Page 63 of Godless Saints

A girl in maroon climbed into the ring and pressed herself against his bloody chest. Thumb wiping blood from his mouth. Kiss on the cheek. Whisper in his ear.

My hand curled around his ring until the metal bit into my palm. She had no fucking right. No one had any right to touch him. He was mine.

Jealousy tore through me.

Cillian laughed. Hand settling on her waist like it meant nothing. My chest caved. Heat flooded my neck and burned up my ears. I shoved through the crowd before the flush could betray me. Shoulders slammed. Beer spilled down my sleeve. Sweat, blood, and victory stench clung as I forced my way out.

The night air hit like ice. Cold. Sharp. Cleansing. I made it ten steps across the gravel before hands grabbed me from behind.

Cillian slammed me against the nearest tree. Rough bark scraped my cheek. The impact punched the air from my lungs. His body pinned me there. Burning hot. Slick with sweat and blood. His chest crushed against my back, heart hammering against my spine.

His mouth brushed my ear. Ragged. “I know you’ve been coming to my fights,” he rasped. “I let you watch. Because I like knowing those pretty eyes are on me.”

His thigh shoved between mine. His cock thick and insistent against my ass. Pulse jumped into my throat.

“Get the fuck off me,” I hissed.

Cillian laughed low against my neck. “We both know you don’t want me off you.”

I shoved back with my shoulder.

Mistake.

Cillian pressed harder, crushing me between rough bark and his burning body. His mouth hovered at my ear. I could still smell the sweat, copper, and raw need baked into his skin.

My cock twitched hard against my sweats, betraying me instantly. His hips dragged once against my ass. I bit down on a sound.

He heard it anyway.

“There’s my little stalker,” he rasped against my ear, voice rough with satisfaction.

“Shut up. I’m not little.”

His hand slid over my hip, then lower, fingers hooking under the waistband of my sweats.

I caught his wrist. Hard.

He stopped.

Then his grip tightened on my hip, possessive and bruising. “Then tell me. Why’d you run off like that, my prince?” he rasped. “You never storm out in the middle of my fights.”

My jaw locked.

I should have pushed him away. The trees were black around us. Thorn’s hall still roared behind the stone walls. Gravel crunched somewhere, too far to matter, too close to ignore. Instead, I hissed, “Who was she?”

Cillian went still, body suddenly heavy against my back.

“Who?”

I turned my head as much as the tree allowed. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“Jealous, prince?”

I drove my elbow back. He caught it before it reached his ribs. “Answer.”

“Clare.”

My stomach tightened. She had a fucking name. “She always paws at you like that after a fight?”