“You can’t mean that!” she shouts.
That’s when Monty notices me cradled in Thorne’s arms. He straightens, eyes wide, face pale. I’ve never seen him so discomfited. “Princess, you…you were in the garden?”
I purse my lips, refusing to say a word. I’m not ready to deal with him.
Thorne proceeds forward and brushes past them. “She’s hurt.”
“Where? Is she all right?”
“Fuck off, Monty.”
“The poor girl,” comes Cosette’s simpering tone. I glance over Thorne’s shoulder and find her pleading expression gone, replaced with cold triumph. She must know I came across them. Heard them. Her lips curl in a cruel grin.
I may have admitted that she deserves better than Monty, but I still deserve better than both of them. Than all of this.
Thorne halts and turns to face her. “You fuck off too, Cosette. Get out of my manor. Not at first light.Now.”
That wipes the smug look off her face. Her eyes meet mine, and I return the wicked grin she gave me. Thorne whips back around, and I settle into him once more, my face nestled against his collarbone.
33
THORNE
Briony’s breath warms my neck in a way I find all too pleasant. Or perhaps I’m simply enjoying that she isn’t fighting me for once. She’s letting me help her without argument. I find it oddly appealing. Not that I would find it any less so to have her curving form draped against me like this while she tried to claw out my eyes. Some twisted part of me likes helping her. Holding her. Touching her. Yet the farther we get into the manor and the more distance we put between ourselves and the garden, the stiffer she grows in my arms.
It comes as no surprise when she says, “You can put me down now. I can walk.”
“No,” I say, mostly because I know it will annoy her.
“Why?”
“I made a bargain to lie for you. Monty and Cosette could catch up to us at any time. If I put you down now, it will look suspicious.” There’s hardly any truth in that statement. What a boon it is to have human blood. I glance down and meet her eyes. “Besides, you’re hurt.”
“I’ll heal, Thorne.” A spark flickers in my chest at the sound of my name on her lips. When did we start calling each other by first name?
“Then I’ll at least clean your wound.” We round the next corner and reach the hall that leads to the kitchen.
“I can do that myself.”
I lower my voice. “Just shut up and let me tend to you. I know you’re hurt in more ways than one.”
She blinks at me, her blue eyes going wider. Her throat bobs. “Fine.”
As we reach the kitchen, I stride inside, heading straight for the worktable. The room is dark, lit only by the moonlight filtering in through the small windows and the flames that flicker in the stoves. I prop her on the counter, which elicits a surprised gasp from her.
“Sit,” I demand, then head for the cabinet that contains items for first aid.
“You’re awfully brusque tonight. How can you see a thing—oh, right. Your eyesight is better in the dark. I just realized you’re not wearing your spectacles.”
“Yes, I can see clearly right now,” I say a bit absently as I seek what I need. I return to her with antiseptic and a clean muslin cloth. Glancing down at her legs, I find both knees are covered beneath the folds of her robe. “May I?”
Her eyes deepen into a scowl, but she grudgingly parts the skirt of her robe to reveal the wounded knee. Then, crossing her arms over her chest, she says, “Go ahead. If you’re so determined to tend to me.”
“I am. It’s my form of revenge.” I step closer to her, holding her gaze as I soak the cloth in antiseptic. With her fae healing, plain water would likely suffice, but I am a creature of cleanliness and habit. Injuries happen in kitchens, and there is a specific way to clean them.
She scoffs. “Revenge? For what?”
“For so rudely interrupting me while I was baking. If you hadn’t dragged me into that daydream, you’d be free of my attention right now.”
