Page 75 of The Vixen

Fuck him.

Fuck her.

Aiden says nothing to me as we walk back to Aurelius’s mansion. It’s so awkward that I’m convinced he caught at least pieces of that conversation. Or he just knows how to read a room.

When I’m inside, I pull off the jacket and go about searching for a bug. It’s well hidden, tucked inside a loose stitch, so it takes me a half hour to find it.

I hold it up in front of me before tucking it back inside the jacket.

She can listen for a while longer.

CHAPTER 19

LUNA

I’ve been dreading dinner all day.

Holed up in the dark cave that has become my bedroom, my bloodshot eyes glue to my computer screen. But my mind is—yet again—elsewhere.

The clock in the right hand corner of the screen shows I’m already four minutes late, but with a slow blink, it blurs. I could almost forget about it. Except…

Father.

Liberty.

Thorne.

And Sawyer, all in one place.

Best case: Sawyer makes no comment about what we did last night. Thorne doesn’t erupt. Liberty stays quiet. Nobody cries.

Worst case: Liberty calls my father a pedophile. Sawyer agrees. I have to kill them both. The Shadow Sanctum slowly dies.

When a knock sounds on my door, I startle in my chair. But I don’t know why I should be surprised, as if Father could forgive my absence. This dinner can only be my personal punishment, another lesson in my futility—last night’s tirade deemed unsatisfactory.

I check the time—7:06. Six minutes late.

My hand trembles as I sign out of my computer, knuckles aching from twelve straight hours on the mouse.

When I run my hands through my hair, knots catch between my fingers. With gentle tugs, I pull them free and pat my cheeks a little too hard.

For once, I wish I had a mirror in my room.

Just as fast, I’m glad I don’t.

Another knock.

“One second.” I grumble as I smooth a wrinkle from my sweater.

I open the door to find Aiden on the other side. He stands tall with his hands clasped in front of him, but there’s a glint of pity in his eyes that I wish he’d try better to conceal.

“Everyone is downstairs, Your Grace.”

Sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I let my shoulders rise and drop. My head dips in a nod before we begin toward the lively dining room, the cheerful voice of my Father drifting into the hall.

Aiden doesn’t follow me in, but he doesn’t leave like he should. He parks just outside, his hands still clasped, eyes straight ahead. The low lighting of the candlelit chandelier and soft flicker of the fireplace dance ominous shadows in the hallway, but the dining room is nothing if not charming.

This morning, as I had my tea, I sat staring at the fireplace mantel, at an empty spot where a photo frame should’ve been. Me as a little girl, my hair in a braid, the softest smile forced ontomy face. For twelve years, I’ve resented the image looming while we ate, but its absence was even louder.