Saint finally spoke, deep and cold. “I’ll take his tongue.”
Knight nodded once. “And his eyes.”
Drake sighed, and Maxen imagined him pinching the bridge of his nose. “We should still take him back.”
“What if that’s what he wants?” Dagger said.
“Good catch,” Reaper said.
Yes, good catch.
Still wouldn’t stop Maxen from dragging him back to the tavern. The dungeon.
The pistol never wavered. Maxen’s grip never slackened.
“Maxen,” Calliope called his name.
He heard nothing else. Not the storm outside, not his brothers shifting closer, not even Peregrine’s breath in his face. The instant he loosened his grip, Saint was there. Silent, efficient, his hand slamminginto Peregrine’s wrist, pistol clattering across the floor. His brother had Peregrine disarmed and on his knees, his arm twisted back at such an angle that bone snapped.
Knight crouched to retrieve the fallen weapon, weighing it in his palm before tucking it into his belt. “One less toy for him.”
Reaper smirked from the doorway. “I still vote for death by cravat strangulation.”
Maxen finally exhaled. Turning, he went to Calliope, and in one swift moment, he scooped her up and marched from the room.
Time to go home.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Calliope could stillfeel him.
He had carried her as though she weighed nothing at all, his chest a wall of heat and steel against her, the steady beat of his heart pounding against her ear as if it belonged to her. And only her. He hadn’t let her go until he stopped before her chamber door at the tavern, and she hadn’t asked him to. And lord, the imprint of his arms... his body lingered on her skin. In fact, she swore the raw scent of him had sunk straight into her veins.
Madness!
Utter madness!
Now she stood at the center of the room, Prince sprawled at her feet, staring at him while he remained stiffly in the doorway as though he had no intention of moving farther, broad shoulders shadowing the light behind him. His scarred mouth was a grim line, arms crossed over his chest, hands curled into fists.
He hadn’t spoken since setting her down. He simply stared.
It was unbearable.
Unnerving.
Pulse-fluttering.
Each time his gaze flicked over her and her wrists, only slightly reddened from the rope and the faint scrape on her cheek from where she’d leaped from the carriage, her scalp prickled. His gaze tracedevery visible mark with ruthless intensity.
And yet he said nothing.
The silence that stretched caused a full force of prickles to erupt all over her body. She wanted him gone. She wanted him closer. Stars, she wanted to be in his arms again.
Her fingers twisted in her jacket. “If you mean to stand guard, Maxen, at least step inside.” And he could close the door before he attracted the attention of his brothers!
His jaw flexed, but he still did not move. “I can’t.”
That gave her pause. “Well, if you can’t, then can you go?”
