Nixon

••• Twenty-Eight •••

The glass is slammed upon the wooden floor, shattering to pieces as they slide across the ground, reaching every end of the kitchen. My eyes meet his and I take in a sharp breath, terrified of the predator before me as he stands cloaked in the darkness of the late night. His eyes seeming to glow, he just watched me as my skin pales and my knees become weak. I am afraid. The kitchen is a mess, the stools once by the breakfast bar over turned and across the kitchen, the table where candles usually are situated are upon the floor and broken, and the glass that contained his small amount of whisky is now shattered, the liquid seeming to glow in the night. Only minutes ago did he get up from bed to take a call, leaving me worried that something like this may be the result. All we have done since Natalia left has been like this, the late phone calls that leave this male angry and deranged becoming the norm.

"Who called?" I ask, my voice weak as it cracks.

Nixon shakes his head, a twisted smile crossing his lips as I see him slightly enjoy the anger rushing through him. Every night someone calls, every night for the past five nights someone has called and has caused rooms in this house to become a mess. "No one."

I shake my head this time, knowing I will not do what I often do. Usually I would be upstairs by now, trying to forget these events as I wrap the sheets around me for comfort. No. No, tonight I need to know why Nixon insists on tearing apart the kitchen. Who is this person that leaves him a mess. "Who?"

"It's none of your business," he growls, the walls shaking as the pictures hung up I fear will fall. "None of your damn business." He made me his Luna. He made me his fiancé. I am to be the mother of his child and to have a say, even if small, in running Crimson Lock.

"I am your Luna. Tell me."

The atmosphere becomes tense and I find myself stepping out from the doorway and into the kitchen, careful not to cut my foot on the glass. "Are you trying to order me around here, Lily?" He asks, voice laced with poison as I struggle to hold my head high. High in an abyss where sunlight is a curse. "What are you trying to do here? Prove to yourself something?"

"I am telling you that because you marked me, made me your Luna, and have made me your fiancé, I have a fucking damn good right to know who called to make you trash this house!" I snap, anger lacing my words now as Nixon crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. "I deserve damn well."

"It's not of your concern," he snaps, canines extending as I find myself reeling back to a safer distance. "Go back upstairs."

I shake my head. "This house is where we both live. What goes on within these walls concerns the two of us and I don't give a damn anymore about some shitty privacy because you have given me none in return." My face is red, I know it is. I know I am pissed because I know that I will be the one to clean up his mess when the sun comes up. Crossing my arms, I take my stand. "Who called or at least why did this call make you go all Tarzan?" I ask, careful where I place my feet as I walk over to a stool, propping it back up on its legs, taking a seat as Nixon understands that I am to stand my ground here on this topic. He knows that for this topic, I will get my answers. "When you made me your Luna, you also handed over to me the rights to be involved in these affairs, so spill."

Hooded eyes watch me, locked upon my body as he approaches, the shadows seeming as if to follow him. The shadows are like his sidekick, never abandoning him, aiding him in his conquests. As Nixon approaches like some predator, slowly and deadly, I feel my palms become sweaty, my nerves skyrocketing as I bite the inside of my cheek. Eyebrows knitted together and lips pressed into a firm line, Nixon stands before me, hands pushing my legs apart as he stands between them. Cocking his head to the side, a hand comes to my cheek, gently brushing the tangled hair out of my face, pinning it behind my ear as there's a tiny tug at the corner of his lips. "Rogue business, sweetheart, okay," he whispers, leaning forward, eyes locking with mine as his lips are dangerously close to my own. "Rogues and a royal wedding can be quite chaotic."