“You took that from me. The last thing he ever said. You took it. You took him.”
“Sterlingkilled him. I gave him honor.”
“I don’t care about your Sovereign honor!” The words explode out of me. “I care about myfather! I just want to know what he said!” I move toward him, shaking with fury, hands fisted at my sides. His expression doesn’t change. Just those cold, blue eyes.
“Nothing that matters now. It won’t bring him back.”
“How fucking dare you.” My voice cracks open. “You don’t get to stand there and decide what matters to me. You don’t get to take everything from me and then act like I’m the one being unreasonable.”
I shove him, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. I shove him again, my palms slapping hard against his chest.
“Say something! Fucking say something!”
He grabs my wrists and yanks me flush against him, my bare skin pressed against his shirt. His mouth is inches from mine.
“You want answers?” he growls. “You want to make this hurt mean something? Then come with me. We’re hunting Alistair and Dalton next.”
“I don’t need your permission.”
He smirks. “No. But you’ll need my protection. You’re still bleeding, kitten. And you’re too angry to think straight.”
I yank my wrists free.
“You want pain, Arlo? You want to put that rage somewhere that matters? Use it on them.”
A stupid, broken part of mewantsto. The thought of spoiling Sterling’s plan—of ripping something away from him the way he ripped everything from me—is tempting. A bitter little fantasy of revenge that tastes like the closest thing to peace I’ll ever get.
But being near Priest makes me want to slit my own throat just to escape the gravitational pull of him.
He steps closer, and I can’t breathe without inhaling him. His fingers slide under my chin, the touch deceptively gentle, and he tilts my face up.
“You were so pretty in the dirt. All blood and tears.”
His eyes drop to a fresh scratch on my arm. He drags his thumb across it slowly, smearing the blood. Then he looks up at me with those unreadable blue eyes that never stay the samefor long. Rage one second. Ice the next. Then something else, something terrible and vulnerable—before it disappears again.
“I love the way you bleed.”
His gaze flicks to my mouth—then he kisses me. Softly. A brush of lips that shouldn’t be gentle. That shouldn’t exist inside a monster like him.
I freeze.
Not because I want to—but because I don’t know how to breathe through it. I should shove him away. Should bite him, claw at him, run.
But I don’t.
I don’t move. I don’t speak. I justfeelhim. I let him take whatever this moment is.
Whatever he’s trying to say without saying it. And for a second—for half a breath?—
it almost feels like he’s saying sorry.
Sorry for the pain. For the fear. For the hell he dragged me through. Sorry in the only language he’s ever been taught.
Then it’s gone.
He pulls back, and the softness evaporates like it was never real. His face shutters. His eyes go dead. His body becomes rigid again.
Like nothing happened.
