Yeah. Rory gets that tonight. For the rest of the night, he owns me. Like he’s won me as his prize, his possession. Cause he fucking earned it. And they didn’t.
Jude gapes at me, his brows creased in concern. “Babydoll?”
I read all their confused expressions and huff, “Morons.”
Sizing up Rory, Vincent steps forward, muscles bulging, fist on the verge of rising. “What the hell did you do to her?”
“He said,I love you,” I tell them.
Seth’s jaw drops. Vincent and Jude turn to each other, flabbergasted.
“Yeah. He said it.” I stab out my chin, giving them my best dirty, filthy fucking glare of contention. Rory throbs inside me. “And none ofyou jackassesdid.”
“Come on, Briella.” He steps toward the door, holding me strong with one arm and giving the others a mock salute with his other hand. “I’m taking ye to the woods to learn just how much ye love my cock.”
He pauses only for me to meet Raphael’s gaze. I don’t glare or sneer at him. Because I know he’s the only one who will never speak the words. The only one who never needs to. He’s a hunter, a killer, a psychopath. His signature is inscribed inside the scar on my limping leg. We will never exist in any sphere, any definition of the word “love”.
Regardless, I’m his slave, his Queen, their Queen. And I’ve accepted that, surrendered to it.
But tonight, I’m surrendering to everything else with Rory.
So, I swipe the cap right off Raphael’s head, secure it on mine, and tell Rory he better make good on that “bow-legged” vow.
A FEW DAYSLATER
Rory won’t shut up.
Ever since he blurted outI love youlike a lovesick himbo, he’s been insufferable. Strutting around the Christmas nursery like he owns me. Smirking. Winking. Smacking my ass every chance he gets. I’d hit him if I didn’t secretly like the attention.
When he grabs a big handful, I swing around this time, hand primed to strike. He catches my wrist, kisses my palm like he’scharming. “There’s my Firecracker. Maybe we can make our own fire between the trees over there.”
I giggle. I always end up giggling. I gave him an inch. He’s more than a ruler. He’s a fucking Scottish king lounging on a throne.
Ugh. I’m a menace to myself.
But today? I feel good. Stronger than I’ve felt in weeks. The cold air fills my lungs, and the scent of pine and cinnamon makes my chest ache with a stupid kind of happiness. I’m walking mostly on my own. The limp’s still there, but I’m not letting it stop me. Not today.
Jude and Seth brought me here, into the city, a couple days ago…for the first test of more walking without my splint. Seth loaded up on winter necessities: a new gas-powered generator, medical supplies, portable heaters, and heavier clothes for me. Even a big vacuum sealer for Rory, so he can stockpile everything from the greenhouse as I keep bringing it to life.
I know I should take it easy. Everyone keeps telling mego slow,don’t push,watch your leg,especially Jude, but I’ve been cooped up too long. I need this. Need the lights. The music. The decorations.
The Christmas spirit makes me feel lighter, like I could sprout fairy wings.
Vincent watches from the edges. He’s loaded up the cart with whatever I want. He never talks much, but I always feel him. Quiet strength. Like he’s guarding me, even from the shadows.
Every time I glance his way, he’s already looking. Hoodie half-zipped under a worn jacket, eyes dark, mouth unreadable. Always unreadable. But there’s heat behind that stillness. Always is. Like he’s holding something back just for me.
I’ve had my time with Rory, purging the bad blood until nothing was left but burning blood.
Jude and I had our moments in the shower that first day.
Seth and I? The time when he tied me to the woodpile and introduced me to his tools.
Raphael and I have moments every damn day. He’s demanding. All it takes is a crook of his finger to summon me. Sometimes, I think he does it just to watch me limp toward him, taking pride in how he’s scarred me forever.
And still…I obey him every time.
I’ve bonded with all of them in different ways.
