CHAPTER FIFTY

Tendrils of white fog danced across my vision with the crack of my eyelids fluttering open. Spears of light invaded, and I nearly retreated back to that cool, dark place, but I pushed through.

Sterile was my first thought. Bright, was the next. The overpowering stench of antiseptic, pine cleaner, and recycled air prickled my nose and had me wincing.

"Welcome back, little sister."

I jumped at the sleepy drawl to my right. A machine next to me gave an equally startled beep. The weight of my head made lifting it impossible, but I rolled my eyes down to the familiar silhouette lounging in the seat next to my bed.

Cot?

I had no idea what this place was or why I was corded to a dozen machines, but all I cared about in that moment was the beautiful face peering at me with its familiar, cocky grin.

"Malcolm."

My brother rose and moved to take the spot at my hip. The hand pierced with a needle and taped was captured in his.

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Naya?" he said softly. "I got you out so you could be free, not strapped to a hospital bed."

Hospital.

I'd heard about them, but I'd never been in one before. I didn't like it.

"I wanted to call you," I rasped through what sounded like cotton.

Something was on my face. A plastic cup. Malcolm helped me pull it over my head, leaving the skin underneath itchy and tender.

"Oxygen mask." He said when I turned the thing over in my free hand. "Tell me what happened."

"Where's Thoran?" I said instead, concerned he wasn't there.

Malcolm arched an eyebrow, but gestured to my other side, lower near my feet at the dark head resting on folded arms, sleeping.

"That guy?" my brother teased. "I'd like an explanation for him, too. You got married?"

I had my own questions. So many, but I was so tired. All I could manage was, "I love him."

He squeezed my fingers lightly. "I guess it's a good thing I haven't run him over with my car then yet."

I tried to chuckle, but the sound was weak. "No, don't. He means everything to me."

"I thought that was me." He grinned down at me.

"You can both mean everything. I can love you both."

"In vastly different ways I hope," he gasped, feigning horror.

I rolled my eyes. "Of course. What are you doing here? What happened? How did you find me?"

Malcolm blew out a breath. "I have so much to tell you, but later. You should rest, and we'll keep this chat between us. Something tells me your husband will not be pleased he missed you waking up. He hasn't moved from your side in three days. Has been awake about that long." He paused before adding, "you both need a bath. No offense."

I made a grunt, but my eyelids were already sliding shut.

It was dark when I opened my eyes again, a different kind of feel had fallen over the room. A strange weight like nothing and everything was awake in the world outside my closed door.

My head turned to where I may have dreamed Malcolm sitting at some point. The way the lights had played in his golden halo of hair, he could have been a fevered dream. Why else would he be there?

He wasn't.

My heart sank a split second before I saw him at the foot of the bed, arms folded over a black T-shirt, head back against the wall. Sleeping.

He was there.

He'd found me and he was there.

The hot prickle of tears burned my eyes. The machine beeped excitedly. Loudly.

"Blue?"

My head turned towards the window and the silent shadow I hadn't noticed peering out into the night.

"Thoran."

He was across the room in two strides. I tried to raise my arms, but they were full of lead, so I lay there as he gathered me up. My face turned into the soft growth of hair along his jaw.

"Fuck, Naya," his hold tightened. His hand fisted in my lank, oily hair. "God, baby, you fucking scared ten years off my life."

He breathed me in, and I closed my eyes. Tears trekked down my cheeks as the memory of that night in the basement with Oliver came roaring back.

"Oliver..."

"I know. I fucking know everything." He pulled back to peer into my face. His was a mask of shadows and anguish. "I had no idea. I swear. I had ... I would never have allowed..."

I found the strength to lift my hand and touch his stubby cheek. "I know."

He grabbed my hand and pressed his lips to the palm. His bristles tickled my skin. His eyes bright in the dark burned into mine.

"I'm burning the house to the ground. All of it. We can rebuild from the ashes or let it rot—"

I put my hand over his lips. "You're not doing that. It's not cursed. It was never cursed. You're not cursed." I smooth my palm lightly over his cheek. "Your grandparents were terrible, awful accidents. They let the stories mess with their heads, and it consumed them. But your parents..." I hesitate, wondering if now was the time to tell him about his mom and Oliver.

