Page 30 of Kingmakers, Year Three

“It’s tedious bringing your little pet over here if you’re not going to share,” Bram drawls, leaning back in his chair. He lets his wolfish eyes roam over me, not caring that Dean’s face is getting darker by the moment.

“She belongs to me, not you,” Dean says. His voice is all the more deadly for how soft it’s become.

I sit silent and mutinous next to Dean, feeling like a pressure cooker reaching its boiling point. I know what he’s trying to do. He’s seeing how far he can push me—escalating from telling me when and what I can eat to not letting me eat at all.

You would think I’d get used to Dean, with all this time spent glued to his side, but you don’t get used to him—not at all. He doesn’t become less intimidating, or less striking. In fact, every day I notice more of his strange beauty—the soft curve of his lips above the broad, rigid lines of his jaw. The carved muscle of his forearms, and his fists like white marble. The swoop of pale blond hair that hangs over his left eyebrow, and then the soft,velvety texture at the nape of his neck where the glittering silver hair is shaved short.

And then, most insidious of all, his scent . . .

Every time Dean shifts in his chair, I smell the subtle amalgam of his signature. Dean’s scent is clean and warm like rain-washed earth, with a mild sweetness like vanilla, and then something sharp and enticing, an intense thread of testosterone and aggression that stings in my throat.

It takes me over every time I’m within his sphere of personal space. It makes my head swim. And sometimes later, when I’m down in my room in the Undercroft, I’ll catch the scent of Dean lingering on my clothes and my heart begins to race.

I might be noticing it more today because of my hunger.

Jasper Webb has finished loading his tray with food. He’s walking toward his usual table that once held Rocco Prince, Wade Dyer, and a dozen other friends.

Now only Dax Volker sits there, sullen and surly.

Rocco and Wade are dead, and the rest of their clique dispersed around the dining hall, welcomed into other groups.

I know it shouldn’t bother me, but the sight of all those empty seats at Dax’s table makes my guts churn. I look at the blank chairwhere Rocco used to hold court. It’s my fault he’s not there anymore. My fault he’ll never be there again.

Rocco was a sadist, a monster.

Yet the finality of forever eats at me.

I killed him. I’m a murderer. And I can’t seem to feel okay about that, no matter how much he deserved it.

Dean nods to Jasper, inviting him to sit at our table.

“No!” I squeak. “I hate him!”

Too late. Jasper’s already sliding into place across from me, fixing me with his pale green stare.

“Hello, Cat,” he says.

I shiver. I didn’t know that Jasper knew my name. I suppose it makes sense—he must have been on the receiving end of all Rocco’s sadistic plans for my sister.

Jasper held my sister down while Rocco threatened to cut out her eye. He was part of the fight that resulted in Wade’s death and the execution of Ozzy’s mother. I hate him more than anyone at this table. Maybe even more than Dean.

“Don’t talk to me, you fucking animal,” I hiss at him across the table.

“Oooh,” Valon chortles, mocking me. “Watch out, Jasper. Kitty’s got claws.”

“I don’t hold a grudge against you,” Jasper informs me with cold insouciance.

“Oh, you don’t have a grudge againstme?” I scoff. “How benevolent. Unfortunately,Ihave a bit of a grudge againstyoufor torturing my sister for that lunatic Rocco!”

“Quiet,” Dean says to me, placing a warning hand on my thigh. His touch makes me shiver, even through the thick material of my skirt.

It won’t stop me. Dean may have decided that Jasper is his friend and welcome at this table, but I disagree.

“You disgust me,” I hiss at Jasper.

Jasper takes a bite of his peas, chewing calmly.

“I saved your sister’s life,” he says after he swallows.

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