28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

N atalie

My heart is pounding so loudly I can barely hear myself think as Fury and I stand on the porch of my childhood home. It's been years since I've set foot here. The only time I've seen my father since he admitted what he did was recently, from a distance, at Mom's funeral. We didn't exchange a word.

Fury's hand is warm and steady in mine, a lifeline in the churning sea of my emotions. But I can feel the tension thrumming through him, the tightness in his shoulders and the clench of his jaw. This isn't just difficult for me. Of the two of us, I imagine this is harder on him than me. It's a confrontation with his torturer, the man who oversaw unspeakable cruelties against him and his kind.

"We don't have to do this," he murmurs, his thumb stroking my knuckles. "We can leave right now. Just say the word."

Tempting. So tempting to turn tail and run, to bury my head in the sand and pretend the past doesn't exist. But it's time to face this, to lance the festering wound once and for all. To bury the past so I can face the future.

I look up at Fury, taking in the fierce protectiveness in his eyes, the unwavering support. He would walk away in a heartbeat if I asked, no matter the personal cost. He needs this too—needs to face the demon that's haunted him for so long.

"I'm ready," I say, surprised to find I mean it. "I've got a hundred-pound bag of shit I need to get rid of. Let's do this. Together."

He nods, squaring his shoulders as if bracing for battle. And in a way, I suppose that's exactly what this is. For both of us.

I nervously smooth my hands over my dress as we wait for my father to open the door. He looks older than I remember, his hair more silver than brown, his face lined with new creases. But his eyes are the same—cool, assessing, always picking apart and quantifying.

"Natalie." He doesn't sound surprised to see me, just vaguely inconvenienced. Then his gaze slides to Fury, and something dark and ugly flashes across his face before he can hide it. "I see you've brought… company." If I hadn't just heard it, I wouldn't have imagined anyone could pack so much disdain into that small, three-syllable word.

Fury stiffens beside me, a low growl rumbling in his chest, his eyes narrowed to slits. I squeeze his hand, a silent plea for patience, for restraint. He takes a deep breath and settles, but I can feel the coiled tension in him, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

"This is Fury," I say evenly, meeting my father's gaze without flinching. "My partner. And yes, he's here because I invited him."

A muscle tics in my father's jaw, but he steps aside, gesturing stiffly for us to enter. "I suppose you'd better come in, then."

The house is just as I remember—pristine, elegant. Now that Mom is gone, it's utterly devoid of warmth. We settle on a couch in the living room, Fury a comforting presence at my side, his thigh pressing against mine.

My father sits across from us, crossing his legs, the picture of practiced nonchalance. But I can see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his mouth .

Taking a deep breath, I steel myself. "I'm here because of what you told me all those years ago. About your experiments on the Others."

His face shutters, going carefully blank. "I thought we'd settled this, Natalie. My work was necessary not just for the advancement of science, but for the protection of our species."

"No!" The word bursts out of me, harsh and raw. "No, it wasn't necessary. It was cruel. It was a violation of every ethical standard on the planet, devoid of every shred of human decency."

He scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. "You're being dramatic, as usual. Those creatures aren't human. Look at him. Fangs, dog ears, a tail. They're animals. Less than that. They invaded our country. They don't deserve the same considerations—"

"They're people!" I'm on my feet, my hands balled into fists, shaking with the force of my outrage. "They think and feel, just like we do. They love and laugh and mourn. And you tortured them. You cut them open and broke them apart, all in the name of your twisted curiosity."

My father's face reddens, his composure slipping. "How dare you judge me? You have no idea the pressures I was under, the stakes at play…"

"I don't care!" I'm shouting now, hot tears stinging my eyes. "There's no excuse, no justification for what you did. You're my father. I'm supposed to look up to you, be proud of you. But when I look at you now, all I feel is disgust. No. Not just disgust. Shame. I'm ashamed to be related to you."

He recoils as if slapped, his mouth working soundlessly. For a moment, I see something like contrition in his eyes. But then it disappears, replaced by cold, unyielding conviction.

"Then I suppose we have nothing more to say to each other." He stands stiffly, straightening his cuffs. "You've clearly made your choice. I hope you can live with it."

I'm shaking, my throat so tight I can barely breathe. This is it. The moment of truth. The point of no return .

I turn to Fury, my rock, my anchor. He meets my gaze. Although my dad's callous statements must have killed part of his soul, somehow his eyes shine with pride and love and absolute, unwavering support for me.

In that moment, something shifts inside me. A fog lifts to reveal a truth I've always known but never fully acknowledged.

I am not my father's daughter. Not anymore. Maybe I never really was.

I am my own woman—strong, compassionate, principled. I know what I stand for, what I believe in. And I won't compromise that for anyone. Not even him.

Squaring my shoulders, I face my father one last time. "I'm finally living for myself, not for your approval or expectations."

I reach for Fury's hand, twining my fingers with his. "This male? He's my family now. Him and the life we're building together. And if you can't accept that, if you can't see past your own prejudice and narrow-mindedness… then you're right. We have nothing more to say."

For a long, stretching moment, my father stares at me. Shock, anger, and something possibly close to grief war across his face.

But I don't waver. I meet his gaze, unflinching, letting him see the steel in my spine, the fire in my heart.

"Goodbye, Dad," I say softly. "I hope you find peace someday."

He doesn't deign to speak a word, just makes a dismissive sound in the back of his throat.

I turn to Fury. "You must have emotions bottled up inside you, even older than mine. It's obvious he won't listen, but do you want to say them anyway?"

He pauses for so long, I wonder if my dad has stalked out of the room, but when I glance over, he's still there, looking dismissive and beyond over this conversation .

"Nothing to say. I'm an animal , remember. Actions speak louder than words."

He grips my hand and we both rise. As I take a step toward the door, he releases his grip, reaches to his fly, and whips out his cock. Did he drink a gallon of water to prepare for this? Because he's pissing on my dad's couch, and it's going on for long moments.

A moment ago I was vibrating with anger and now odd, inappropriate laughter is bubbling out of my mouth. My love, my wolven, is sprinkling his tinkle on every couch cushion, the carpet, and the seat my father just vacated.

Dad is sputtering, wordless and insulted, yet he's giving my male a wide, terrified berth. Fury is quite in control of the situation, maintaining a low, threatening growl, fangs bared as he marks his territory in my dad's pristine living room.

When the last spritz peters out, and he gives his cock one final shake, he turns to me, smiles, and asks, "We done here, babe?"

"We're done."

We're almost to the door when I turn to find Dad still looking at me, shocked into silence.

"And dad? Not that I expect you to change, but if you ever want to see the little wolven pups Fury and I are going to create, you'll not only have to apologize. You'll have to grovel."