Page 12 of Godless Saints

Cillian didn’t move.

“My name is Moon,” I said. “And you have a tattoo of a crescent moon on your hand.”

Cillian’s smirk deepened. He cocked his head, studying me like I was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all night.

“Oh really, prince?” His tone dropped. “That’s news to me.”

He didn’t step back far. One hand stayed wrapped around the top of my neck, thumb resting under my jaw.

“Come back inside with me,” he urged quietly. “One drink. We can finish what you started running from in Saint Lucia.”

My pulse raced.

“No,” I said, sharper than I intended. “Early lecture tomorrow. And I don’t drink with Thorn heirs.”

Cillian moved in closer, looking down at me. He reached out and dragged one finger slowly up the center of my chest, light, but unmistakably mocking.

“One drink won’t crack that flawless Aster armor, prince,” he said. His thumb brushed along my jaw. “Unless you’re afraid you’ll like what happens when you stop running.”

I drove him backward with both hands. “Back off.”

He took a step back, but his smile only widened.

“I’ll find you again soon enough,” he said. “Whether you want me to… or not.”

He finally let me go. I got the hell out before he could see how badly my hands were shaking.

“Oh, and one more thing, prince.”

His voice stopped me. Something slid against my chest. I caught it.

A photograph.

Saint Lucia. The beach at dusk. I was laughing, relaxed against the sand on the beach, looking at him like he was the only person in the world. Unguarded and happy.

Horror flooded me.

“When did you take this?”

Cillian’s smile was slow, but not kind. “I could stay away,” he said quietly. “But we both know you don’t actually want that.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Nothing came out.

Cillian didn’t look away. “It’s not me pretending Saint Lucia never happened,” he murmured. “I see you, Moonshine. Even when you’re still lying to yourself about how badly you wanted it.”

I should throw the photo on the ground. Step on it. Burn it. Anything. Instead he took my hand and folded my fingers around it himself. They stayed closed.

“Keep it,” Cillian said. “I have more. And remember… You can’t run from me, Moonshine. Not anymore.”

I walked away, photograph crushed in my fist. This time he didn’t follow. He didn’t need to. He was already in my head.

The paper edge cut into my palm. My fingers would not open. One photo and the boy from Saint Lucia was already there. I kept walking under the wrought-iron path lamps, fingers locked around it.

CHAPTER 4

CILLIAN

Fuck. He bit me. Fucking delightful. I grinned into my whiskey, thumb still throbbing. Firelight caught the glass. The room smelled of smoke and old leather. I wanted him to do it again. Harder. Draw blood next time.