, well-loved volumes. Many of the titles are YA romances I recognize.

The flutterbuns flit around the room like tiny guardians, their presence somehow less chaotic here. Tons of cat towers have been brought in as perches and the little holes are clearly the little animals' favorite nesting spots.

Dominic sinks onto the edge of the bed, his shoulders sagging under a weight I can’t see. Little chirps precede an explosion of three flutterbuns escaping from under the bed.

"This was my sister’s room," he says quietly, his voice rough.

My laughter at the indignant creatures from under the bed dies in my throat as I step closer.

"Lisette wanted to be a veterinarian," Dominic continues, his gaze fixed on the floor. "She was always bringing home injured animals—birds, groundhogs, even a wild turkey once." He shudders at the memory. I can’t imagine the kind of girl who thinks bringing one of those thuggish birds indoors is a good idea.

"She had this. . .fierce need to save things. Nobody could stop her when she was determined to nurse a little creature back to health. She was a lot like you," he adds, finally looking up at me. "Stubborn. Opinionated. Impossible to control."

I glance around at the swarm of flutterbuns perched on ledges and furniture.

"Thank you," I say sincerely, taking a few steps to close the space between us and sit on the bed next to him. I’m barely settled before one of the flying rabbit-like creatures lands in my lap. I stroke the impossibly soft fur, and the flutterbun settles into a little loaf-like posture of relaxation, wings folded on its back.

"Did she bring these little guys home too?"

He pauses for so long, I wonder if he plans to answer at all. "No," he finally answers. "I was the one who found them—on the black market—injured and malnourished. The moment I saw that cramped cage with them shoved inside, I knew my baby sister would love and care for them like no other."

I want to ask where his sister is, though the abandoned room, the way Dominic regards these walls—as if they were haunted—and the slow icy drip in my stomach tells me the answer is far from a happy one.

Lisette is not away at college or on vacation as much as I’d love to believe that.

"So I’ve been keeping them contained in her room," he continues, as if trying to regain his composure, "feeding them, trying to keep them a secret. If anyone found out. . . " He trails off, his expression hardening.

"If anyone found out, what?"

"They’d destroy them," he says flatly. "They’re considered pests in the Midnight Realm. Dangerous pests."

I look down at the flutterbun on my arm, its tiny fangs peeking out as it nibbles on the edge of my sleeve. "They don’t seem very dangerous." The pad of my finger follows the curve of the tiny horn to its pointy end before stroking the fuzzy ear. I suppose the fangs and horns could do a fair bit of damage, but when a second flutterbun creeps up on the other side of me, nudging me with its tiny nose, I think whatever destruction they cause would have to be instantly forgiven.

"They’re not," he admits. His gaze drops to the creature in his hands. "Not really. But they’re illegal, and that’s all the justification some people need."

Another flutterbun lands on Dominic’s knee, its wings folding neatly as it snuggles into the fabric of his pants. He strokes its head absently, the motion tender despite his earlier irritation.

"She would have loved these little terrors," he says, his lips quirking into a small, sad smile.

Loved. Past tense.

The tenderness in his voice is startling, a stark contrast to the gruff, irritable man I’ve come to know. I swallow the lump in my throat, unsure of what to say. I want to ask so badly but I muscle down the question. "I mean, we just met, but it’s hard not to instantly love them.”

For a moment, we sit in silence, surrounded by the quiet rustle of wings and the ghosts I can almost feel brush against my skin in here. When I can’t take it any longer, the question building, an unstoppable bubble, I stand. The flutterbun on my lap flies off as I cross to the other side of the room.

My fingers trail over the delicate carvings of a young woman’s vanity.

"What. . .happened to Lisette?" To your pack?

I expect anger, rage, wrath, and all associated emotions that would have him avoid telling me. Still, I couldn’t stop myself.

"I was late, again ," he begins to my surprise, his tone brittle and raw. "Flying in from New Avalon after conducting business. Lisette hated waiting, especially on her birthday. Seventeen."

"I was going to make it up to her. I got her something special." He closes his paw and human hand around the fawn-colored flutterbun, lifting it up. The creature snuggled into his massive palms with all the trust in the world. It makes me wonder if they are naturally friendly or if it’s been Dominic up here, socializing them.

My husband always seems so unmovable, so unstoppable. Yet there’s a fragile edge to him now, like the weight of the memory is too much even for him to carry.

With a little toss, the flutterbun catches air, flapping up and up to the ledge of molding that borders the entire ceiling.

"But I was late." His throat bobs as he swallows hard. "When I got to the restaurant, I left the cage of neglected animals in the car. The building was on fire."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My breath catches, but I stay silent, waiting for him to go on.

"My whole family was there," Dominic says, his words cracking. "Cousins, uncles, aunts—a massive celebration." He stops, his jaw clenching so tightly I hear his teeth grind. "I felt it before I even landed, like my body was tearing apart. Molecule by molecule. Something was wrong, and I ignored it because I thought it couldn’t be that bad. But when I got there. . . ."

He was too late.

I have to remind myself to breathe. Even the creatures around us seem to have stilled in deference to what he’s sharing.

