2. Leia

Chapter 2

Rage.

So much rage I could barely contain it.

So I focused on staying as still as I could so it didn't escape and fill entire rooms with its scorching heat and the accompanying ice-cold hatred of Francois. Those two emotions consumed me, tasting sweet and bitter on my tongue, and tangling my insides into twisted knots. They made it hard to breathe.

So I focused on just that one thing. Drawing breath. Occasionally, Nic spoke, but he couldn't see my struggle to breathe, didn't know the fight to fill my chest.

Eventually, another thought began to pulse through me, throbbing like a second heartbeat.

Revenge.

I saw in color. Just one color: red. Red blood as it sprayed through the air and coated me in warmth. Red blood as Francois ripped my father's throat out. Red blood as it dripped from Francois's fangs as he revealed them with the madness of his smile.

Red when I closed my eyes and tried to forget. Like the whole scene was seared onto my brain, and I couldn't escape it as it played like a movie behind my eyelids over and over again.

I sat in the back of Nic's limo and watched the scenery flash by as Jenkins effortlessly handled the vehicle, keeping the ride smooth as always. But this ride was nothing like the first journey I'd taken with him, when my eyes had been round with wonder and fear of a one-month contract with a stranger.

Now, everything had changed.

I knew too much. The world I'd believed in no longer existed. It had dropped away to reveal monsters.

And now I wanted to be one, too, because the only way to kill a monster was to become an even bigger monster.

Nic left his hand lying in the space between us, but I ignored it. I didn't want a connection with him right now, didn't want to touch anyone, in case I lost my self-control. I didn't even look at him, but he looked at me.

Often.

And he sighed quietly when he did.

I turned to face out of the widow, blocking him out. But I didn't really see. I no longer cared to see anything. I'd seen too much.

My vulnerabilities had been revealed in spectacular fashion—but also the threat I posed to everyone in life merely by existing and remaining human.

And Nic wouldn't turn me. That thought festered in my gut, growing hot and making bile rise to my throat. It was what we both wanted, so to deny it was just… I almost glanced at him but I remained strong. To deny us both was just fucking stupid.

And Nic's reasons were sounding more and more like excuses. It wasn't as if I didn't know what I wanted—I'd been making adult fucking decisions for myself for a hella long time. After Mom died and I picked up the slack with Dad, I made our decisions, and I was the only one I could depend on.

I curled my fingers into my palms, pressing little crescent moons of anger into my skin with my fingernails.

Maybe it was time I wasn't so swept up by Nic. Perhaps I needed to start depending on myself again and making more decisions for myself. Like the old days.

I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead to the glass, letting the vibrations from the movement of the car wash over me.

When the movement changed and the car slowed, I looked again, noting the approach of Nic's house. He'd said he'd bring me home but here we were. His home. A place I'd even started to think of as my home, had thought of that way just days ago, hours really. But I wanted my space now. The quiet, the memories.

My heart squeezed as an image of Mom flashed through my mind. I'd let her down too because I hadn't been able to look after Dad. What would she think if she was able to see the way he'd been torn apart while I stood there doing nothing?

Jenkins drew the car to a stop, and small stones crunched under the tires as we rolled gently into position at the foot of the steps. Mr. Baldwin and Mrs. Ames stood by the open front door, Mr. Baldwin looking expectant and pleased at the arrival of Nic, Mrs. Ames wringing her hands in her usual fashion when something wasn't quite right in her world.

I didn't care anymore. Nothing was right anywhere, and hand-wringing wouldn't fix any of it.

Chef stepped from the door, but even his unusual appearance didn't actually interest me. Nic appeared at my door and opened it before offering me his hand to help me from the car. I almost ignored that too, but then I took it, barely curling my fingers around his.

This was just the most efficient way to get out of the car. It had nothing to do with wanting his touch.

Nic drew me to him anyway. Mrs. Ames bobbed into what looked like a small curtsey as we passed, and Mr. Baldwin definitely gave a small bow. They both spoke, but I tuned out the noise, keeping my head straight, my eyes forward.

Part of me almost gave into the guilt of ignoring them; Mom hadn't raised me to be actively rude. But I couldn't engage. I just couldn't. Not when I still had so much unspent rage burning a hole through me from the inside out.

It would only take someone being too kind—a sympathetic look or a concerned word—and I'd crumble completely. I couldn't afford that kind of weakness right now. I couldn't be so vulnerable. Francois was still out there. I couldn't lose my focus under an all-consuming weight of grief.

"My room tonight." Nic glanced at me as he spoke, and I looked at him before quickly looking away again.

We slept in my room, in my wing, never his. His whole wing was out of bounds still. More by unspoken word than anything he ever said anymore, but still.

Tonight, he wanted to be in his room?

"I think you need a change of scene. Something, anyway." He sighed and shrugged.

I didn't reply, but I inhaled deeply as we entered Nic's wing and the scent of him filled my lungs. The familiarity of being so completely surrounded by him started to unravel some of the tension coiled in my chest, and I wasn't sure if I was relieved or not.

