Page 95 of Bloodstained Wings

Isabella throws her arms around me and presses her forehead to mine. “In that case, I can’t wait to be married to you, Carter Blackthorne.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Carter

“What the fuck do you want?” I fold my arms over my chest and give Tristan a menacing look. “Didn’t I tell you that I don’t want to be bothered?”

Tristan exhales and doesn’t break our gaze. “I know what you said, but I figured you weren’t being serious. You’re the one who went after the Philipses and Natoris, remember?”

I growl. “What’s your point?”

“You can’t decide to start a war and leave before we’ve even begun to strategize.” Tristan steps into the house and kicks the door shut behind him. “It doesn’t work like that, Carter. You have to finish what you started. You’re the fucking head of the Blackthorne family, and you need to act like it.”

I have Tristan shoved against the wall before the words finish leaving his lips. Then I draw my hand back and land a punch to my cousin’s jaw. He doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t even acknowledge the hit, but I do see the tears burning in his eyes, and it gives me a slight sense of satisfaction. With a small noise of disgust, I shove Tristan away and take a step back.

“I am the head of the Blackthorne family, and I don’t answer to you.”

Tristan rubbed his jaw. “No, but you do answer to the rest of the family, or have you forgotten about them? They need you, Carter.”

“Not as much as Isabella needs me,” I respond coldly. “Or have you forgotten that she’s just lost her father?”

She’s spent the past week curled up on the bed, reliving old memories and crying to herself. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to pull her out of her misery, and I know that all my usual tactics won’t work. Not when it comes to grief. Isabella needs to be able to mourn her father properly, and I want to give her all of that and more.

I want to be the one to pull her out of the dark hole she’s crawled into.

Isabella has already pulled me out of the darkness once, so it’s the least I can do. Without her, I still would’ve been the same man obsessing over finding a replacement for Brooke and taking my anger out on anyone and everyone who got in my way.

Before her, there was plenty I felt I had to do to atone for failing. Now, I’m determined not to make the same mistakes.

I refuse.

But I need Tristan and everyone else to back the fuck off before I give them something else to worry about. In spite of their insistence, all their pleas have fallen on deaf ears. Tristan has been handling things in my stead, and I know my cousin is more than up to the task. While I know it isn’t fair to my family to leave them hanging in their hour of need, I also know they can handle themselves.

Isabella, on the other hand, has no one else.

And I’ll be damned if I let that drive her into the arms of Donahue or anyone else.

She is mine, and she has everything she needs right here, and I’m going to do whatever I need to do in order to make sure she knows it.

Tristan shakes his head. “I haven’t forgotten, Carter, but—”

“Then you have no reason to be here.” I walk over to the front door and wrench it open. “I told you to hold down the fort while I take care of things here. So do your fucking job and, while you’re at it, make sure Lilian doesn’t bother either of us, or you’re going to have another problem on your hands.”

Without waiting for a response, I slam the door shut in his face and hurry up the stairs. Isabella is still sleeping when I enter the room and linger in the doorway. I watch the even rise and fall of her chest and the vulnerable look on her face, and some of the ice in my veins softens. With a smile, I enter the room and rummage through the drawer.

I’m tying Isabella’s arms up on either side of her when she stirs awake. She blinks, her hair a tangled mess around her face, and the color in her cheeks is heightened. “What’s going on?”

“Shh, just enjoy, dove. You don’t have to do anything else,” I murmur into her skin. Slowly, I toss away the nightgown I’ve peeled off her body. When I throw it over my shoulders, Isabella shifts, and her eyes soften again. I kneel on the bed in front of her and dig my nails into her waist.

“I’m the only one who can make you feel this good, dove,” I whisper as I press hot, open-mouthed kisses across her thighs. I kiss my way up to her center and push her legs open. “When you’re with me, nothing else matters. Not the sadness, not the war, and not that fucking useless journalist, do you understand?”

Isabella swallows and nods.

I pinch her soft skin between my fingers. “I can’t hear you.”

Isabella clears her throat, but it still comes out sounding husky and hoarse. “Yes, sir.”

With a smirk, I lower my head so it’s at eye level with her dripping wet center. I lick a path up, and she bucks underneath me, her hips rising off the mattress. Frowning, I give her leg a firm slap, and she jolts at the contact. Before she can say anything, I use two fingers to push aside her wet folds and bury my tongue into her pussy.