Page 66 of The Silversmith

“Yes, you will.”

It was an effort not to melt beneath his glare. To return that heat in the form of defiance.

“What are you going to do, take it off of me yourself?”

Sweat beaded at the nape of my neck as he lifted one eyebrow and took his time surveying me head to toe. I swallowed anxiously when I realized he might be considering it.

And that maybe I didn’t look bad, but… good.

I stepped closer, and instantly, his monstrous body tensed. Interesting. It seemed my mighty protector might not be the one in control, after all. At least, not tonight.

I narrowed my eyes and tilted my gaze. “Did you not just apologize to me an hour ago for being an overprotective hothead?”

A sigh through his nose and a deep and growly rumble in his throat were all he gave me.

“Did you not mean what you said?” I pressed, taking another step toward him.

He stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath. “I meant every single word.”

“Then why—” I gasped when he carefully adjusted my long hair to cover up my exposed neck and cleavage, careful to avoid contact with my skin. “Hey!” I slapped his hand away and pointed a finger at him. “Stop that! I can wear what I want.” I was learning to defy him, and was getting quite good at it too. But that didn’t mean his dominating presence left me unaffected. “And I admit, this is a little more… revealing than I’m used to.” My cheeks burned. “And I know what you’re thinking—”

“Do you?” His gritted teeth flashed, eyes wild.

“I want to feel normal!” I bit out. “Like a normal person. A normal nineteen-year-old woman who feels… pretty.”

His eyes shot wide in palpable shock. “Believe me, you don’t need to—”

“It’s still my birthday,” I rushed out despite his protest. “And this is my choice.”

“Yes.” The emphasis on the word was too long—too sinister—to be sane. “That is true. Your choice.” He seethed, like he regretted ever using the word with me now that I was hellbent on using it against him. “But you see…” He clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue and took three steps, now a mere arm’s length away. To my credit, I held my ground. “I have choices, too, Ella. I’ll take note of every single man with a prolonged gaze, and later, after you’re safe in bed, I’ll choose to hunt each of them down one by one and very slowly, very painfully carve their eyes out of their sockets.”

Horror stole my breath. “You would not.”

He brushed my temple with his lips, causing me to tremble. “Would you like to test that theory? It’d be far more fun for me than you think.”

My knees were weak, but I forced my eyes to narrow—a show of defiance beneath his tight jaw and warning stare.

Because for once, I had some leverage over this man who constantly claimed he knew what was best for me. Maybe it was wrong to keep him on edge, or maybe it wasn’t my problem he was wound so tight. Either way, I couldn’t help but let this feeling linger.

I think I wanted him to crack, even if that meant losing myself a little. Temporarily. Just for now.

I knew what was right. What was smart. I could rationalize when I was alone, to convince myself I could be good and dutiful and responsible and obey. But one second beneath that intense stare, and I abandoned all reason.

“I’ll be downstairs,” I finally said.

He cursed under his breath.

As I passed a mirror on the wall, I saw him run his hands over his face, through his hair, before storming down the stairs after me.

Candlelight chandeliers cast a comforting glow around the tavern. The interior was lined with wooden tables both round and long. The seats were cushioned with a deep maroon similar to the blankets in the bedroom. The tables were full of people—some ate, some played with cards and coins, and almost all drank. There were no children in sight. If the drinks and dirty words being tossed about were any indication, this was no place for children.

My heart raced from the aroma of food, liquor, and the heat of so many bodies. I was surrounded by shouts of joy, banging on tables, the clanging of glass followed by rowdy hoots, riotous cursing, and cacophonous laughter. In the quieter, darker corners of the room, there was drunken kissing and caressing. I tried to ignore that and focused instead on Damond behind the bar.

He knew everyone, and everyone knew him. It was impressive, watching him work without a hint of reticence in his kind brown eyes or gleaming white smile. He poured drinks with movements so smooth he could have been dancing and even managed to spare a glance or two to check on me. I laughed when he flipped a bottle behind his back, caught it, and threw me a wink. One of many tricks he showed off to his customers.

As expected, Gavin remained close to my side. If I didn’t feel so safe in his presence, free to look around and take in so many sounds and people, I would have found him insufferable. Only I didn’t, and each time his arm accidentally brushed mine or he devoured me with his gaze, I felt alive.

Damond served us dinner—roasted turkey, buttery potatoes, asparagus peppered with salt, lemon, and garlic. My eyes rolled back in my head with every bite of a decadent apple pie.