It's getting dark, gritty and emotional, peeps. For those who are squeamish and easily affected, I suggest skipping this one.

Taking hold of me, Tristan picking up where Percy had left off, sliding seamlessly into the music with the natural gait of a born dancer. A muscle ticked in his jaw almost in time with the easy, free flowing melody.

"You're angry," I said. And it wasn't a question, but an observation. He was rigid as marble, from his shoulders straight down to the tense muscles of his thighs bumping solidly against mine.

"I told you I didn't want to be here tonight."

"And yet, here we are," I sighed. "But something's bothering you. You were fine until now. What's wrong?"

Silver slashed to mine. "I don't like him."

"Him? Who?" I arched a questioning brow, puzzling over who he could be referring to. Then fell stunned at the only real possibility. "Uncle Percy? Jesus, Shade. I thought you weren't the jealous type."

"I'm not."

"You realize he's old enough to be my father," I continued but the tick in his jaw didn't lessen. Around us the music ceased and the band leader took to the mic, announcing the arrival of an extravagant ten tier birthday cake. The crowd swelled into song, singing happy birthday in the usual awkward lilt of people trying to sing en chorus and yet failing.

"He's also married," I leaned in to whisper, applauding as my father took to the stage, bowing and waving to the rain of applause. His face flushed from laughter and dancing. 

"I'm not jealous." Tristan said again, taking hold of my arm to lead us away from straying ears, though how anyone could hear us above the rising throng would be next to impossible. Out in the night, I tipped back my head, breathed in crisp notes flowers and the dewy scent of evening.

Hands shoved in his pockets, Tristan turned to me, scowling. "I shouldn't be here, Laura."

"Are we really going to hash this out again? My week, my rules. Where's the miscommunication there?"

Tristan waved a hand, a slew of curses spoke in growling Gaelic I couldn't understand. Pacing, like a caged animal, his body springy as a cat set to pounce. Or claw anything daring to get too close.

"I've had it, Shade. You've been terse and surly all weekend, except for when you're shoving yourself into whatever hole you can manage on my body," I snapped, waving a hand from head to toe. "What's going on, what are we really fighting about?"

He whirled on me, jabbing a finger in my face. "Stop pushing me."

"Pushing you? That's rich. You're the one with all the rules. All the stipulations and provisos. And here I am, trying to squeeze out whatever I can because--" I snapped my mouth shut, swallowing the rest. No. Not here, not like this. Not when my blood was pumping with so much fury would I dare say, I love you.

"I'm going back inside," I said, straightening my back and squaring off my shoulders. "You can come and join me, or do what you will. I'm done with pushing you."

Turning away, I heard his seething growl, the stalking of his feet. But I didn't look back. Wouldn't look back.

The rest of the evening's festivities was a study in avoidance. He stayed, much to my surprise. Perhaps to spite me. And I gave him the coldest, frostiest shoulder possible that would have brought a glimmer of pride to even Elsa's frozen heart.

At some point after the cake was served, a wonderful orange sponge layered with custard, cream and berries--a glorious confection that had cost a staggering twelve thousand dollars and the very best patisserie chefs from London to create--I lost sight of Tristan.

A fact I only realized as we returned to our tables for speeches to find his seat empty. A long line of peers were paraded before the podium, reminiscing of finer times, offering their platitudes and congratulations. Finally my father took to the podium and delivered a speech that, even after twenty long minutes, brought the room to sighs, laughter and tears--sometimes all at once.

Then a keening shriek pierced and in a flurry of confusion, near the pass-through opposite the dance floor, Uncle Percy staggered into the dance floor, cupping his face. Blood poured, his eyes wheeled. And, rushing to him, the first to witness the spectacle--hence the cry--his dainty wife clutched him in her arms, pointing tremulously at a shadowy figure looming in the entryway.

My heart sank as Tristan strode in, his face a blazing mask of fury. And blood on his hands.

#

The party, understandably, had come to a screeching halt.