I decided it was as good a time as any. I told him about his mom following Oliver to that room. Their argument. Her fall.

Thoran remained still, so still the entire time I spoke. He never even blinked.

When I continued with Elena, Constance, Anne, Penelope, and Danika, I felt him suck in a breath, but he didn't speak. By the time I finished, he was practically a statue staring through me.

"Nineteen years," he said finally. Slowly. Painfully. "He stayed in my home, sat at my table, acted like my uncle for nineteen years after killing my mother and making me believe I was cursed. That it was my fault all those women died."

Fury and heartbreak radiated off him in columns of heat I could feel burning through his clothes.

"I'm sorry," was all I could say as he blurred behind a wall of tears I couldn't contain.

He shook his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. I should be sorry. I brought you into this. I almost killed you so many times—"

I took his face between my palms and made him look at me. "Stop it. You have done nothing but protect me. You were kind to me when you had no reason to be. You took care of me, trusted me, believed me. You gave me a voice and let me speak when I've been silenced my whole life. You have thrown yourself between me and things that almost killed you more than I want to think about, and you never hesitated. You never let me get hurt. This doesn't count," I added quickly. "If you hadn't shown up, I would be dead."

He kissed me. His facial hair tickled my cheeks and lips, and I felt myself smile at the odd sensation of it against my skin.

Thoran raised his head. "What?"

My grin widened as I stroked the hair. "This is interesting."

His eyebrow lifted. "You want me to keep it?"

I shrugged, pulling him in to nibble on his bottom lip. "Kind of curious how it would feel—"

"Stop!" came a loud, desperate voice from the foot of the bed. "I can't fake sleep anymore. I'm awake. Stop talking."

Thoran met my amused giggle with his own grin. "Your brother is here."

I kissed him lightly. "I see that."

Both eyebrows lifted. "You don't seem surprised."

My nose crinkled. "I woke up a little earlier. You were sleeping."

His humor vanished. "Damn it."

"Told you he'd be upset," Malcolm said.

Thoran glanced back over his shoulder, expression annoyed. "I'm not upset."

I drew his face back to me. "I need you two to get along. For me. You're both my whole world and it would kill me if you didn't like each other."

Both men, both grown men, groaned and sighed, and muttered, "For you."

I smiled and kissed Thoran.

ONE WEEK LATER...

"I'm fine," I promised for what felt like the ten millionth time as Thoran scooped me up and carried me up the porch steps. "I can walk."

But I laughed as Malcolm opened the door and let Thoran haul me through.

"To bed. I'll have Cooke—"

"No! No more bed. I've been in bed for a week getting poked and prodded—"

"I can do different poking and prodding," Thoran teased.

"Ugh, my innocent ears," Malcolm groaned, moving to stand a further distance from us.

"No more bed. Can we go to the office? I miss the books and my favorite seat, and I can have some tea and finally hear how you found me," I shot a glance towards Malcolm, "and what happened to Jarrett."

The two men still weren't friends, but they seemed to have come to a tenuous agreement that they would be civil, at least around me. It was a small step, but I appreciated their attempts.

Thoran agreed, hauling me all the way down the hall with Cyrus and Malcolm following silently behind.

A fire was already lit in the hearth and a fresh, steaming tray of tea with my favorite banana, chocolate muffins sat on the coffee table.

I looked up at Thoran who quirked his lips. "I had a feeling you'd want to come here."

I kissed him. Hard.

God, I loved this man.

He sat me down on the sofa and filled a cup with my favorite rose scented tea, but I pushed to my feet when he tried to hand me the cup. Smiling at his confusion, I nudged him down into the armchair and crawled up into his lap.

"I said my favorite seat."

Thoran grinned and laced his arms around me as I snuggled into his chest and took my drink.

"Are they always this disgusting?" Malcolm muttered to Cyrus.

Cyrus sighed. "Worse."

I shot the pair an amused grin and motioned Malcolm over.

"Tell me everything," I said as he grudgingly moved forward to take the spot. "What happened after I saw you last?"

Malcolm snorted, flopping back. "Well, all hell broke loose. Mom and Dad were at some auction dinner when they were informed you were not in the car anymore. Mom was livid. I've never seen her so angry. A lot of things got broken that night. Dad just sat there like his entire world was over. They kept asking if I knew where you were. Honestly believed I would tell them. Brixton arrived the next morning and that's when the shit really hit the fan."

