Page 2 of Godless Saints

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder,” he added softly.

“This is a church.”

“Then behave.”

My head turned before I could stop it.

Idiot.

Cillian’s gaze fell to my mouth. Then back up. “You first.”

“I did behave.”

His mouth moved closer to my ear. The grip in my hair tightened another fraction.

“I let you run.”

“I don’t run.”

“You walked out on me, prince.” He barely raised his voice, too soft for what he was doing. Fingers playing with the short strands at my nape. “Even boys like me have feelings. Fragile little things.”

I didn’t bother hiding my annoyance. “I walked away because there was nothing to walk away from. We drank. The party ended.”

“You panicked.”

I caught his wrist and dragged his hand out of my hair before he could twist deeper.

Cillian’s eyes dropped to my fingers, then back to my face. A slow smile formed.

He noticed.

The lunatic saw exactly what he was doing to me. And I'd just told him more than words ever could.

“There he is… Knew you were still in there.”

“If you say that again—”

“You’ll what?” he asked. “Break my nose in church? Bite me? Pretend you don’t like that I followed you here?”

“I’m not violent like you.” My jaw tightened, voice low enough for only him.

A girl to my left shifted; she was pressed into the man beside her. “Excuse me. Could you give me some space?”

I offered her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.” I moved straight into Cillian on my right.

His hands closed on my shoulders. Pulled me back against him.

“Careful, prince,” he said. “You’re starting to look like the boy from Saint Lucia.”

The speaker droned on about Favor and Blood Writs. Favor was Evermourne’s currency. Earn it for your Court, climb the board, make your family proud. Blood Writs were Evermourne’s idea of a bounty. One Court put a mark on someone from another, and whoever took the Writ got to wreck them until they broke. Collect, and your Court earned Favor.

I knew the rules. I heard none of them. Cillian’s thigh stayed pressed against mine. One night. That was all it took.

A shadow moved behind us.

Sawyer Whitlock slid in on my left without asking. Messy ash-blond hair fell across bright blue eyes, that too-sharp smile already in place. The navy suit was perfect, but the open collar and silver bracelet ruined the clean heir look on purpose. His shoulder knocked into mine as he leaned across me like I wasn’t even there.