Page 62 of Unveil

“Good.” His lips quirk. “I love your willful side.”

Wings flutter in my belly, and I use that willfulness to squash them. “You won’t love it when my dad finds me. He’s going to killyou. If not him, then my brother will.” I smile gleefully. “Ifnothim, then my friends. Hell, my momma might even get in on the action. There’s no way I’m marrying you, so whatever your plan is, call it off. Take me back to my dad now andmaybeI can convince him to make it painless.”

He nods thoughtfully, unfazed, as he points at me with the knife handle, the blade in his palm like it’s no big deal.

“See, that right there? That’sexactlywhy my father arranged this marriage. Our families need one another to defeat the Wildes and the fucked-up branches of the Fury family tree once and for all.”

My breath stalls in my lungs. Why his familyneedsme.

I’m leverage, like Momma said. Everything he’s doing is to force me to be their hostage so my father will fight by their side.

My chest aches at the thought, but I harness the reality. It’s easier to remember he’s the enemy and why I’m here in the first place.

I shake my head. “My mom told me the Wildes and Furys have feuded for generations. Why now? Why are the ‘Troisgarde daughters’ so special?” I ask, putting air quotes on the ridiculous name other families and societies call Brylie, Lucy, and me.

His lips thin as he sets the knife behind him and continues eating, answering between bites.

“Things have escalated again. It’s been quiet for six years, but a Fury murdered a Wilde mother unprovoked. The victim’s son killed her murderer, rightfully so. It should’ve ended there. The Wildes had exiled the boy’s family years ago for other reasons, but we’re all the same when it comes to grudges. The Fury he killed belonged to a northern branch that’s got their hands in every government pot they can. The rest of us wouldn’t take a dirty cop’s hand if it was saving us, but they slip cash inside instead. Even though the Wildes didn’t claim the boy, they still got all up in arms when he got sentenced to life. That’s when the feud sparked up worse than ever.”

“Jesus. No wonder they’re after you.”

“The King kin had nothing to do with it, and trust me, we haveeveryright to call life for life,” he scolds, then gentles while stabbing the trout mercilessly. “But no one cares about who deserves what anymore. No one even remembers how this war started.”

“Yeah? Well, the Bordeauxs know exactly how we were dragged into it.”

Orion doesn’t take the bait, only eyeing me. “You know, I was gonna do this the right way. Win my bride over by dating the girl I couldn’t stop wanting instead of”—he twirls his fork at the cabin again—“all of this.”

I snort, trying to play off that those foolish butterflies are back. “So what changed?”

“You started dating a Wilde.” His jaw tightens. “Not just any Wilde. Bossie Wilde’s kin. You may hate me for how things went down, but if I hadn’t stepped in, worse would’ve happened. Worsedidhappen when they drugged you.”

I wince, and resolve fills his voice.

“They won’t touch you again. King taught us to protect our wives to our deaths. That’s what my brothers and I are gonna fucking do.”

I swallow and hug my knee, tugging his long shirt over it. “This is too much. I just want to be free.” Then I add the lie, “Idon’t even want to marry anyone.”

He shakes his head, eyes softening at the edges.

“Yes, you do. I know what you want, and I’ve seen the way you look at your parents. You idolize them and the way they love each other. You can have what they haveandfreedom.Ican give you both.”

I bite my lip, then meet his determined gaze as I whisper, “You have no idea what I want.”

Even as I say it, memories rush in. My favorite flowers, our dance, the way he touched me like he needed me…

Like he can read my mind, a knowing smile lifts his lips. “I know you better than you do, little bird. We established that the first time we met.”

I shiver and glance around to think ofanythingelse, taking in the little room. The shine shack, as Orion called it.

I frown. Sure, spider webs cling to the corners and the worn floorboards have seen better days. But the cot’s comfy, the iron stove heats my skin, and moonshine and dinner warm me from the inside.

“Seems kinda rude to call it a shineshack,” I murmur idly.

His head tilts before he looks around the room. “But… it is though?”

I shrug. “Seems more cabin-ish to me. A shack doesn’t feel like a home, ya know? This room is small, but it’s got ‘home’ potential.”

Something flickers in his eyes, then he asks in a thick, velvet tone. “This feels like home to you?”