I listened with my chilled fingers stiff around my teacup. Thoran stroked my back over the soft material of my sweater. The warmth of his palm soothed me like the tea never could.

"Mom and Dad had tied everything they had to this wedding. I had no idea. That was the deal they made with Brixton. Everything they owned was placed on collateral until you walked down the aisle. A sinner's bargain. That's what it's called, apparently. When you didn't..." he trailed off with a little shrug. "He took everything. The house. The cars. The business."

I winced. "I'm so sorry, Malcolm."

An eyebrow lifted on my brother's face. "For what?"

"That was your inheritance. You were supposed to—"

Malcolm scoffed. "I hated all that investment crap. I never wanted to take over the family business. Besides, I already knew shit would go south quickly the second Brixton didn't get you. I knew he'd take Mom and Dad to the cleaners to pay back the money he'd given them." He gave me a little smirk. "I didn't just ensure your safety, little sister. I started my own ... business, I guess you can call it."

I stared at the man I knew ... thought I knew better than myself.

"You never said—"

Malcolm winced a little and shot Thoran a quick, sheepish side-eye. "It's ... not entirely conventional, and you always worried too much, and you had enough on your plate."

"Gray," Thoran corrected, not accusing. Amused.

Malcolm puffed out his cheeks and wrinkled his nose. "Unconventional."

The two shared a smirk I really didn't like, nor did I understand.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"Well," he rubbed a palm against the back of his neck, "while I was making you the go-bag, I realized I was pretty good at it. I started making them on the side for other people. Word spread and well ... I'm making pretty decent money."

"I've seen the bag you made Naya," Thoran said. "It's very impressive."

Rather than be grateful for the compliment, Malcolm scowled at me. "For nothing. Is there anything in there you actually followed?"

I winced and shifted in Thoran's lap. A little too hard, perhaps, because he groaned into my ear and squeezed my hip.

"Easy," he warned.

Oh, the temptation, but I behaved despite my body reminding me it had been a week since I'd tasted him.

"I ... I..." I tore my eyes off Thoran's delicious lips and focused on my brother. "I didn't get a chance to."

I told him about Wiley's pregnant wife and Taylen.

"He did what?" Malcolm practically leapt to his feet as I finished. "Oh, that motherfucker." He started rifling through his pockets and returned with his phone. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

"You're not going to find him," Thoran murmured so quietly, I nearly missed it.

Malcolm's head jerked up. He considered what he was being told and accepted it with a slow nod. "Well, I can't say I'm not disappointed." He dropped his phone down on the coffee table and sat back. "I'll be having a word with Wiley, too. Piece of shit never said a fucking thing to me about this."

I started to tell him Wiley had been nice compared to his nephew, when something else interrupted my thoughts.

"You've seen my bag?"

Thoran visibly winced. "I might have."

I gaped at his sneakiness. "That's how you knew I was lying."

"To be fair, you're not a very good liar, Nay," Malcolm defended.

"You're really not, love," Thoran agreed almost apologetically.

Unbelievable.

Vance stepping into the room saved me from hitting them both.

He'd visited me once in the hospital. He'd looked worn and drawn out even then. His usually gray hair seemed whiter and there were new lines etched around his mouth. Thoran said it was because he and Oliver had been friends, despite all the arguments, and Vance was shown the room with the barrels before Thoran had the whole place wiped clean and sealed up. As were all the passages. He never wanted anyone to see them again.

"Hi, Vance," I said, offering him a smile.

He inclined his head. "I don't mean to interrupt, the paperwork for the bookshop is officially finalized this morning. Elysium Plains is officially yours."

"What's this?" Malcolm asked, glancing at me.

"Thoran gave me his mother's bookstore. It's the most magical place, Malcolm."

Malcolm laughed. "Well, you certainly found the way to Naya's heart."

Thoran smiled and kissed the side of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "I hope so."

"Thank you, Vance," I said. "Would you like to stay?"

Vance shook his head. "I have other matters I must look into."

He left quietly.

My gaze met Cyrus's who stood still and silent by the door. "Please sit down," I told him. "You can't possibly be okay standing every second of the day like that."

