Page 4 of The Puppeteer and the Poisoned Pawn

Dessin’s face hardens into something dangerous. Like he’s holding on to his temper by a string of yarn. “Don’t,” he warns.

“What about when I cowered in the corner of his room after he hit me? After his fist cracked into my cheekbone? What about when I sobbed into that corner, wondering why you didn’t save me? Were you laughing then?” I’m on my feet, body clenched tightly in a fighting stance. My blood runs rampant through my veins, a choppy river of acid.

Dessin is practically shaking, chest heaving to draw in more oxygen.

“So help me God, Skylenna.”

“I hate you!” I screech through my teeth, tears springing free, dripping fast enough to fill an ocean. “I don’t want to see youorKane tonight. Leave!” A sob breaks off from my chest. I can’t trust Kane right now either. Whatever Dessin knows, he does too. They both lied to me. They both made me look like a fool. They let me live in the home of a horrible ruler, a deranged psychopath.

Dessin looks at me for a long moment, watching me sob, sniffle, and wrap my arms around my own body to comfort myself and calm the raging meltdown.

He nods once, like it’s all he can do not to race to my side, hold me in his arms and keep me steady. Tell me I’m safe with him.

It’s a few moments while I fight to regain my composure. His brown eyes glaze over, and his body relaxes. Shoulders droop, fists uncurl, brows soften. It’s as if he’s drifting off into a daydream.

He’s leaving, but his body will stay.

The man standing before me blinks several times, glancing around the room in confusion. But as his eyes land on me, his lips curl into a smile. But it’s quick, temporary. He seems to notice my rosy tearstained cheeks and my trembling shoulders. That wicked smile dissolves, and a pair of darkened eyes trail over me, studying my body language.

“Are you hurt?” It’s the accent that gives him away. The satiny, elegant way he says each word. The soothing, sensual tone. The burning coals in his eyes.

Greystone.

“Yes.” I nod, sniffling. “I’m hurt.”

I am torn to shreds. My insides are in a puddle around me. And I can’t breathe.

Greystone takes a step closer, his face uncharacteristically serious and pinched with concern. He taps his fingers together, unsure how to comfort me.

“May I comfort you?” he asks.

More tears spill from my eyes as I nod. “Yes.”Please.

Greystone closes the few inches left between us, using his thumbs to clean my cheeks of the streaming tears. I lean into his touch, grateful for the closeness, the gentle comfort.

“You’re okay,” he purrs, cool breath grazing my cheek.

And with considerate caution, Greystone wraps his arms around my shoulders, bringing me to his chest. “You’re okay.”

I rest my warm, wet cheek against his shoulder. “He’s a bastard,” I whimper.

“I’ve known that for some time, yes.” He sighs.

I chuckle between sobs, snuggling deeper into his chest. His scent is my safe space and slightly different than Dessin’s. It’s the rich aroma of cedar and dark musk. I love noticing their differences. What makes each alter unique.

“You smell nice,” I whisper.

“I know that too.”

I laugh again. “I’m sorry this is what you had to surface to. I’m sure this is definitely not your normal trigger.”

“Actually,”—he pulls my wavy golden hair off to one shoulder—“the sound of crying that sounds like moaning is a negative trigger for me.”

I straighten up as my stomach braids into a knot. “Oh.” Something dreadful sinks its teeth into my thoughts. I can’t imagine what that sound makes him relive.

“Let’s not dwell on it,” he says quietly. “Let’s lie down.”

I let him guide me onto the soft bed. It doesn’t even squeak as we get situated against the massive pillows. I slip under the cream-colored silky sheet, under the weight of the comforter. Greystone leans against the headboard, positioning me between his legs, arms curling around me as he pulls me against his chest. I frown. This is how I used to hold Scarlett when she had a breakdown. This is how I would subdue her temper.

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