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We’re both silent. His stormy blue eyes focus on the room over my head. Meanwhile, my mind spins in furious circles, clutching at the right words to ask him where he’s been, what he’s been doing…and possibly the most desperate answer I’m searching for of them all; I want to know who he’s been doing it with.
Rather than reveal the full extent of my budding jealousy, I bite down on the inside of my cheek.
I doubt he would concede to giving me an honest answer, anyway.
Thorne is a tempest of mystery, and I suspect that is exactly how he has survived in this world long enough to get to where he is now. Even while exacting revenge against the finely dressed predatory scum lurking in this very room.
What I decide to finally settle on, is a thread I’m now itching to pull at since my brief conversation with Poe a moment ago.
I know they harbor the same hatred for my father as I do. While there are mountains of secrets and untruths, along with threats issued by these men, what I know is that they are against what my hideous bloodline represents. And if they’re willing to go to extreme lengths to seek revenge on Andreas Noire—while being monsters in their own right—they’re at least the type of creatures I can find it within myself to come to an understanding with.
This world doesn’t operate on the simplicity of identifying whether someone is good or bad. Everyone has their own version of darkness lurking within.
“What did my father do to you?” I ask. Nothing like coming right out with it.
His jaw lines with tension, arms stiffening even though we’re still swaying in time to the music.
“I’ve already told you, Foxglove. Don’t ask questions about things you don’t want to hear the answer to.”
I roll my eyes and let out a petulant sigh.
“We have a common goal here, Thorne.” My head tilts back so I can study his cheekbones and his handsome profile, but his eyes remain busy scouring the room rather than meeting my gaze. Despite that fact, I keep pressing because I know he’s listening; it’s merely his instinct to be wary around these vultures at all times. “Everything my father did and represented is the worst kind of disgrace against humanity. You know enough about my life to understand why I ran from him. Let me help in some way.”
There’s a steel wall in front of me. He’s impenetrable and doesn’t react or look at me. Yet, something about that spurs me on. I don’t actively seek to push this man’s buttons, but the mounting tension and probably the glass of champagne gets the better of my tongue.
“Why won’t you let me help?” With a huff, I try to pull away from him, and that seems to be the key to finally attracting his attention.
Thorne’s fierce eyes are suddenly on mine. Blazing and filled with years of savage disgust for everyone and everything my father hid within these walls.
“I don’t trust you.” His voice is low, barely registering above the music. Each word reverberates through my bones.
“What will it take?” I’m being sucked under by the intensity of his stare. Whereas before, he was searching the room, right now, he’s searching my very soul. Ransacking through every cell, looking for evidence to prove that I’m no different than my father.
I swallow heavily, and his eyes flit down to the exposed column of my throat. “What can I do to show you…prove to you…that you can trust me?”
The harsh planes of his cheekbones seem to grow more severely defined. His strong hand flexes over my fingers. And as I’m trying to remember how to breathe in his presence, he leans down so that his lips brush the edge of my ear.
“You don’t fucking get it, do you? We wanted you to suffer. We wanted you writhing in agony and wishing you were dead.”
My heart lurches to the back of my throat. “And now…”
Thorne takes a deep inhale. “You’re a parasite. An infection in my blood that I can’t get rid of.”
He removes his hand from my waist, lifting it to finger a curl of my hair. As he does so, his knuckles graze the side of my face. That infinitely small point of contact sends a jolt through me, shooting right down to my toes, in a way that I will now forever associate with this man. Being near him is like standing naked and wet in the middle of an electrical storm.
Every fine hair on my arms stands on end.
Thorne studies the lilac strand, rubbing it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. We're moving together around the dance floor, but the whole world feels like it’s dropped away, leaving only the two of us locked in this moment.
Dangling on the edge of vulnerability.
My whisper floats up between us. “Let me help. Please.” Let me in.
As he pulls back to look at me, there’s strain painted all over his handsome face while conflicting emotion lurks behind his eyes. A tick flickers in his jaw, and I’m preparing myself to become reacquainted with his cold, hard shell, when he abruptly stops moving.
The song hasn’t finished, which throws me off guard. I collide with his massive chest and an audible puff of air rushes from my lungs. It’s only his bulk being in the way that prevents me from sprawling across the marble floor.
“We’re leaving.” He announces. Seemingly content to ignore the way I’m plastered against his torso.
