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Magic surged, its intent so obvious that the remaining unbroken threads in our protection spells began to pulse.
“I wouldn’t finish that spell, Clayton,” came Monty’s soft warning. “You’ve had long enough to study the magic in this place to know any such response would be unwise. Attempt any physical action and you’ll find my fist in your face.”
Monty stood to my right, so close that I could smell the sharpness of his aftershave. Aiden had stopped to my left, his body practically humming with rage. I didn’t have to look at him to know his fists were clenched and knuckles white. He remained in control of his werewolf instincts to protect, but only just. Ashworth and Eli were several steps further back, positioned either side of Monty and Aiden.
Clayton’s magic stilled, but his fury washed dark waves of anger over me as I continued to glare down at my father.
Lawrence calmly tugged a white handkerchief from the top pocket of his suit jacket and gently pressed it against his broken and bloody nose.
“That, daughter, was uncalled for.”
The red wave rose again, and I dug my nails into the palms of my hands in an effort to combat it.
“Uncalled for?” I growled. “You forced me into a marriage I didn’t want and a wedding night in which I was nearly raped. You’re my fucking father. You should have protected me instead of pawning me off to the highest bidder in an effort to get rid of me.”
“It would seem our memories of that situation are somewhat different.” Clayton’s soft voice was cool and calm, totally at odds with his aura. “There was no exchange of money—dowries went out with the Dark Ages—and there was certainly no rape.”
“Only because you were goddamn stopped—”
“If you didn’t want my attentions, you should have spoken up.”
“And how was I supposed to do that when—”
“Enough,” Lawrence commanded again. He picked himself up off the floor and then stepped out of immediate reach—it was a small retreat, but it nevertheless gave me immense satisfaction. “Before we go any further, I’ll ask you all to turn off your phones and place them on the table. This conversation is one I’d prefer to keep between us.”
I snorted. “Gee, I wonder why?”
“Your sarcasm will not improve this situation.”
“Newsflash, Father dearest—I don’t fucking care. You were dead to me the minute you forced me into marriage with the rapist here.”
“Again, that was not the case. Phones, gentlemen?”
His continued denial made me wonder if he suspected the conversation was being recorded from a source other than our phones. He didn’t appear to have any sort of
radio frequency detector to hand, and I couldn’t hear anything to suggest a sound jammer of some kind was being employed. Which didn’t mean it wasn’t. They’d been in the café for who knows how long and had had time to do anything.
“We’ll lay ours down only if you two do the same,” Ashworth said.
My father’s gaze moved past me. “And who might you be?”
“These fine gentlemen,” Monty replied before Ashworth or anyone else could, “are our witnesses. They might also be magical backup if you two start getting antsy.”
Clayton’s lip curled, but once again, he held back from commenting. Which was so far beyond the norm for him it made me wonder how my father had managed to leash him.
I took out my phone, turned it off, and placed it on the table. One by one the others repeated the process; my father and Clayton were the last to do so.
“Right,” I said. “What are the two of you doing here?”
“You’re my fucking wi—”
“Clayton, enough,” Lawrence snapped.
His voice had lost little of its usual power despite the handkerchief now shoved up his nostrils in an effort to stem the bleeding. It had to be hurting his mashed nose, but I couldn’t for the life of me feel a spark of sympathy.
Clayton took a deep breath, and the viciousness once more melted from his features, but not his aura. While it was beginning to seem like my father had come here to sort out the mess he’d made, Clayton definitely had not.
He wanted revenge.
