Unlike Wellington's, his tailored uniform fit perfectly, accentuating the corded muscles beneath. Atticus pulled out the chair beside me and sat, reaching for mine and dragging it closer until I was angled toward him. His fingers traced my cheek again, slow and deliberate, and he swept my hair back over my shoulder. I held his gaze as he moved his hand down my neck and across my collarbone. His lips curved upward, and he started to lean toward me when a loud cough sounded across the table, causing us both to snarl.
Patricia was staring, her expression a careful mask of disgust, and I became murderous when I saw the hidden lust in the duke's spearing gaze. I started to move, but Atticus grabbed onto my hand, stopping me.
“Leave,” Atticus commanded sharply, his molten eyes hardening with irritation.
“Now, Atticus, I am just as privileged to be here as—”
Geoffrey's last word caught in his throat as his eyes bulged, widening in panic. Pain lanced through his expression as I sensed Atticus using his magic, a sharp metallic scent rending the air.
I might have stepped in foranyone else. But not for him. Wellington may have looked meek and fat, but he was a cruel, disgusting man whom I'd take great pleasure in killing one day.
“Isaidleave,” Atticus barked, relinquishing his power.
The duke gasped, his meaty face red as he clutched his chest.
Patricia was shrieking, pulling frantically at her husband's arm. She managed to pull him free, and they both scrambled backwards, blood now leaking from the duke’s nose. I watched in delight as they ran for the doors and disappeared into the hall.
I grinned at Atticus, who was already staring at me, hunger flashing dangerously in his gaze again.
Atticus and I weren’t together—although he and everyone else had deluded themselves into thinking as much. Was he my lover? Yes. But only because a girl has needs, and well, he was the only male who didn’t cower when I came near him.
His looks didn’t hurt either, not that I would admit that to him.
Atticus's gaze dropped to my left arm, where the swirling emerald tattoo was now etched into my skin. Its vines coiled around my wrist and forearm, forming tiny symbols as they wove up my bicep. It was strange seeing it, the mating bond. As if it wasn't enough to be linked to this male, to feel his every emotion, to have another presence in my already crowded mind. Did it also have to be branded onto me as a constant reminder? Of the bond, of him. I scowled at it, sharing the sentiment with Atticus.
As I pulled my arm from his grasp, his hands slammed onto the armrests on either side of me, gripping tightly, a low rumble emanating from his lips.
“I didn’t like this plan.” He snarled, his voice deep, his eyes fixed on my tattoo.
“You’ll get over it,” I spat back. His silver eyes locked with mine, and I scoffed. Did he expect an apology? All I wantedwas some proper food. Instead, I had to deal with the duke and now Atticus acting like some jealous boyfriend. I shoved his arms to release my chair, but his grip only tightened, pulling me and the chair closer. Atticus spun the chair with a loud screech, turning me to face him fully, his body caging mine.
“Atticus,” I warned, but he only smirked as his gaze slowly raked down my body. His eyes lingering on my breasts before gliding back up to stare at my lips.
“Zar,” he breathed, my name leaving his lips on a soft breath as he leaned forward, his face now only inches from mine. Lust coiled within me at the heady way he’d said my name, and a shiver traced my spine as Atticus closed the distance. He sucked my lower lip into his mouth, his teeth scraping my flesh as he released it again.
“Did you miss me?” he asked, raising a brow.
I leaned back slightly, a smirk playing on my lips as my gaze lowered to his. “I don’t remember.”
Atticus let out a breathy laugh and leaned in further, his stubble grazing my cheek, his hot breath a whisper against my ear. “Seeing you with them was hard, baby,” he murmured, and I might have shivered, even felt something at his words, if I hadn’t noticed his hand palming his dick through his pants.
“Like I said,” I hissed, shoving him in the chest. “you’ll get over it.”
His back hit the chair as I rose to my feet. I was not something to be pissed on, like a dog marking its territory. He didn’t own me, and I certainly did not belong to him or owe him anything.
Atticus shot to his feet as well, a glower on his features as he grabbed my chin, his arm snaking around my waist as hepulled me into him. My palms slammed into his chest, but he ignored me as his silver eyes swirled hungrily.
“I'm not in the mood, Atticus,” I warned again, and he inhaled deeply, the scowl on his face deepening.
“You smell different,” he grunted. “We need to rectify that.”
His mouth immediately crashed onto mine, his lips pressing down hard and forcefully. A hot, boiling anger surged through my veins at his unwelcome kiss, and pain lanced through my left arm, making me wince.
Had the doors not burst open at that precise moment, I would have thrown him across the room. But Atticus pulled back just as suddenly to see who had interrupted us, though he still held onto my chin possessively. I wrenched my face from his grip and turned my head toward the door, surprised to see my father striding into the room.
Gormick’s heavy boots slapped against the stone as his angry blue eyes landed on Atticus. The pink, jagged scar only heightened his dark, shadowed features. A black cloak rested on his shoulders, and he snapped, “Why is it I am hunting you down, Atticus?”
Atticus straightened upon seeing my father, his hand dropping from around my waist.