He'd been outside my hospital room around the clock for a week. If he swapped shifts with someone else, I never saw it. I knew he often waited for Thoran from place to place, but this was extreme even for him.

"I'm fine."

I glanced pleadingly at Thoran. "Please make him sit."

"He's not a dog, Naya," Malcolm said.

"Go rest, Cyrus," Thoran said instead. "That's an order."

Cyrus hesitated, but inclined his head and walked out.

"Is he okay?" I asked once he was gone.

Thoran nodded. "He's angry with himself for letting you get hurt. He's made it his mission to watch over you now."

I stared. "He did not. None of this was his fault."

"Cyrus is built like that. His duty is to protect the people he cares about. He doesn't take it well if he fails."

"Well, I will be having a talk with him. That's ridiculous. He saved my life."

Thoran brushed his lips to my temple. "He'll be okay."

I sighed and turned to Malcolm who was still watching the door Cyrus had walked through.

"You never said how you found me," I said.

Malcolm blinked his blue eyes and faced me. "I heard him on the phone."

Thoran and I exchanged glances.

My brother grabbed a muffin and peeled back the wrapper. "I have his apartment, office, and car bugged." He took a bite of his pastry. "Last year, I told him I wanted to get to know him better since we're going to be brothers and all. Idiot let me spend the weekend at his place. Drove us around. Stopped at his office when I said I wanted to see where he worked. Everywhere we went, I left a little listening device. I wanted to know if he ever got wind of you." He took another bite. "A few nights before his attack, I overheard some woman ... Jenna? Jennifer?"

"Jeannette?" Thoran offered dryly.

Malcolm nodded. "That sounds right. She called but Brixton's secretary picked up and when Jeannette started asking for money, the message was ignored as a fake. Do you know this Jeannette person?"

I shifted and brought the cold tea to my lips.

"Unfortunately, but I'm taking care of her," Thoran answered.

Malcolm hummed. "She seems like a piece of work." He finished the muffin and dusted the crumbs off his fingers. "It was the call after that sparked my interest. Some guy named Oliver who claimed Naya Blackwell was living at Lacroix House."

"Oliver called Jarrett?" I whispered.

For some reason, that felt like the biggest betrayal of all. Not that he kidnapped me or tried to kill me. That he intentionally called Jarrett to get me.

"Gave him the address. Told him to come through the front gate. He had it all planned."

"Except it was a shitty plan," Thoran cut in. "His men barely stood a chance. It was embarrassing. Where'd he even find those guys?"

"That's because Brixton has no money." Malcolm poured himself a cup of tea. "His grandmother, who is still the head of the family, couldn't believe he'd given away millions of dollars for some girl's vagina only to humiliate the family by running off. Plus, she was already angry about his constant marriages and costly divorces, and the string of children he barely cares for, not to mention ridiculous spending habits. She cut him off from the family vault. So, he has nothing. Those men were the best he could do with whatever money he was allowed. I think he was hoping if he brought you back, his grandmother would forgive him."

"Where is Jarrett?" I asked.

Thoran brought a strand of my hair to his lips. "He's been dealt with. He will never hurt you again."

Did I want to know? Part of me maybe. The part that was curious to hear what Thoran did to Jarrett. But even then, I knew I didn't want the details. I didn't care. He deserved it.

Instead, I faced my brother. "If Jarrett got the house...?"

"The Brixton vault did," he corrected. "Grandmother Brixton wanted a return for the family investment. Everything taken had to be returned. So even Brixton doesn't have that money." He traced a finger against the rim of his cup. "Do you want to know about Mom and Dad?"

"No," I said before he could finish asking.

I did not feel sorry for Jarrett, or my parents. They destroyed my life. They hurt me in ways I would never recover from. They made it so my entire life would be at the service of a monster and for what?

Thoran slipped his palm up the back of my top and pressed lightly into my spine.

"I can help—"

I shook my head. "No."

He nodded once. His thumb traced the bumps at my lower back. "Okay."

"You might be happy to learn you're free," Malcolm added with a touch of humor. "Mom and Dad will not come looking for you and the Brixton family, the last thing they want is for the world to know their son bought an underage child to fuck."

I drew in a breath. "I just want to start my new life. The last twenty years no longer matter."