Page 50 of Merciless Vow
My father stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Elias. He didn't look angry; he looked... impressed. Fenrir reached out and moved my hand away from the boy’s throat. Then, he did something that made my blood boil: he patted Elias on the shoulder.
"Good lad," Fenrir murmured. "You’ve got a spine after all. Now, get back to that machine and hack it or whatever you do. We're all on the same side. We all want to find our girl."
Elias wiped a smear of blood from his lip. He gave me one last defiant look and retreated to the terminal.
"What was that?" I hissed at my father. "He’s a Vane. He was helping her betray us. Have you forgotten what happens when you let an outsider into the den?"
Fenrir turned to me, his expression softening into something weary and ancient. He walked over and sat on the edge of the conference table. It wasn't out of hearing shot of Elias. Not with his wolf's hearing. But my father didn't see the boy as a threat.
"I haven't forgotten a single drop of blood, Vidar. Friends are the family you choose." He shrugged. "Sometimes you choose wrong. That is the risk of being alive."
"You always say blood is everything."
"You can't choose your family either. The Vane children didn't choose to be sired by a coward like Adolphus. Those Lupetto boys didn't choose a fossil like Dante. Do you know what children like that want more than anything?"
Fenrir reached up, his large, calloused hand patting my cheek with a rough affection that made me feel ten years old again.
"They want what you have," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly low. "They want a father who makes them tough but hugs them hard. They want a mother who fills their bellies and will spank their asses if they do wrong. They are starving for it, Vidar. Don't forget that when you’re looking at that boy—or your wife."
I looked toward the far end of the room, where Elias was typing. Or pretending to type. His fingers had slowed, but his gaze remained on the screen. His face expressionless.
My face was a blaring sign of weariness. The sting of my father's words had hit harder than the boy's punch ever could.
"Addie ran because she didn't know she has a family now, one she can rely on." Fenrir leaned back, looking up at me. His words made me feel ten inches tall. "Now, are you going to standhere and sulk about an old wound, or are you going to go help your brothers bring your wife home?"
I took two steps back, and my phone rang. The caller ID showed my brother's name. I answered immediately.
"We have her."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ADDIE
Isat on the edge of a chair in the Blackwood family room, trying not to bleed on anything. The room was ordinary in a way that felt almost aggressive. Too lived-in. Too soft around the edges.
In my father’s home, there had never been space for children. The furniture was imported, immaculate, sharp-edged. You didn’t use it so much as exist around it. One smudge from careless kid fingers and his anger came swift. Elias and I had grown up in the corners of rooms like that. Perched. Contained.
The Blackwoods had given childhood an entire room. The sofa was worn thin in places; the fabric faded where bodies had sat and shifted and leaned into one another for years. The walls needed painting. On a shelf nearby, labeled VHS tapes sat beside DVDs—Christmas ’98, Magnus’s First Goal, Astrid's Third Grade Recital, cartoons mixed in with family movies.
I could picture Vidar here. Not watching the screen. Watching the room. His parents. His siblings. Sitting close, listening more than he spoke. Enduring a hug without pulling away. Existing within the warmth of this space.
"How are you doing, love?" Mei Ling asked.
"I’m fine," I said automatically.
She nodded, as if I’d given the expected answer, then glanced down. Her eyes landed on my hand, on the finger where Dante's claws had sliced the skin. Blood had spotted the fabric beneath my fingers.
I reacted on instinct, yanking my hand back like I’d been caught committing a crime. "I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to?—"
Mei Ling caught my wrist before I could tuck my hand away, her grip firm but kind. She guided my hand back, resting it deliberately on the arm of the sofa. A single drop of blood slipped free and darkened the fabric. Before I could protest, she reached for a first-aid kit tucked neatly beneath the side table, as if minor injuries were an expected part of daily life. She worked with practiced ease, dabbing at the cut and inspecting it with a small frown of concentration.
"Hey Siri, " she said calmly, not looking up. "Call Gunnar. "
Her phone chimed, then connected. There was a pause—and then the unmistakable sound of a man crying out in pain, raw and gut-deep, echoing faintly through the speaker.
"Yeah, Ma? " Gunnar said, slightly out of breath. "I’m in the middle of something "
Mei Ling peeled open a box of bandages, pausing just long enough to consider her options before selecting one decorated with tiny pink crowns. "Did you know that deplorable man you’re chatting with wounded your sister’s index finger? "
