Page 84 of Broken Blades

I nodded. Couldn't find words. Couldn't process anything beyond the fact that his mouth had been on mine thirty seconds ago and my entire body still vibrated with the aftershocks.

He guided me toward the concession area, his thumb brushing once across my knuckles.

And I wondered—terrified, exhilarated, completely undone—if he could feel the way my pulse raced beneath his touch.

Chapter 16

Wyatt

I spotted Thomas Harrington the moment we cleared the entrance tunnel. He stood near the ice-level seating, mid-conversation with someone from the Serpents' PR team. Tailored coat. Polished shoes. The same controlled, calculating expression he'd worn in every interaction we'd had since this arrangement began.

Perfect.

I'd been hoping for this.

My grip on Chastity's hand tightened slightly as I steered us directly toward him. She didn't notice—too distracted by the decorations, the crowd, the lingering aftermath of what I'd just done to her mouth in the parking lot.

Good. Let her stay distracted. This conversation wasn't for her.

Thomas paused mid-sentence when he caught sight of us. His eyes tracked our approach with the precision of a man assessing threats. First to our joined hands. Then to the way Chastity had unconsciously tucked herself into my side—seeking warmth, seeking stability, seeking me.

His jaw tightened. Just a fraction. Barely perceptible to anyone who didn't know what to look for.

But I saw it.

I saw everything.

The mask he wore in public was slipping. Just a hair. Just enough to reveal the fury simmering underneath that carefully constructed facade of paternal pride.

We stopped directly in front of him.

Chastity lit up instantly. "Dad!"

Her voice carried genuine warmth. Affection. The kind of uncomplicated love that made my chest twist with something I refused to examine too closely.

Thomas's expression smoothed over immediately—years of practice snapping that mask back into place. He smiled at his daughter with what looked like genuine tenderness.

"Chastity. You look beautiful, sweetheart."

I stepped closer behind her. Deliberately towering. Letting my presence crowd the space between them. Letting him feel the shift in dynamics—the way his daughter now stood on my side of the battlefield.

"She does, doesn't she?" My voice came out smooth. Easy. Laced with exactly the kind of possessive pride that would make any father uncomfortable.

Thomas stiffened.

I smiled—slow, cutting, designed to slice through whatever composure he had left. "You should've seen her get ready." I let the pause stretch just long enough to be deliberate. "Took forever to zip that dress."

Thomas went pale.

The implication hit exactly as intended—domestic intimacy, private moments, access to his daughter in ways that made him want to rip my throat out but couldn't because we were surrounded by cameras and families and children.

Chastity sputtered beside me. Her elbow jabbed into my ribs—horrified, mortified, completely unaware of the actual war being waged over her head.

I kept my eyes locked on her father. Let my grin sharpen into something pure provocation.

Thomas's voice dropped low—a warning wrapped in forced civility. "This isn't appropriate."

I leaned in slightly. Close enough that only he could hear. Close enough that the cameras would just catch what looked like friendly conversation between two men discussing the woman they both cared about.