Page 93 of Pretty Savage: Defy

Three clear chimes ring through the air.

The DJ lowers the volume, and every head turns toward the staircase. Carr stands two steps above the floor with a silver fork in one hand and a crystal flute in the other.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” He smiles. “It’s time for our midnight toast.”

Polite applause follows his announcement.

“Carrson, Laurel, come here, please.”

Heads turn toward us, and nervous butterflies break loose in my stomach. The lines that bracket Carrson’s mouth deepen, annoyance flashing in his eyes, but he quickly smooths it away, putting back on his polished mask, one more permanent than the black fabric covering the upper half of his face. He takes my hand and leads me through the crowd until we stand next to his father.

“As you know, Carrson and Laurel will be bonded and sealed at Ashford House, according to our tradition, in two nights’ time. In preparation, I’m proud to announce that earlier today Laurel completed her purification and accepted the mark, the same as every Daughter before her.”

The warmth drains from my fingers inside Carrson’s grip.

“Laurel Bellefleur is now an official member of The Order.” Then his attention goes to my chest. I look down too and there it is, the red cross swollen and angry. All my dancing has sweated off the makeup that covered it.

Carr beams, the happiest I’ve seen him so far. To him the mark is an honor he’s unveiling. He doesn’t see the injured skin or the pain required to put it there. He sees proof that I belong in this room, with his son.

With dramatic flair, Carr takes my free hand and raises it as though we’ve won something. The movement pulls the burned skin tight, and pain tears across my chest. He lifts his champagne glass with the other. “Cheers to the happy couple!”

The applause is deafening, as are the answering cheers. Carr releases me to clap along with the roaring crowd. I pinch the fabric over the cross in a useless attempt to put the secret back. Even with all that noise, I still hear Carrson’s sharp inhale beside me.

I look over and see his eyes are fixed on my skin, raw and blistered.

Rebecca told me about the baby mice. Looking at Carrson now, I see the boy she described, the one who walked in and discovered everything he’d tried to protect had already been destroyed.

The mark isn’t what frightens me now. Neither is Carr. It’s what Carrson might do while thousands of the most powerful people on earth raise their drinks to us.

Carrson’s too smart, or at least too well trained, to make a big scene. He steps close to his father and puts his back to the room. From behind, it might look like a private word between father and son. The crowd can’t see the venom in his expression or hear the way he growls at Carr, “I’ll kill you for this. Not for the scars you put on my body, but for the one you put on Laurel’s.”

Carr has one second to appear surprised by his son’s response before his expression changes. I expect him to be angry, to return fire with fire, but it’s a deep, abiding sorrow I see instead. “Spoken like a true Ashford.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” snaps Carrson.

“Oh, son.” Carr’s mouth turns down. “Don’t you know we have a long tradition of patricide in our family?”

He says that like it’s personal, and a chill ripples over me. Is it possible that Carr was once that boy too? If somewhere behind him there’s a room, and a father, and a child who learned that family was something to survive rather than love?

Carrson shuts it down, his jaw going to stone. “No. Don’t make me pity you. We’re talking about Laurel. About how you held a hot iron and fucking branded her for life.”

Rebecca comes over in time to hear the exchange. “Your father didn’t mark her,” she interjects. “I did.”

Carrson whips his hatred-filled gaze to her. “Then you’re next.”

“Carrson, no.” I tug on his hand until he looks my way. “She gave me a choice. I—it was my decision.”

His fury had somewhere to go when he believed Carr had done this to me. Then Rebecca. Now there’s no one left to punish without turning that anger on me.

Carrson rears back. “You chose this?” His anger drains away. “You let them burn you?”

“It’s the only way for us to be together.”

He pulls his hand from mine. My fingers close where his should be, then move to the gold letters at my throat.

Mine.

“No.” He backs away, shaking his head, his eyes moving between my face and the brand as though he no longer recognizes either of them. “I can’t. Not like this.”