Vincent’s face contorts with a new level of rage as he leans toward Seraphina, hand raised. The movement is so quick, so instinctive, that I’m on my feet before I even register the thought to move. My arm wraps around her waist, yanking her up with me as my other hand shoots out to capture my father’s wrist mid-air.
The sound of his bones grinding together under my grip is fucking satisfying.
“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Each word drops from me like ice, my voice so controlled it barely sounds human. I tighten my grip until I feel the delicate bones in his wrist shift. “You lay one fucking inch of skin on her, and I’ll have you dealt with in the old ways.”
My father’s eyes widen slightly. He knows exactly what I mean. The Onyx Dominion might have officially separated from Black Crown decades ago when we excommunicated them, but their methods—flaying the disobedient alive and displaying theirbodies as warnings—are still whispered about in the darkest corners of Society meetings.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he breathes, but there’s uncertainty in his eyes now. Uncertainty and fear.
“Try me.” I twist his wrist just enough to make him wince. “I’ve always been curious how long it takes for a man to die when they’re skinned inch by inch. I’ve heard the screaming can last for days if it’s done right.”
Seraphina’s breath hitches behind me, but I don’t take my eyes off my father.
“You’re insane,” Vincent whispers.
“No.” I smile, the kind of smile that’s all teeth and no warmth. “I’m simply your son. Molded exactly as you intended. Ruthless and calculating. Willing to do whatever it takes to protect what’s mine.”
I release his wrist with enough force to make him stumble backward, his other hand automatically coming up to rub the reddening marks my fingers left.
“Get out of my house,” I tell him, my voice eerily calm now. “And don’t come back.”
For a moment, I think he might argue. His eyes dart between me and Seraphina, calculating, assessing whether this is a battle worth fighting tonight. Then his shoulders straighten, that perfect Devereux mask sliding back into place.
“This isn’t over,” he says, straightening his cufflinks with practiced nonchalance. “The Society won’t stand for this...abomination.”
“The Society will follow me,” I remind him. “All it will take is one little drop of your infidelity.”
He turns to leave, but pauses at the door. “You think you’re untouchable, but even heirs can fall, Lucien.” His eyes shift to Seraphina. “And when you do, she falls with you.”
The door slams behind him with enough force to rattle the crystal glasses on the table.
I’m still standing, my body thrumming with adrenaline and rage, my hand still hovering where I’d gripped my father’s wrist.
“Well, that went about as expected,” I say, trying to sound casual despite the fury still pounding through my veins. My jaw aches from clenching it so tight.
Seraphina stands frozen beside me, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I can’t tear my eyes away from her—the flush on her cheeks, the wild look in her eyes, the way her lips are slightly parted as she catches her breath.
Fuck, she’s beautiful when she’s angry. When she’s standing up for herself. When she’s standing up for me.
I sink back into my chair, suddenly exhausted from the confrontation. Without thinking, I reach out and grab her wrist, tugging her down with me. She lands in my lap with a small yelp of surprise, her ass pressing against my still-hard cock.
“Jesus,” I breathe out, some of the tension finally leaving my shoulders as I wrap an arm around her waist to keep her in place. Having her weight on me, feeling her warmth—it grounds me in a way I don’t want to examine too closely.
The moment doesn’t last. She squirms, trying to stand up.
“Where do you think you’re going, Little Sinner?” I growl, tightening my grip on her waist. “We’re not done here.”
“Let me go,” she demands. Her body is still vibrating with leftover adrenaline, just like mine.
“No.” I slide my hand up to cup her jaw, turning her face toward mine. “You’re not running away this time. Not after what just happened.”
Her eyes dart to my lips, then back up to meet my gaze. “What do you want from me, Lucien?”
“The truth,” I say simply. “Why did you defend me?”
She tries to look away, but I hold her chin firmly. “I wasn’t defending you,” she mutters. “I was attacking him. There’s a difference.”
“Bullshit,” I counter, my thumb tracing the outline of her lower lip. “You could’ve let him tear into me. God knows I’ve given you enough reasons to hate me. Instead, you stood up to him. For me.”
