And he fucking taunts me with it.
Coming up behind him, I kick out his knee, and he falls forward, hands catching the wooden ends.
He turns, swinging out—not to hit, but to grab me—but I’m not done. I’m pissed—at his meddling, at his insistence to get into my life, at his leaving me all those years ago.
At the way I fucking love him. After promising myself I never would again.
Avoiding his hand, my right hook connects with his jaw. The audible snap of his teeth rings out around us, and fuck, I grin.
Chuckling, his tongue darts out, tasting the spot of blood at the corner of his mouth.
“Unless you want me to fuck you raw on my bed,” he says, voice holding nothing but blackest desires, “don’t do that again.”
“You fucking told Lex about the assassins,” I accuse, shoving my finger into his chest. Black wings cover his shoulders and neck, a mockery of what they are and what he does. But fitting for how he killed something inside of me when he left.
He looks down at my hand, dryly. “I never told Lex anything. I merely asked for him to listen to chatter at his club.” His gaze snaps to mine, smirking slightly. But it’s not in jest. It feels dangerous. “Lex, now is it? Awfullyfriendlywith the enemy.”
Pushing him away, I scoff. “He’s my brother-in-law, you fuckingjackass. I can’t believe you told him.”
“If he’s family, it shouldn’t matter.” He steps close, and I copy him, keeping distance between our bodies.Oh no.He’s not pulling that crap on me now. Last time that happened, he fucked me on my desk. “You came up here to fight over what I told Lex?”
“You’re meddling.” He comes close again, and I dart to the side. “Clearly, you don’t trust me to handle my clan. You have no business sticking into my affairs. No right?—”
“And what business would that be, Princess?” Crowding me against the bed, I sidestep. Being near a bed right now would not work out in my advantage. “When I saved you from almost dying? When I kept you alive for fucking years?When I killed your father for you?”
It’s a bullet to the heart, and I gasp. He killed Ferguson, but I never thought it wasforme.
That can’t be. Ferguson was his mentor—the father he always wanted. He would never choose me over him.Never.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t?” He grins. “Don’t, what? Make you admit that the only reason Ferguson is dead is because I choseyouoverhim?”
The room stops, and my heart pounds in my chest. My throat dries, and a ringing overtakes my hearing, blocking out all noise.
There’s no fucking way…
Stepping closer, he asks, “Afraid, Princess? Afraid to admit that you fucking matter to someone? That you might actually be worth fighting for,saving, and not someone to discard when they’re no longer useful?”
I swallow hard. Every dark fear being spoken is a lash against my heart. Of course, he’d use it against me. He knows my fears—all my issues. He sees it all.
He inhales. “How do you feel now, Princess? Now that I see every fucking fear, and you can’t hide behind that damn mask you show everyone else.” His eyes flash. “Are you afraid of me now?”
“No.” It’s a soft whisper. “I’ve never been afraid of you.”
“Good.” Quick as a snake, he wraps his fingers around my throat, pulling me close. Mint, tobacco, and the fine scent of blood hang around me, and I inhale—it’s distinctly Killian, and I melt against him. “Why are you really here? What are you mad at?”
My hands fist at my side. I refuse to touch him. “You.”
“I got that,” he agrees casually. “But this feels like… something more.” He brushes his nose against my body, and I shudder—fucking traitorous body. “What are youreallymad at?”
“You.”
Throwing me against the wall, he crowds me, knees parting my legs. Inhaling at my neck, I feel his deranged grin.
“You’re not mad at me,” he taunts, voice dark. “You’re mad at yourself.”
“Like fuck?—”
