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“Hmm.”
That’s his only response before he sighs heavily.
“By my shadow, little one,” he growls.
I tense, shivering.
He’s said it loud enough for me to hear, and that was the point.
It’s my shadow that decides if you’re in the sunlight or darkness.
“I can make this go away, Ella,” he rumbles. “But I need you to work with me.”
“Three, two, one—”
“Your grip is entirely wrong on that handle,” Noel mutters. “Your shoulder stance is off, your feet aren’t spread enough to support any sort of meaningful swing, and quite frankly, I don’t think you’re strong enough to actually hurt me. Just the same,” he growls lowly. “Don’t ever fucking threaten me again, Harriet.”
I swear I can feel his gaze cutting into me, piercing me even through the wall separating the living room from the kitchen where I’m hiding.
Then, I hear his footsteps walking away, and Harry shutting and locking the door. I peek my head around the corner.
“He’s gone,” she says quietly.
She turns, looking more than slightly shaken. Which I don’t blame her for. Squaring off toe-to-toe with Noel in his full war chief mode is… terrifying.
“Pity he left,” she mutters, hefting the cricket bat before she leans it against the wall by the door.
“Another second and this thing was going to be so far up his ass he’d have wooden dentures.”
I giggle. Then I keep giggling, as if the laughter is a soothing balm for the gripping fear and paralyzing anxiety from before. Harry even joins me.
Eventually, I wipe a tear away, laughing as I raise my eyes to hers.
“So, were you really going to just gloss over the whole you watching Bridgerton thing?”
She grins widely.
“Fuck off with the judgey looks. That isfantastictelevision.”
I start to giggle again, just as a knock lands heavily on her door again. Instantly, the laughter and smiles die. Harry whirls, snatching the cricket bat as she brutally unlocks the door and swings it wide.
“Well, someone’s pretty fucking eager to get their balls smashed in, now aren’t they—!”
We both jolt, Harry stumbling a step back. It’s not Noel standing out in the hallway.
It’s Jacob Prince.
I wince as he arches a brow, dropping his gaze to the bat in Harry’s hands.
“I can’t say I’m particularly keen to the idea, to be honest.”
Harry frowns, backing away.
“Sorry, thought you were someone else.”
“Someone like Noel Ransom who I just watched storm out of your building?”
“That would be him.”
