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“I got into a fight.”
My eyes widen. “Like, a real fight?”
“No, a fake one,” he mutters sarcastically, turning away from me.
“You seriously fought one of those guys who just left?”
“I fought four of those guys,” Alistair growls, shoving his hair back from his face. “And I got my ass kicked.”
“You fought four guys?!”
He sighs, turning to let those piercing blue eyes lance into me again.
“It was just a fight, princess. It’s no big deal. I get into them sometimes.” He lifts a shoulder. “It’s kind of…what I do.”
I chew on my lip. “Why did you just call me princess?”
Alistair eyes me. “Because that’s what you are.” He says it almost with disdain, which pisses me off.
I scowl. “I’m not a princess.”
“I know who your father is, Eloise. You’re a princess. Are we done?”
He makes to leave again.
“Why the hell would you go around picking fights? Especially against four guys?”
Alistair groans and turns to face me head-on.
“I didn’t say I pick them,” he growls. “I said I get into them.”
“So, they have a way of finding you?”
His jaw clenches and his hand comes up, the back of it brushing a spot of blood from his nostrils.
“Is there a fucking point to this cross-examination?”
A smirk teases my lips. “You sound like a lawyer.”
“Thanks.”
“Is that what you want to be?”
He shrugs. “Probably. It’s what my father is.”
“Your adoptive father.”
Fuck. Why the hell did I say that? Probably because I’ve still got the conversation with my friends rattling around in my head, and I clearly remember Giorgiana referring to Alistair as the “psycho adopted brother.”
Thanks, Giorgiana.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“I’m sorry, I?—”
He storms toward me, erasing the space between us until he’s looming right over me, his broad shoulders blotting out the sun as his eyes cut into my very soul.
“A word of advice, princess?” he growls quietly.
