Page 77 of Twisting Beauty

Rua would have giggled, let her eyes flutter, sipped again. So I did. Even as he watched me, licking his lips after every sip like he was tasting me instead.

He began reminiscing. Talking about horse riding lessons. How I used to fall asleep by the fire. How I cried when he missed my birthday that one time and how he made it up to me.

“You always loved my gifts, didn’t you?”

I kept my sips small and nodded.

He leaned closer, breath sour and bitter with absinthe. “You know, you’ve grown into such a… striking young woman.”

His fingers slid behind my ear, brushing my jaw as he tucked a strand of hair back. Gently. Too gently.

I swallowed my revulsion and forced a smile. “Thank you… Daddy.”

Forcing the word made something crawl across my skin.

He shifted even closer in his seat, green liquid sloshing in his glass.

“Do you remember how you used to sit in my lap and beg for stories?” He patted his thigh. “Come here, my unlucky girl. Let me tell you a story.”

My stomach turned, a cold, greasy wave rolling through my gut. A scream clawed at the back of my throat, threatening to rise, but I swallowed it down, forcing my hands to remain soft around my glass, my face to stay soft, sweet, docile. Just like Rua would.

I couldn’t settle into his fucking lap like a dog. I couldn’t let him touch me. Wouldn’t.

But I couldn’t insult him. Couldn’t break character. One wrong move and he’d know I wasn’t Rua.

I lowered my lashes, the corners of my mouth curling in a soft smile. “I’d love to, but the doctor said I had to maintain my boundaries in case it triggered me. We don’t want to undo my healing, do we, Daddy?”

His smile froze. Then it warped like a mask tugged too tightly across bone. His jaw ticked as he looked away, smoothing down his pant leg like he was sheathing a blade. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to impede your… healing.”

The way he said healing sounded like a threat.

“I can’t wait to be fully stable, Daddy.” I smiled, set down my glass, and forced a yawn, stretching my arms above my head. “Time for bed.”

His gaze dragged across the strip of exposed skin where my sweater had ridden up, a slow crawl that felt like the stroke of a blade drawn too close to flesh.

It took everything in me not to claw at my own skin. Or seize the poker from the hearth and drive it through his eyes.

I straighten my hem as I stood, relief curling through me like the first breath after drowning. I’d survived. I’d played the game. I could go.

But his hand clamped around my wrist, holding me in place.

Fuck. A final move. One more turn in his sick little game.

I turned back to him, forcing one last saccharine smile. “Yes, Daddy?”

“Don’t take too long, pet. I’ve waited long enough already.” His thumb traced my wrist along the edge of Rua’s bracelet, making bile fill the back of my mouth.

A promise. A threat.

“And I won’t wait forever.”

I sat at my vanity, dusting shimmer across my cheekbones, the kind that caught candlelight and made skin look almost otherworldly. My eyeliner traced sharp wings, but I softened it with silvery shadow, blending it into something ethereal.

The black gown on the bed was stiff and high-necked, as if it had been designed for a Victorian funeral rather than a living person. Nothing I would have chosen on my best day. The thought of pulling it on made my skin crawl.

Lorcan was throwing a Samhain party now that Alistair had been called away on business, thank God. Samhain, the old Celtic festival at the turn of winter, the night when the veil between the living and the dead grew thin. Ireland’s Halloween, except older and darker and nothing to do with candy.

Attending Lorcan’s party tonight felt like a trap.