“What? It’s a valid question!”
“He’s immortal, Sean. The answer is probably ‘forever.’”
Villeneuve’s lips twitch. “Approximately eight hundred years, give or take a few decades. Time becomes somewhat fluid after the first century.”
“Eight hundred years,” I repeat. “Dude. You’re fucking old asshit.”
“Thank you for that observation, Mr. Brewer.”
“What? It’s a compliment, you don’t look it.”
We go another few rounds, but the mood has shifted. This lighthearted game has morphed into an interrogation, and we all know it.
“Truth or dare?” Killian asks the next time the bottle lands on Villeneuve.
“Truth.”
Killian’s jaw tightens. “How many people have you killed?”
The room goes very quiet.
Villeneuve holds Killian’s gaze without flinching. “Too many to count.”
We all stare at him. Even Regina’s eyes widen a little.
“Fucking badass,” I mutter under my breath.
Not quite under enough, judging from the way Killian glares at me.
Regina shifts in Micah’s lap. “Killian?—”
“The rules are the rules,” Micah says quietly. “He asked. Villeneuve answered.”
The game continues, but it’s less playful now. Every time the bottle lands on Villeneuve—which is suspiciously often—Killian’s there with another question. Trying to find the cracks in that ancient armor.
After the sixth time, Villeneuve raises an eyebrow. “I’m beginning to suspect this bottle has been tampered with.”
“Don’t be a sore loser,” Killian sneers.
“I wasn’t aware one couldlosetruth or dare.”
“Depends on the questions, doesn’t it?”
Villeneuve’s dark eyes narrow. Challenge accepted.
The bottle spins again. Lands on Villeneuve. Again.
“Truth or dare?” Killian asks.
“Truth.”
Killian leans forward. His ice-blue eyes have that yellow flicker deep inside that I’ve been trying not to notice all night. “How long have you had feelings for my mate?”
The room goes still.
“Killian.” Regina’s voice is sharp.
“Those are the rules,” Micah says, though his voice is quieter now. “He picked truth. He has to answer.”
