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“The party will wait for you; don’t worry. I’d rather just catch up for a bit first.”
“Bradley,” I say with forced patience, “this is my sister’s engagement party. I can’t be M.I.A. for too long.”
“Celine won’t care,” he says dismissively. “She’s only got eyes for that new boy toy of hers. And as for me… I’ve only got eyes for you.”
I want to gag. But that’ll have to wait, because what I’m realizing with growing horror is that this is the quietest, most isolated space of any party that Bradley has managed to corner me into yet. His timing couldn’t be worse.
I must’ve clubbed a lot of baby seals in that former life of mine.
“I’m sorry, Bradley, but I’m not interested. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to the part—”
“No!” he roars. He reaches out and snares my wrist in a too-tight grip. Then he blinks and his tone recedes back to that sweet, wheedling whine he thinks will make my clothes fall off. “I mean, why? Come on now. Just stay with me here and we can have a little party of our own.”
His hand doesn’t leave my forearm, though. And he’s squeezing hard. I wince. “You’re hurting me. Please let go.”
“I’m not doing a damn thing you haven’t put on the table already,” he growls. He drops his drink and it hits the ground. The glass cracks with a dull thump, amber liquid soaking into the rug at our feet.
“E-excuse me?” I stutter. “What—”
“With your fucking jokes and your fucking clothes and your fucking goddamnedteasing,” he snarls in my face. He hedges closer and closer until his hips meet mine and my back meets the wall behind me. “I mean, look at you now. Dressed up like a fucking whore. I can practically see your pussy from here. I cansmellit.”
My tongue is dry and I can’t find any words to fight back with. It occurs to me again, just like it did the day I met Ilarion, that ugly things should happen on ugly days. But I’m about to get raped by a creep, and yet the sky outside is sunny and cheerful.
“I’m done asking. I’m done begging. It’s time for me totakewhat you keep holding right out of my reach.”
“Bradley,” I whisper, “please don’t—”
“You must not have heard her. She saidno.”
A massive shadow falls across both of us. It blots out the sun, and the scent that comes with it—whiskey, leather, musk—takes my breath away. Bradley and I both turn at the same time.
As Ilarion steps into the mouth of the hallway.
His eyes are dark. One hand holds a glass of champagne. The other is a white-knuckled fist at his side. As I watch, the muscles in his forearm twitch with rage.
“Taylor and I were just talking,” Bradley says.
“And now, you’re finished.”
His face screws up like he tasted something sour. “Who are you to tell me when I’m done talking?”
“I’m the man who will hurt you very, very badly if you try to argue otherwise. Say goodbye and walk away, my friend. Before things take a turn for the worse.”
Bradley lasts one more quivering, fear-filled second before he lets go of me. I gasp and crumble forward when his fingers release my forearm. The skin where he held me burns.
He takes a final look at me, then purses his lips and storms away, leaving his spilled glass behind.
For the length of one breath, I’m grateful that I was saved.
Then I remember who did the saving, and I realize that this might have been the worst of all possible outcomes.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
“If you’re expecting a thank you, you can think again.” My words come out raspy but fierce. “I can take care of myself.”
To my surprise, he nods. “Oh, I know. I heard most of that conversation. Do you want some champagne?”
“That’s not high on my list of priorities right now, thanks,” I gasp, still gathering myself. Mostly, I just can’t believe that that’s his opening question. We’re alone together for the first time since…well,you know, and he’s asking me if I want a freaking drink.
