Morty never took his eyes off me, but mine darted down to the syringe every few seconds to make sure it remained firmly against his throat. The pulse in his neck throbbed steadily as my heart rate rose.
“Think you could you do it, little princess?”
That question—whether or not I could push down and incapacitate him, possibly killing him—filtered in past the bravado that had been keeping it at bay.
“Could I take a life, if it came down to it, to protect myself?”
When I’d first arrived at Camelot Court, the answer had been simple. It would’ve been no. The death of my father had been too fresh. Too paralyzing to even consider the thought. And I hadn’t felt like I had it in me to fight.
Although, deep down, I believed I would’ve.
For Gia, I did.
Now, with everything I’d seen and learned about their world, I had to consider it as arealpossibility. And if I was attacked again, I’d fight back. That fierce protectiveness had flared inside my chest at the thought of any of my three men being hurt, so I’d fight for them.
If it were me, my life on the line…if I faced down an enemy that wanted to destroy me, I’d fight to protect myself.
For the chance to live without fear—love without limits—I’d kill for it.
Maybe not Morty.
No use marring my clean conscience for just anybody, but if Drake D’Arthur threatened me?
Yeah, I could do it. Gladly.
I believed that even as I hoped I’d never have to decide.
“I see what he sees in you.”
At Morty’s sudden whisper, I flinched.
My hand jerked, alarming us both.
“Don’t be hasty, darling.” His lips curled into an arrogant grin, and he leaned his head back to tilt his chin up farther, exposing more of his neck. “I’m just saying I get it.”
His appreciative gaze crawled over my skin, and I hated the way it felt. Not like I’d claimed to hate his brother’s onyx gaze. Not the way Max Dread got under my skin.
When Morty leered at me, it just felt—wrong.
“Maybe you and I should?—”
“Charmed, I’m sure, but my dance card is full.” I scoffed and pressed the needle into his skin. “Or whatever beautiful, rich people say when there’s not a chance in hell, Morty.”
He chuckled, cocking his head as he made a final pass over my body. “Quite frankly, doll face, you’re not my type.”
“I’m still holding the syringe, asshole.” I didn’t put pressure on the plunger, but the desire to do so increased. “And I’m happy to stab you just for fun.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He smirked and rolled his eyes, his posture relaxing as we both accepted he wasn’t going to do anything to make me stab him, and he assumed I was hesitant to do so.
But when I didn’t ease my grip, he got a dark, wild look in his eyes. “You don’t have a best friend you could hook me up with, do you?”
“Ew.” My fingers clenched reflexively, and I forced my grip to relax. “No.”
“Bit of a loner?”
Glaring at him, I took in his face fully for the first time.
It was eerily similar to Max’s, and my new awareness of their connection amplified features I hadn’t lingered on the first time we met.
