13. Talon

13

TALON

TWENTY YEARS OLD

One month later…

I watch Lena from the shadows, my eyes never straying far from her delicate form. She moves through the house, her steps light and graceful, even as she carries out the endless chores our foster parents assign her. I can see the strain in the set of her shoulders, the weary resignation in the downcast tilt of her head. But beneath that docile exterior, I know there burns a fierce determination.

Lena may play the obedient foster child, but I’ve seen the small acts of rebellion: how she lingers too long in the bathroom, savoring each rare moment of solitude, and the defiant tilt of her chin when Mrs. Wilson berates her. And I can’t help but admire her spirit, her refusal to be broken by the cruelty of our surroundings.

It’s that same stubborn resilience that draws me to her. I should keep my distance to avoid the inevitable pain of caring for another human being. But Lena...Lena is different. She’s a beacon in the darkness, a fragile yet unyielding light that calls to the deepest, most primal part of me.

So I watch, and I wait, and I plan. I’ve learned to navigate the shadows, blend in, and observe without paying attention to myself. And slowly, methodically, I begin to insert myself into Lena’s life, offering her small, unexpected kindnesses.

A stolen chocolate bar was left on her pillow. A gentle touch that lingers just a fraction too long when I pass her in the hallway. Subtle glances that convey an unspoken understanding, a silent promise that she is not alone in this hell we call home.

I know my actions confuse her, that the contrast between my harsh words and these tender gestures must seem jarring. But I can’t help myself.

So I continue to lurk in the shadows, watching, waiting, biding my time. Because one day, Lena will understand. She’ll see the depths of my devotion and my love’s ferocity. And when that day comes, I’ll be there, ready to claim her as my own.

The shrill sound of Mrs. Wilson’s voice grates on my nerves. For some unknown reason she’s calling us down to dinner, even though we never have dinner together. I brace myself, steeling my expression into an impassive mask before heading to the dining room. The sight that greets me makes my blood boil. Mrs. Wilson’s friends, the Collins family, are here. A perfectly coiffed couple with sickly-sweet smiles plastered across their faces. And beside them, their son. David.

I study him through narrowed eyes, taking in the arrogant set of his broad shoulders and how his gaze lingers a little too long on Lena’s curves. He’s exactly the type of entitled prick I despise—rich, cocky, and undoubtedly used to getting his way.

But the calculating gleam in Mrs. Wilson’s eyes truly sets me on edge. I’ve seen that look before how she sizes people up and makes her plans. And as her gaze flits between Lena and David, the realization hits me.

They’re trying to set them up.

Lena’s only just hit the legal age of consent in Massachusetts, and they’re trying to set her up with a scumbag like David.

A low growl rumbles in my chest as possessive fury claws through my veins. How dare they? How dare they parade Lena in front of this pompous asshole as if she’s a prize to be won?

The darkness swirls within me, an inky, viscous thing threatening to consume me whole. My fingers curl into fists as I fight the urge to lash out and tear this charade apart with my bare hands.

Because Lena is mine.

She may not understand the depths of my obsession, but that doesn’t change the reality of its existence. It’s why I’m still living under the Wilsons’ roof. Why I’m handing over half my paycheck to an asshole who spent years beating me, and now that I’m too big for him, he has turned his attention to Lena when I’m not around. From the moment I first saw her, a scared, vulnerable girl thrust into this hellish existence, she became the center of my universe.

Mrs. Wilson’s grating voice cuts through the tension like a dull knife. “Lena, David, you two probably have so much in common. Why don’t you sit together at the table?”

She gestures for Lena to sit beside that smug bastard, David. I can see the hesitation flicker across Lena’s delicate features as she eyes the empty chair. Her lips part, no doubt to protest, but one stern look from Mrs. Wilson has her mouth snapping shut.

Glowering at Mrs. Wilson, she hesitates and places her hands on her hips. When she doesn’t sit, Mr. Wilson moves to stand and she immediately sinks into her chair, the fear of what he might do driving her. But I don’t miss how her shoulders hunch inward ever so slightly, bracing herself. Nor do I miss the way David’s gaze rakes over her petite form, his eyes lingering on the gentle swell of her breasts beneath her modest sweater.

Rage surges through me, a white-hot inferno that sears my veins. How dare he look at her like that? Like she’s just another pretty little thing to be leered at and devoured. Lena is no one’s plaything. She’s too pure, too precious for the likes of an arrogant prick like David Collins.

I dig my nails into my palms to keep from launching across the table and wiping that look off his face. The sharp sting of broken skin does little to dull the anger coursing through me.

David leans closer, his bulky frame practically dwarfing Lena’s slight figure. “So, Lena,” he drawls, his voice dripping with an arrogance that makes me want to vomit. “I hear you like reading.”

Lena tenses and her knuckles whiten as her hands clench. “I do, yes.”

“That’s cute.” David chuckles, the sound grating on my ears. “You could read me a bedtime story sometime.”

The implication in his words is clear, and bile rises in my throat. I can see how Lena shrinks away from him, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and discomfort.

Anger and something else, something darker and more primal, swirls within me. I have this all-consuming need to protect her from people like David. My fingers itch to reach across the table and wrap around his neck, to squeeze until that lecherous grin is wiped clean off his smug face and he’s no longer breathing.

Instead, I remain still, my body taut as a bowstring as I watch the scene unfold. Lena may not realize it yet, but she needs me. Needs someone to keep the monsters at bay, to guard her light from being snuffed out.

And I will be that someone. No matter what it takes, I’ll ensure her safety and happiness, even if it means embracing the darkness within myself and giving in to the twisted desires that churn in the depths of my soul.

Because Lena Graves is mine. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone, especially some entitled prick like David Collins, lay a single finger on her.