Page 13 of Scornful

But there's always that goddamn smirk tugging at his lips, the one that's gotten him out of trouble since we were kids.

The bastard knows exactly how to charm his way out of anything.

"None of your business," I retort, sticking my tongue out at him.

"Oh, real mature," he says, ruffling my hair as he passes. Then he spots the bruises on my arm and freezes. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Before I can answer, the back door slams open, and my father storms in, Emil hot on his heels.

A force to be reckoned with on his best days.

Right now, with his face twisted in that special kind of rage only a father can muster, he looks like the devil himself—like he's ready to rip someone's spine out through their throat and enjoy every second of it.

"Show me," he demands, his voice oddly calm even though I know he wants to kill Laken.

I hesitate, then show him my arm, showing him finger-shaped bruises.

He stares at them for a long moment, his jaw clenched so tight I can practically hear his teeth grinding. "That piece of shit laid his hands on you," he says, not a question but a statement, each word precisely enunciated. "And you didn't think to fuckin’ call me?"

"Itjusthappened, Dad," I say, keeping my voice even. "And it's been handled. Geirolf made sure Laken won't be bothering me again."

My father's eyes narrow. "Geirolf?"

"He was there when it happened," I explain, fighting to keep my tone casual. "He stepped in before things could escalate."

"Stepped in how?" Fenrir demands.

I sigh, wishing I could sink through the floor. "He broke Laken's nose and threatened to scatter pieces of him across three counties if he ever came near me again."

To my surprise, a smile flickers across my father's face. "Good man," he says, some of his tension easing. "I'll have to thank him."

"Doesn't mean we can't pay this Laken a visit too," Oskar suggests, the gleam in his eye anything but friendly. "Just to reinforce the message, really get it across."

"No!" I yell at the group of them. "Look, the situation is handled. Laken's a coward. He won't risk crossing Geirolf."

"But—" Emil begins.

"But nothing," I cut him off, my patience wearing thin. "I don't need the three of you riding to my rescue like I'm some damsel in distress. I'm a grown woman, and I can handle my own problems."

Dad opens his mouth to argue, but Mom steps in, placing a calming hand on his arm. "Astrid's right," she says softly. "She's not a child anymore, and the situation seems resolved. Let's respect her wishes."

My father holds her gaze for a long moment, then gives a reluctant nod. "Fine. But if that asshole shows his face around here again, all bets are off."

"Fair enough," I give in, knowing it's the best compromise I'm going to get.

The front door opens, and my sixteen-year-old half-sister Ingrid bounces in, her gym bag slung over her shoulder. "Hey, everyone! What's for dinner? I'm starv—" She stops short, taking in the tense scene before her. "Whoa, who died?"

"No one," Mom says quickly. "Yet. Now go wash up for dinner. Lasagna's almost ready."

Ingrid's eyes dart between us, clearly sensing there's more to the story, but she knows better than to push. "Okay, back in five," she says, disappearing up the stairs.

"I'll set another place for Astrid," Oskar offers, moving to the cabinet for an extra plate.

"Thanks," I murmur, grateful for the break in tension.

Dinner is a surprisingly normal affair after that.

Ingrid yaps about volleyball practice and the upcoming school dance, Oskar and Emil trade talk about some club business that isn’t too serious, while Mom and Dad seem like they’re just as in love as they were when they first got together.

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