“I’m going to kill you,” I hiss. “And then I’m going to drag your corpse back to Crownhaven and kill you again.”
His eyes go heavy lidded as he gives me a slow once-over. “I don’t know,” he drawls. “I’m pretty heavy.”
I growl, and he chuckles.
“I was having a nice time, Tristan. And then I see you. Here. Playing music. For what I assume is not the first time, andwhat the fuck?” I clamp my lips shut before I can let more angry words spill out. They press at the wall of my chest, straining to break free.
You lied to me.
I thought I was your best friend.
His eyes are dark as they scan me, his mouth no longer smiling. “A nice time.”
I blink. “Yes.”
“With Seth.” His voice is dark, sending shivers through me.
“Yes. With Seth.”
His jaw flexes. “Were you going to kiss him?”
“Excuse me?”
He’s statue-still against the wall. “Seth. Were you going to kiss him?”
“We’re not talking about me. You broke protocol. You directly defied my orders.” This is so like Tristan, to be in control of everything, to have things his way, to deflect, and right now, it makes me so mad. Heliedto me.
He comes off the wall in a rush. “Do you like him?”
“Do you enjoy deliberately putting yourself in danger, or is it just a special treat for me?”
His lips flatten. “I have my reasons.”
“Try me,” I bite out.
“Christ, Bailey. It’s not that serious.” He shoves his hat back, then resettles it, a familiar motion that he must have done a hundred times based on how he’s doing it now, and anger flares inside me again.
“It is that serious,” I hiss.
He steps forward, arms folded angrily over his chest. “You’re paranoid.”
“I care about you, Tristan. If you got hurt—if you—I can’t even think about it.” The words scrape from my throat. His eyes gentle.
“I’m sorry,” he says huskily. His arms drop and he passes a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Katie. I don’t feel like the spare when I play. I feel—free.” Raw emotion flashes across his face. “Forgive me.”
I knew Tristan had demons, but thespare. I hate that word. I hate whoever made him believe that. “Of course,” I whisper.
His gaze traces my face, and I can’t read it. There’s the usual warmth, the confidence, the humor, but also something darker.
I walked back here in control of the situation, ready to lay into him, and now—I don’t know what this is. I’m backed against the wall and he towers over me, looking not like my best friend, but instead like a man who might devour me and spit out the pieces. The tug in my stomach says I might like to be devoured.
“So,” he says casually. “Seth. Were you going to kiss him?”
“Maybe,” I say defiantly. “I thought about it.” I tip up my chin. “I mean, that’s what all our practice was preparing me for, right? To kiss Seth.”
He makes a humming sound, almost a rumble in his chest. “I don’t like it.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t care. You have your dates and I have mine, and this ishappening, Tristan.”
