Page 83 of Twisting Beauty

The change in him was instant and absolute. Gone was the playful boy from ten seconds ago. Here was the Lorcan I knew, cold and ruthless, glaring at me with something that looked a hell of a lot like hatred.

Understanding hit like a slap. He’d set me up. He’d played me, and I’d fallen for it like a stupid, stupid girl.

His hand clamped around my arm before I could step away, his grip hard and bruising. “You’re going to tell me the truth, Gray.”

Not Rua. Not sister.

Gray.

My real name’s meaning in Irish.

My stomach dropped. He shouldn’t know that name. Nobody at Ravenwood knew that name. Except Nuala. Something cold prickled at me. Was this why Finn was sniffing around her? Had Lorcan sent him to dig into my secrets?

Or perhaps he’d found something at Magdalene. Talked to someone. Put two and two together.

I shook off these thoughts. No, if he knew, then he’d have thrown me in a heap at Alistair’s feet. Lorcan guessed. He suspected. But he had no proof. If he did, he wouldn’t need me to confess.

I tugged at his hand, but his grip was like iron chains. “What truth? God, you’re so paranoid lately. Perhaps you need a stint at Magdalene.”

He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch at my feeble attempt at gaslighting him. He just watched me struggling against him. Like he was waiting for something.

The firelight through the narrow gap in the rose hedges softened, the edges of my vision blurring. The dark roses shuddered as I turned my head.

The music stretched, the laughter from the bonfire warping half a second past where it should stop, the individual sounds pulling apart from each other.

Fuck. That’s why Lorcan wanted me to drink with him. He’d put something in that shot.

Past Lorcan’s shoulder, past the bonfire, a figure in a dark coat stood there staring across the flames, directly down the path, at me, at us. A skeleton mask covered the lower half of his face, but something felt so familiar about him. Familiar in the statue-like stillness as he watched me.

Deargán?

He was here. Watching.

If he was even here at all.

Lorcan yanked me against me, blocking the masked skeleton, forcing my attention solely on him. His icy eyes seemed to warp in my vision, the features of the raven mask seeming to shiver.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice low and clipped. “Why are you here?”

My fingers and toes seemed to disappear like I was floating where I stood as an unnatural numbness came over me. A detachment. Like maybe it would be okay if I just told him. That would be okay, wouldn’t it?

All these secrets were just so heavy. So damn heavy. I could just let go of them. Share them with him. He’d like that. I’d like that.

The feathers on his raven mask rippled, as if something beneath was breathing.

My free hand lifted to the mask. My fingers found a feather, and it was warm against my fingertip.

God, he was so pretty. So viciously pretty.

“I’m here,” I heard myself whisper. “For you.”

Lorcan went very still.

Something moved through his face, but it was gone before I could decipher it.

I slapped my hand over my own mouth.

Christ, why did I say that? Why did I say that?