He pushed open the door to his bedroom and I followed him inside. It was undeniably masculine, with dark woods and dark soft furnishings. I almost laughed as the phrase black like my soul echoed around my head.

Nic's masculine, spicy scent hung even heavier in the air here, and it surrounded me like a hug, like I was coming home. The curtains were already closed, and several lamps burned low, offering a warm glow to the room.

But I didn't really feel anything. The welcoming feeling of the room dissipated quickly, and my numb haze returned.

Nic was infinitely gentle as he led me to the bed and sat me on the edge. He peeled off my clothes almost in slow motion, and although the urge to be more active echoed weakly through me, I didn't act on it. He dressed me in soft, cozy pajamas with equal care and showed me to his thoroughly modern bathroom before helping me into his large bed.

His scent was even more tantalizing here, and I closed my eyes as I breathed him in once more. Fabric rustled close to me. The comforter moved at my back as the mattress dipped and Nic pressed himself to me, his arms draping loosely over my waist.

I squeezed my eyes tighter, willing back tears. I couldn't let the emotion out—I had to maintain control and focus on my goal. Even as I lay perfectly still, Nic began to relax behind me.

"Nic?" My voice was hoarse as I whispered his name, and he tensed, immediately alert again. "Will you turn me?" I held my breath as I waited for his reply.

Maybe now that we were home, he'd reconsider.

He cleared his throat, which was an obvious stalling tactic. Nic never needed to hesitate before giving a reply.

"No." His whisper was the softest I'd ever heard his voice, filled with regret and a touch of longing.

I bristled anyway, irritation spiking through me and stirring my pulse to beat faster. "I just don't get why." The words were clipped with anger as I spoke them.

Nic nuzzled softly against my neck, and his sigh was a mere whisper over my skin. "I've already told you why. I wish I had a better answer for you, or that the circumstances had changed. I know my answer isn't what you want to hear."

He pressed his lips against my skin, the touch a question and a need.

I arched away a little, normally ready to give him greater access but my thoughts were too clogged tonight.

"I can't," I said. "I can't let you love me tonight. I just can't."

My voice nearly cracked on the last word because my inability to accept love was overriding my need to surrender to it.

But Nic merely pressed one last kiss to my neck and drew back, his hold relaxing over my waist once more. "Sleep well," he murmured.

As his breathing slowed, my eyes began to flicker shut almost against my will until they finally refused to open again, and my only awareness was of Nic silently at my back, protecting me with his presence as he always had.

Then I wasn't even aware of him any longer.

"Leia," my dad rasped from a booth in The Pour House, and I looked up, shock icing my veins.

"Dad?" What was he doing here? "But you… But you…" I didn't finish. I couldn't.

He grimaced and swigged his shot of bourbon then held out his glass for more.

I arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

He simply nodded and moved his glass even closer.

I sighed. Perhaps dead Dad was as much as an asshole as the alive Dad I'd lived with since we lost Mom. I poured him a small measure of bourbon, and he huffed.

I topped it off—what did it matter now? He was dead.

He downed the shot in one and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Maybe I wasn't the greatest of dads."

I scoffed as I wiped a rag over the bar, the habit ingrained in me after so many years standing in this exact spot. Then I met his eyes and sighed.

"No." Then I hesitated and considered my next words. "But hell, Dad. You used to be. You used to be my hero."

I focused again on the warped woodgrain in front of me while I blinked back sudden tears at all the memories of my childhood.

When I glanced toward the window, I could see straight into the gardens of my childhood, the way Dad had thrown me up onto his shoulders and taken Mom by the hand as we walked down to the edge of the water.

"What went wrong, Dad?" A tear escaped to slide down my cheek, and I couldn't look at him.

"She died." He sounded so broken, and I looked at him then. He was watching the scene outside, too, his eyes on Mom as she laughed at something he'd said.

My heart ached for those days. We'd all been so fucking happy…

"She left me." He spoke so quietly that I strained to hear him. "Everyone leaves."

Anger trampled my grief. "You fucking gambled me away, Dad," I ground out.

He looked at me, his eyes wide. "I didn't… I wouldn't have…I didn't mean…"

I sighed and shook my head, already tired of this version of Dad. The one outside, the one happy and in love with Mom and his life and his family… that was the Dad I clung to. The one I'd never been able to bring back to me after he lost himself in alcohol and gambling.

And then he'd lost me.

Fuck. I swiped my rag over the bar again, wiping up the tiny wet dots my tears left as they landed. I missed those happy days. The Sunday dinners where Mom would invite friends and the house would be filled with laughter, and the quiet family times where only we three had mattered.

It had been like only the three of us existed sometimes. And it had been so fucking good.

I poured Dad another shot. Maybe Dad had been an asshole, and maybe he didn't deserve my devotion, but I was still his daughter, and I still needed to avenge his death. Francois had stolen all hope of ever recovering my dad, and I needed to ensure he suffered for that.

It would be the last thing I could do for my dad. For Mom. For the family we used to be.

As Dad lifted the shot I'd poured to his lips, he began to fade, and I returned my attention to the scene outside, watching as the glow of the setting sun eclipsed my view of my family until all that remained were the memories.