Her mouth twitches, like she’s either holding back a concerned smile, or trying not to yell at me. But her voice stays flat. “This feels worse.”
Itisworse. Phoenix is a different kind of predator. The kind that thrives in daylight, wearing linen and smiles. But I can’t drag her into this. For the last near decade that I’ve been doing what I do, I’ve kept my sisters innocent of it all. I have no plans to change that.
“I can handle it,” I say, sharper than I mean to.
“I know.” And she says it with such calm certainty it rattles me. She studies me for a long beat, then adds, “I just want you to be careful, Willow.”
It’s the way she says it—low, deliberate—that makes my stomach twist. Because it’s not just “don’t get hurt.” There’s an undertone to her words, and they feel like a probing question. Like maybe she knows there’s something darker going on, something bloodier. But I’ll never admit it. Not if it means I can keep my sisters in plausible deniability.
Before I can answer, Iris lifts her chin toward me. “That post. The one with you and him.”
My pulse jumps. “You saw it?”
“I’m not online the way you are, but it’s kind of gone everywhere.” She shrugs like it’s nothing, but her eyes say she’s cataloging every variable. “I mean, it’s been obvious who Lucky is. I mean, he gave you tickets to his show. You texted me his picture that one night. ‘For safekeeping.’ It all clicked pretty fast. But I can’t imagine this is good publicity for him.”
Of course it should be obvious to Iris who Lucky is. All the pieces were there. But still, it makes me nervous now that she’s said it out loud. “Lucky has some serious reasons why he keeps Saint Shade’s identity under wraps. You’re not…”
“Going to tell anyone?” she raises an eyebrow at me. “Of course not. His secret is safe with me.”
“Are we talking about Saint Shade?” a voice singsongs from down the hall.
Of course. Opal drifts in barefoot, wearing a gauzy floral dress. Her hair’s braided with little ribbons, and she’s holding a heaping bowl of cereal in one hand.
“When did you figure it out, Willow?” she asks, plopping into a chair with zero grace. “I mean, you had to be pretty excited. You drool all over your phone every time one of his videos pops up.”
Iris snorts. “She’s got you there.”
“I never drooled,” I retort, even though I probably did. It’s amazing Lucky doesn’t wake up every morning soaking wet from me panting over him. “But seriously, Opal. I need you to keep this quiet. It’s important.”
She looks up at me with those bright blue eyes, the only physical tell that we’re related. “Don’t worry, sis. We’d never spill. Not unless someone literally tortured it out of us.”
Iris deadpans, “And even then, I’d make them work for it.”
“Exactly!” Opal beams like she’s already proud of herself. “Lucky’s secret is safe with us.”
That’s when Lucky walks back in, catching just enough of the exchange to freeze in the doorway. His eyes flick from Iris to Opal to me, suspicion plain.
“You told them?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t have to. You kind of gave it away when you sent me the Saint Shade ticket and a limo and then started showing up at my house all the time.”
For a second, Lucky just stands there, and I can feel the tension rolling off him. He’s built his entire life around hiding. And now the Vale sisters have his number.
But before he can spiral, Iris says evenly, “You’re family now. Which means we protect you. Simple as that.”
Opal nods enthusiastically, pointing her spoon at him. “Yep, welcome to the madhouse. You love Willow, so we love you. No take-backs. Our lips are sealed. Promise, Lucky.”
And then, like the endcap, Grandma wanders in from the hallway. She sits directly on Lucky’s boots, tail curling around his ankle protectively. She stares up at him with unblinking eyes.
Opal grins. “See? Even Grandma has your back. You might as well change your last name to Vale now.”
Lucky blinks, floored, and for once doesn’t have a comeback. Just this raw, quiet look—like he’s realizing, maybe for the first time, what it means to beaccepted.
Grandma sits on his boots, purring like she’s sealing a contract in blood, and Iris and Opal are just… waiting. They’ve already decided he’s one of theirs. The only question now is whether he can handle it.
Finally, he clears his throat. His voice comes out lower, rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “You don’t… know what that means,” he says, looking between the two of them. His jaw flexes, like he’s wrestling the words. “I haven’t had anyone call me family in over a decade. And when I did, it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t… safe. Not like this.”
Opal grins like a loon, thriving on the chaos of sharing love. “Well, tough luck. You’re stuck with us now.”