A length of chauffeured cars appeared thanks to an ever efficient planner, sending confused and bewildered guests on their way while my father attempted to make heads or tails of the matter.

Tristan had broken Uncle Percy's nose. A smushed ruin in the center of his face. I doubted I'd forget the gruesome sight for as long as I lived.

Tristan sat in the quiet and the dark of the guest house suite, ice on his knuckles. Head low so that a wing of gold obscured his face. Furious, I slammed the door, letting him know I was in the room even though I was certain the sheer enormity of my rage had been palpable from all the way down the hall.

He stayed as he was, icing his hand. Without even the barest shred of decency--or courtesy--to look at me.           

"What the hell is the matter with you?" I seethed, stalking towards him, my own hands clenched. "Are you so angry with me--so resentful about being here you had to do that? To make a scene and ruin a wonderful party?"

Unaffected, Tristan lifted the ice, flexed his fingers. The knuckles were swollen, reddened from cold and small divots gouged almost to bone. Likely the result of connecting with Uncle Percy's teeth. My stomach roiled at the idea.

"I told you I didn't like him."

"So you punched him?"

"Yes. Three times, actually." His eyes flashed to mine, vacant. Hollow. Looking into them chilled me. Terrified me. I'd never seen him appear so...empty. Emotionless. A man of shadows.

"You're lucky he's not pressing charges."

Tristan's lips twisted into a sardonic grin. "Wonder why that is."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "I suppose nothing."

In no mood for cryptic riddles, furious, and at the end of my emotional tether I tossed my hands into the air. "If you want to leave so badly, Tristan,"--his eyes snapped to my face at the use of his first name-- "then just go. Leave. Tonight." 

We stayed that way for a single, sweltering moment, locked in a silence that screamed with the insurmountable pressure of everything we weren't saying to one another. Hurt, painful as a slice of a blade over the tender muscle of my heart, and glimmered deep in the fathomless depths of hellsmoke grey.

"Maybe I will."

"Good." And because I couldn't stand the sight of him a moment longer, I turned with a swish of dress and went back to the heart of Ronin Estates where only the core family was gathered.

My father paced the length of corridor and Sheila, back in jeans and galoshes, did her best to calm him.

Reclined in a chair, Uncle Percy was stretched out; the only parts visible behind the wall of bodies were his hands, clutching the armrest with white knuckled purpose.

"The bleeding had stopped, but the swelling is immense," I recognized the booming voice of Winston Howell. One of father's friends, and a stellar, top-tier surgeon. With a sickening crack--and a muted wail--he reset the nose and bandaged it with padding and gauze we kept on hand in the stables emergency kit.

"Take a couple of these for the pain," Winston said, thumbing out tablets from a pill bottle tucked in the breast pocket of his dinner jacket. "And see a doctor first thing in the morning, if able. I've set the nose but you'll want x-rays and such to make sure there isn't more extensive damage. Your front teeth are loose, but I expect they'll tighten back up if you keep to a soft diet for the next few, or so."

"Thank you," my father grumbled, slapping a hand on Winston's shoulder. "Truly hate to trouble you like this."

"Oh, no trouble at all." Winston roped his jacket over his wide shoulders, belly straining against the buttons of his white shirt--blood stained and ruined. "I'll be off now. Call me in the morning and should he have any trouble breathing, see he gets taken to hospital straight away."

There were a few more handshakes and thank you's as Winston worked through the parlour and was shown out by Mama Pat, who for once, appeared to not have much of anything to say.

"Oh, darling look at your poor, widdle face," Abigail simpered, squishing Percy's cheeks between her hands. "That animal should be arrested. Darling, please let us call the police."

"Now, now," Percy clucked, eyes glassy from drugs and pain. "It's all pish posh, really. I'm fine." Fine gold buttons gleamed garishly against the rest of his shirt now about as red as his cravat.

