Page 388 of Coal Hearts

Chapter Seventeen

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Ily

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“WHERE THE HELL DID YOU learn to fight like that?”

I looked up from where I kneeled beside Henri. The wooden deck beneath my bare legs was comfortingly warm, the new sunshine extra bright as if shining in apology for the storm’s wrath three nights ago.

God...has it really been three nights?

Time had never passed so slowly or so awkwardly.

The energy in Victor’s citadel was electric with animosity.

All the Masters kept a careful, hateful eye on Henri, avoiding him as if he might suddenly kill another of their ranks. No guest dared come near me. No one even looked in my direction.

It was as if we’d been in a snow globe of untouchability for the past three days—thanks to Henri’s ruthlessness during the treasure hunt and Victor’s ominous disappearance.

Seventy-two hours he’d been missing, and now...here he is.

Lucky me.

I schooled my face to remain impassive as I glanced up at the lord of this despicable estate. He looked as cool and collected as usual, with orange-tinted sunglasses perched on his sharp nose.

Henri shifted in his chair, finishing his swallow of coffee as he looked up at Victor. “Excuse me?”

Victor helped himself to an unoccupied chair and sat down. Dressed in a beige polo and linen shorts, he was the epitome of a rich asshole on holiday.

An inconspicuous waitstaff appeared, placing a plate of cut fruits, mini pastries, and a freshly brewed cup of coffee before Victor.

Grabbing a piece of pineapple, Victor plopped it onto his tongue and said midst-chew, “What you did to my two unfortunate guests the other night. Where did you learn to do that?”

I shot Henri a look.

His white t-shirt almost blinded, and blue jeans made him far more handsome than any man had the right to be. Even now, after everything, I still couldn’t look at him without a kick of unbearable attraction. It didn’t help that his knuckles were still raw, and a few bruises hinted he’d been in a brawl and won.

A small smile crossed his face, sinfully hot and devilishly gorgeous.

Ever since what happened between us.

Ever since my body proved exactly what it needed and embraced the awful word Henri called me, I hummed with vicious arousal.

His every move, his smell, his presence.

Watching him read was pure torture.

Having him refuse to talk to me was ridiculous foreplay.

Masochist.

I’m a masochist.

I wished it wasn’t true.

I waited for my heart to refute it, but...he’d weaved a curse around me.