Destroyed

Fox snorted before moving forward to flick on a row of lights hanging above work tables, tool benches, and paraphernalia. The light helped dispel some of the original cell appeal, but the walls were damp, the floor unfinished and compacted with earth.

The sharp metallic scent of bronze and lifeless metals hit my nose. Mixing with old sooty smoke from the large fire, and the cold dirt around us, the scent reminded me of Fox.

He belonged here more than he belonged in the black decadent rooms above. I couldn’t swallow at the thought of him living somewhere like this. Enduring a life in this sort of environment.

Clara skipped around the room, inspecting old-fashioned bellows, and eyeing up two massive anvils. Pliers lay scattered along with hammers and odd bits of discarded metal.

My eyes fell on the silver chain draping off the corner of a table. Fox spun to lock gazes with me. He nodded. “It’s the same gauge I used on you. It seems stupid now.” His eyes fell to the glint of silver around my throat. I still wore the star bracelets he’d made. The centre piece that secured my wrists to the belly chain had disappeared into his pocket never to be seen again.

“You were never the danger. It was me. I should’ve been the one to wear that. Not you.” His eyes fell from my throat, tracing the metal under my clothes.

“Wear what?” Clara came to my side, her eyes wide and interested. She coughed gently, sending spasms into my heart.

“Nothing.”

“You always say that.” Snorting in annoyance, Clara dashed off and disappeared through a crack at the back of the work room.

“Clara!” I jogged forward, very aware of how many sharp instruments and dangers this place held. What the hell were we doing down here? Fox could’ve told her his story anywhere. The garden where the sun was bright would’ve been much better than a f**king dungeon. “Get back here.”

“Shit, I thought that room was locked.” Fox moved forward, effortlessly swooping like a shadow on the wall rather than a human. Something about him had changed, almost as if he embraced the side of himself he was about to expose. He didn’t have to hide down here—he fit.

I held back, letting him crack open the heavy door that looked like a bank vault. Disappearing inside, he looked over his shoulder. “It’s safe. I promise. It’s a hobby of mine—that’s all.”

I frowned, entering the smallish space. Rows and rows of shelves existed from floor to ceiling.

Oh, my God. My heart clouted my ribcage, taking in what the shelves held. How was this possible? I’ve stepped through time, or entered a movie set.

“Wow, this is awesome,” Clara said, spinning around in a treasure trove of weaponry.

Fox kept a careful eye on her, but his body faced mine, ready to take whatever I had to say. I glared at him, unable to believe he thought bringing a child to someplace like this was smart.

But as much as I wanted to scream, I couldn’t deny he hovered over her like a protective father, ready to snatch whatever danger she gravitated toward out of her reach.

“Holy crap.” I drifted forward, eyes bugging at the huge arsenal hidden beneath Fox’s house. A secret room full of secret things. Things from his past. Things no one should see. Unless they were a Jacobite, or Napoleon Hill. Every item of death existed from dirks, sickles, swords, and bayonets to sabres, axes, long bows, and nun-chucks.

“Like I said, I don’t use them. Not anymore. I just make them. I did it before with—and…well, I find it therapeutic to work with what I know.” His body vibrated with tension, filling the small space with masculine energy.

My face went slack as I drifted around the room, drinking in the sight of blades and killing apparatus, breathing in bronze and iron, metallic and sharp.

Clara piped up, dragging her damageable fingers along a wicked looking spiked mace. I almost had a heart attack before Fox carefully removed her hand and placed it by her side.

“You made this?” Her innocent voice rang around the room—a huge contradiction of purity compared to the barbaricness of what she touched. “Are you going to war? Who are you fighting?” She stilled, biting her lower lip. “Ohhhh, I get it. Is that how you got your scar? You’ve been to war.”

My heart glowed for my bright little girl. “Stop asking such prying questions, Clara. His scar is personal, and I doubt it’s a story he can tell easily.”

I glanced at Fox, and he unconsciously stroked the puckered skin on his otherwise perfect face. He had a five o’clock shadow which was unusual for him, and no hair grew where the skin had been damaged.

He blinked, shaking whatever memories haunted him away. “I might tell you that story another time, little one, but not today.”

Ducking to her level, he added, “I didn’t go to war, but I did serve time and obeyed orders I wished I didn’t have to.”

Clara’s face fell. “I’m sorry.”

Fox’s lips twitched into a small smile. “It’s not your fault.” His face darkened. “If you want to hear my story, Clara, you have to promise me you won’t be sad. It isn’t about fairies or mermaids, it’s about a little boy who had a family and was made to do bad things to them. It’s about a teenager who did things he’ll never be free of, and it’s about a man who wished he could rewind the past and start all over again.”

Clara nodded, blinking big soulful eyes. “I promise. I know bad things happen. I’m big enough to hear.”

He looked up, grey eyes delving into mine. “I’ll censor, but it’s still going to be hard to tell.” He stood up, coming toward me, but not reaching out. “Is that okay?”

Was it okay? Not really. I didn’t like the thought of Clara’s head being full of sadness, or things that might give her nightmares. I didn’t like that Fox had chosen my daughter to share his past with—but I also…

Shit, I trust him.

I trusted him not to go too far. To filter the gruesome and spin a story that Clara would believe would be fanciful and fantastical. Something released in me, some of the anger I felt disappeared, and I found myself falling once again for the damaged man before me.

“I trust you.” Three simple words, but they resonated with a new beginning. Somehow, I’d forgiven him yet again. I’d granted absolution for him stealing my daughter and turning my life upside down.

He sucked in a massive gust of air, eyes boring into mine. He didn’t need to say anything, I could read him clear as day. He vibrated with thankfulness.