“A child who learned the wrong prayers,” I say, reaching into the warm wax and lifting the charm free.
It’s a warning that no matter where we are, she will always be there. It’s a reminder that she’s coming after what is mine and she’s not afraid to let me know it.
The mansion I bought for my little fox sits on its throne at the top of the hill. If Cressida was a house, she’d definitely be something dark and mysterious with ominous gothic vibes. I bought it straight away. Also, because the fucking realtor kept trying to sell me something with white columns that made me want to commit a crime on principal. After describing my Cressi to her, she thoughtwhitewould be perfect? She should be punished for such a slight.
The caretaker meets me at the gate with the keys. “Had some . . .occurrences since we signed. Doors closing. A smell of smoke in the small hours,” he says delicately, as if those would deter me from taking the keys from him.
“Good.”
He blinks as his hands freeze against the doorknob. “Good?”
“She’ll love it.”
We walk through the halls as he tells me the back story of this place. The floors beneath our feet protest in a language that belongs to history books. In the library, the fireplace eats wood with the appetite of a beast that remembers winters when people had no choice but to feed it furniture.
I stand in the doorway and see her the way I do even when my eyes closed. Chin lifted, eyes full of defiance, throat full of laughter. She’ll claim this place the same way she’s branded me.
“Do you want me to set up security?” the caretaker asks.
“No. I will have my men come in and do what needs to be done. Keep an eye on the property until I bring my wife home. Anything happens to this place and I will take it personally. Understood?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“If there is anything you need, reach out to me or Misha. Until then, this place will remain a surprise for Cressida.”
“Understood.”
I glance over my shoulder one last time at the place that I will call home with my wife before blending into the night to head back to the war room.
“Port decoys set. We swapped two reefer boxes with our own empty and wired ones. She wants product in the night, so she’ll send men. We’ll greet her with our own and send them back to her with fewer parts.”
Cressida’s satisfaction purrs at me through the bond, telling me that she’s proud of herself. Today was her fitting, so shemust have found something perfect for her. I send her back a possessive touch. One that won’t make her stop what she’s doing, but one that lets her know the wall at her back is a man with a knife who loves her.
“You’re doing that face again,” Misha says. “The one where you’re smiling without actually smiling.”
He statement doesn’t require a reply, so I don’t give him one.
“Sleep,” I tell him.
“You first.”
“I will sleep when I’m dead,” I reply.
Misha chuckles and moves toward the door. “Call me if that happens.”
“If I get dead, I’ll be sure to phone you from hell,” I say dryly.
His footsteps fade and the war room hums in the quiet as I go back to studying all the plans laid out in front of me. I’m not leaving anything to chance when it comes to Cressida. It’s not something I will take pleasure in, this is home, but I will burn it to the ground if I need to in order to save her.
She knows that too which is why she made the deal with me about the clinic. She’s the only person on this planet that I can trust to treat my threats like promises and my promises like oxygen.
Someone knocks on the door. It’s not Misha’s rhythm or a soldier’s code, so I slide my knife from the holster at my side and grip it in my hand as I make my way to the door.
The door swings open after I tell them to enter and a boy with a shaved head and a scar across his mouth stands in the frame, holding a bakery box. His hands shake so hard the box nearly slides from his hand.
“From a lady,” he tells me, his eyes on his shoes. “She said to tell you to have your little party. She will be sure to bring the candles for the cake.”
“Open it,” I order.
