“Enough.” Their father glared at them all. “I’m tired of waiting for you three to rise to the family name. You call yourself Cullravens but I only see a layabout, a pushover, and a charlatan.”
“Which one am I?” Odessa wanted to know.
“I think you can guess,” said Cal. “You’re the only one who sleeps past noon.”
“I’m not a fucking pushover,” Ben snarled.
“Then act like it. Rein in your wife instead of leaving your younger brother to clean up your messes.” He turned back to Cal. “Write the letter. Now. We don’t want her family involved.”
Rael was quiet as he took all of this in. He was familiar enough with Cal’s family that he knew how bad it would be for the Harnoix if his father thought they knew too much.
The chatter from the bar and the sounds of the nearby arcade were loud enough to drown out their conversation from curious passerby, but he still measured his response carefully. He took a sip of beer and swallowed. “What did you do?”
“I wrote the letter.” Cal smiled sardonically. “Inviting her here.”
A woman like that would assume the worst if told to stay away, so he poured on the charm like a spider trying to coax a reluctant fly into its web. He was irritated when she hadn’t responded, even though that was exactly what he’d suspected would happen and it was what his family wanted. Ben caught him writing the second letter and rolled his eyes as he read over his shoulder.
“I don’t think that’s quite what Father meant when he told you to scare her off, but far be it from me to critique such unorthodox, but effective, measures.”
“Hadn’t you better see to your wife?” Cal responded, without looking up. “Or have you forgotten why I’m doing this in the first place?”
He had stormed off, then, and Cal was sorry as it occurred to him that he might not be the one to bear the brunt of his brother’s tempers.
“It’s better this way.” Rael’s voice broke into his thoughts, shattering them like brittle glass. “You come from two separate worlds, and her sister is already married to your brother.”
“She writes poetry.”
“Of course she does.”
“There is no crueler kiss / than a soft bloom made harsh by thorns.”
Rael rolled his eyes. “Very pretty.”
“It’s called Winter’s Ravishment.”
“Stop stalking her. She’s no game of yours.”
“But one I feel compelled to play regardless. She doesn’t even try to hide. The poor fucking thing thinks she wants to be ravished.”
“So did her sister.”
The words fell like river-chilled stones into the silence.
Because that was exactly how Ben had found Noelle in the first place, by looking for women in the sorts of online forums people went to when they wanted to feel a little disrespected.
He thought of Nadine’s restless gaze and how every time they had locked eyes, he had felt the pull of it like a magnetic charge strumming the iron in his blood.
She would come to me, he’d thought, except she hadn’t. He was alone.
And when he and Rael finished their drinks, he was still alone when he returned home.
The house was poorly insulated and no amount of curtains or shutters could keep out the heat that reached in through the southern windows like a grasping hand. He left his window open but sometimes, like tonight, he still woke up in a sweat with the stale taste of rum on his tongue. More than once, he had gone to his window and leaned out, letting the lake-chilled breeze roll down his back just to feel a touch that wasn’t his own.
His bedroom window looked out over the bronze statue in the central courtyard. The figures were positioned away from him, pointed toward the wood, but as a child he had imagined the grind of stone as Caledon Cullraven’s first wife turned back like Lot’s wife, to face the accused.
Lower thy honor and raise thy blood.
Beside him, the bridal suite was silent. Perhaps Noelle had finally decided to embrace the dagger poised at her throat. It would go better for her if she had.