"I hate to say it," my father strained through clenched teeth, colour staining his cheeks in a savage red, "but your wife is right. We should be doing something about this."

"I won't trouble upper state New York's finest over the likes of Tristan Shade. Man has more money than God and would hire a team of lawyers to see he walks without a scratch on his soon to be billionaire armour."

Curled up on her husband's lap, Abigail's eyes gleamed bright in her doll-like face. "We should sue him."

Percy stroked her hand. "Now, now dear. It's settled. Enough excitement for one night."

"Right. Yes, well, please stay the night here, Percy. I insist. The least I could do since you were savaged so violently--a guest in my own home." My father slashed eyes to me and added, "I want that man off my land, Laura. Immediately."

"He's leaving," I said. My stomach clenched but I held firm. Steady. "He'll be gone soon."

"Good."

"Harold," Sheila leaned in, hazel eyes full of question, "do we even know what happened? Why Tristan did it?"

"Man's a brute," Percy chimed in. "Sure I must have said something to step on his toes, but can't for the life of me figure out what that could be. No matter. Its water under the bridge, or off a duck's back, as they say."

"He did it for me." At the sound of Nate's firm but tremulous voice, all eyes flicked around and Percy's already sallow complexion paled further.

"Now, now, Nathanial. Let's not--"

"I was in the gardens, avoiding the party," Nate continued undeterred, the top buttons of his dress shirt were undone, his blue hair messed from worrying fingers, and he had near gnawed his lip to bleeding. But as he continued, his voice found strength. Purpose. "Tristan must have heard us arguing. Percy and I. He found me down by the hedge maze. Near the gazebo. We were arguing."

"About what?" Helen's voice whispered through, thin as a thread wound so tight. Until the moment I hadn't even realized she was in the room. At her side, my brother's face was stark, his cheeks pink.

"Nathanial," Percy flustered again, attempting to rise from the settee. "Come now, boy. Really we weren't--it's not...let's not make a fuss over--"

"I was twelve when you first raped me," Nate said, lancing Percy with a single, seething glare. "I could never say that before. Rape. But that's what it was. You came into my room, that night we visited Hamptons for the summer. After--"

"The charity barbeque," I whispered, recalling that summer immediately, because it was the same summer mom had passed away. I had missed that event because I'd convinced myself I was too busy at work to justify the time off, but in truth I couldn't handle being around family and still manage to hold myself together.

Nate nodded. "He got me drunk. High. I was dizzy, so dizzy. I went to bed early."

"It was the flu." Helen sunk to the couch, legs too weak to hold her. "Percy...you said it was the flu."

"I woke up with him on top of me," Nate's voice broke. "Naked. Your breath in my face. You called me good little Nathanial as you shoved yourself inside me. Good little Nathanial. You said it, over and over and over until I hated the sound of my own name."

"Oh god," Helen whimpered. "Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you say something?"

Nate's face split into a painful smirk, tears rolling down his flaming cheeks. "Because he made me believe telling you would get me in trouble. And afterwards he gave me a small piece of crystal meth. Just a taste. Just enough to make me want to come back for more. And more. And every time I hated myself for being so weak. I wanted it to stop, so many times I thought I'd kicked it, but you'd keep sneaking back in. And break me. I got in trouble, hoping to be sent away. To be free of you."  

The walls in the parlour closed in around us, a vice of realization and heartache. As Percy tired to slink away, a roar tore from Collin--the violent sound of a father's fury--the sound swelling with so much emotion, so much rage, unlike anything I'd ever seen in my brother before. As Abigail shrieked, hands clasped to her face, Collin snagged him by his skinny little throat and punched Percy square in the nose, undoing all of Winston's careful work.

"Laura," my father croaked, eyes swimming with tears as Percy whimpered, crumpling to his knees. "Call the police. I want this filth in handcuffs and out of my sight before I kill him. And find Shade," he added, swallowing hard.

"I want to shake the hand of the man who saw this bastard for what he truly was, all along."