Page 160 of Twisting Beauty

LIATH

For a moment I just stared at Lorcan.

Hurt cut through his face before he buried it in fury.

Fuck the deed. Fuck the kiss. Fuck every man in my life thinking he got to decide for me.

I cut sideways into the trees, away from him, cold air stinging my face, cognac still under my tongue.

Behind me, a branch snapped under his boot. “Why would you go behind my back?”

I didn’t look at him, even as he caught up. “Because I’m sick of both you and him deciding what I’m allowed to know.”

“Liath.”

“I needed the truth, okay?” I snapped a branch out of my way. “And I needed it without you there blowing it up.”

He fell into step beside me, close enough that his whiskey and cellos pressed in on me. “Go on, then. What did the fucking murderer put in your head this time?”

I whirled on him, causing us both to halt. “He loved your mother. And she loved him.”

He went very still.

I knew the words on my tongue would hurt him. I said them anyway. “She never chose your father. He forced her into marrying him.”

“Lies,” he snapped, too fast, even as something moved across his face.

“No, your father has been drowning you in lies since before you were born. You just can’t see it because it’s all you know.”

He worried the inside of his cheek, his eyes searching my face.

The deed sat in my chest. Did you know? Have you known? Are you one of them?

The questions were burning on my tongue. I almost said it. Almost accused him of it.

But I bit them back. I didn’t know how he’d answer. I wasn’t sure I’d survive the truth. I hated myself for not wanting to know.

“So that’s all it takes, huh?” His voice had gone quiet and cruel. “One fucking kiss from him and you’re swallowing his lies.”

I stomped past him.

If I stayed, I’d either tell him everything or hurt him worse. I was angry at Deargán. At Lorcan. At myself.

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” he called out, his voice cracking, like it was the one thing he couldn’t survive.

I turned back on him before he reached me.

He came in fast, his body colliding with mine.

My back hit the tree, the bark of it pressing through my coat into my shoulder blades, his body pinning me there.

His hand came up around my throat, his fingers curving around the sides of my neck, his thumb under my jaw, firm and possessive, his voice hard. “I don’t give a shite what you think you owe him. You chose me and you can’t take it back.”

His mouth came down on mine, kissing me hard and bruising, like he was claiming back territory. His teeth caught my lower lip and his tongue swept in. Whiskey flooded over the cognac that had been sitting on my mouth.

My hands came up to shove him off. Instead, they hit his chest and curled into the front of his coat, pulling him in closer, kissing him back with a matching violent need.

His hand tightened on my throat, just enough that every pulse hammered against his palm. My fingers dragged through his hair. His other hand was up under my coat. Mine were yanking at his belt. We were tearing at each other like we were both trying to reach something inside the other before it got away.