"I ran into the wreckage. Flames, smoke—I didn’t care. I thought maybe. . .maybe I could save someone." His fingers flex like they want to rip something apart—his own skin, the past, anything. "But it was too late. They were all gone."

My feet are rooted to the spot, my body tense with his pain.

"Anti-Were zealots," he snarls, his glowing eyes meeting mine for a moment before darting away. "They left their fae hate scrawled on the walls. Mongrels don’t deserve mercy. Animals belong in cages, not in cities. "

I wince at the horrible sentiments. Though it’s not the first time I’dve heard some of those words said, though certainly not from anyone I associate with. Even where I come from, power is power, no matter what shape it takes. There was a begrudging respect for fae creatures at the very least

"When I found Lisette, she was riddled with silver bullets.” He stares past me, past the room, eyes unfocused as if still seeing the bloodstained walls. "Her blue birthday dress was soaked in blood. And she was. . .arched over something. Our little cousin. He was five." He swallows hard, his chest heaving. "She tried to shield him, but the bullets that killed her went through her and directly into him."

A gasp of horror escapes me even as my hand flies to my mouth. The backs of my eyes sting as my eyes blur, hot tears escaping down my cheeks.

His raw agony seeps into my bones, lodging there like a splinter I can’t remove. I want to say something, anything, to bridge the gaping chasm between us, but my throat constricts around the words. I’ve faced cruelty, seen pain, but this? It’s a grief so profound it’s almost a living thing wrapping around him, suffocating us both.

Dominic continues to stare up at the flutterbuns overhead, eyes glazed over and distant .

"She never even got to see them," he murmurs, his voice soft but bitter. "But I kept them, nursed them to health ,and they multiplied. She would’ve loved that."

I don’t know what to say. The flutterbuns seem to sense his anguish has reached a peak. They flutter around the room, their wings stirring the air with little flaps. One lands on his shoulder, nuzzling against his neck as if to comfort him, but he doesn’t react.

"I moved my bedroom across the house after that," he says. "Away from their rooms. Their ghosts are still here. Their laughter. Their voices. Their silence. Every damn day."

Dominic lifts his gaze to meet mine then, his expression dark, his animal eye glowing fiercely in the dim light.

"But I hunted all of those bastards down.” He rises slowly, a panther uncoiling from the underbrush. There’s something final in the way he moves, something that says the past is still bleeding under his nails. "Every last one of them. The men who did it. They begged for mercy." He rises to his feet, stalking toward me in steady strides. "They tried to escape, offered me money, even their own family members, in exchange for their miserable, worthless lives. One tried to claim someone else hired them to do it. But I ignored their lies and manipulations as I tore their cowardly spines out of their throats."

Yet again. He wants me to be afraid. I can feel it in the way he looms over me, the way his claws flex at his sides.

But I’m not.

I hold his gaze, my pulse racing. His grief is palpable, but so is his rage, his hatred—for those who hurt his family, for himself, maybe even at me, standing here and witnessing it all.

"You avenged your family," I say quietly, refusing to break eye contact. "You didn’t just let it go. That doesn’t make you a bad man, Dominic. It makes you human."

This I understand. While I don’t agree with most of the things instilled in me from childhood, this one I understood. I may read romance. I may be independent and run my own business, and as much as I rise above the nasty comments I’ve had to endure about my weight or the disgruntled customers who take out their unhappy lives on me—there is a point where nothing less than an eye for an eye will do.

His expression twists into something between anger and disbelief. "I’m not human," he spits. "As I stood among the corpses of my family, I transformed into this." Even as he says it, his fangs lengthen, muscles stretch and swell, fur and hair bristle. The sound of creaking and cracking bones is audible. The flutterbuns explode up in the air in a flurry of wings, retreating to the farthest corner of the room as if sensing danger is near.

"And now here I am, everyone dead but trying to start over with you. Trying to make a new pack with a woman I forced into marriage, yet still I am this." His fervor rises as his body continues to contort and stretch in ways that sounds and look painful. "Perhaps I’m damned. Who could ever form an attachment to a beast like me?" As he says it, the words dip and grate as if he’s turning into a monster before my eyes.

My feet are glued to the spot. I’m pinned by his story, his pain, and his loneliness.

"I’m so sorry, Dominic. And I’m here," I say as I reach for his hand. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know why we aren’t making a pack, why our time together hasn’t been enough to let him shift back.

Before I can touch him, he jerks back. "Don’t," he warns .

Like the night at our wedding, I can see he’s on the precipice. Pain, both internal and external, is pushing him to the edge. Would he hurt me? Hurt the flutterbuns? Destroy his sister’s room?

Strangely, I’m more worried about him than me. If he loses control in here, I already know he’ll regret it.

Instead, he steps back toward the door.

"I’ll see you at breakfast," he mutters, his mismatched eyes flicking to mine for the briefest moment before he turns away.

The door swings shut behind him, its final click like a gavel striking judgment. The air feels heavier, charged with his past, his pain. I sink onto the edge of Lisette’s bed, my fingers digging into the thick comforter.

What kind of man carries that much grief and still finds the strength to try again?

And what kind of woman would I be to refuse him the chance?

A terrifying thought occurs to me.

To make a pack, does he need someone to love him?

Because of all the things I’d do for my father, for Dominic, I don’t think I can give him that.