Page 73 of Kingmakers, Year Four

I followed Hedeon down here, sticking close by his side as my mother advised.

Music blares from several speakers hung from the trees. Students are already peeling off their shirts in the combined heat of the bonfires. It only makes us look more savage as we dance on the uneven sand.

I’m surprised to see Hedeon also strip off his shirt, baring the awful scars on his back and arms. Usually he keeps his torso covered at all times. He throws the t-shirt aside with a defiant snarl, looking around like he’s daring anyone to comment.

Even his chest is burned and slashed, though not as badly as his back. One of his nipples is missing.

I catch several students peeking at him with shocked expressions. But the more bootleg liquor is passed around, not to mention handfuls of party drugs sold at outrageous prices by a Senior Spy called Louis Faucheux, the less anyone seems to notice.

Hedeon isn’t the first scarred mafioso. Bram has plenty of scars from his habit of getting in fistfights with anyone who annoys him, and Dean has a freshly fucked-up back that almost rivals Hedeon’s.

It’s always been Hedeon’s anger that repelled people, not his appearance.

I see that anger burning in his eyes more furiously than ever tonight.

He’s watching Ilsa Markov as she dances on the opposite side of the nearest bonfire.

Considering that she lives and studies with almost exclusively male students, Ilsa has a surprising amount of female friends. She’s funny, boisterous, and popular, in a way that makes me think half those girls have a crush on her. They’re certainly trying to dance as close to Ilsa as possible, with admiring looks at her athletic physique.

Ilsa is a blue-eyed Wonder Woman with a glossy dark ponytail, Amazonian thighs, and extreme confidence. A second circle of boys surrounds her group, led by Bodashka Kushnir and Pasha Tsaplin, who both hail from Moscow and have lusted after Ilsa since long before any of them came to Kingmakers.

Bodashka and Pasha are two of the conspirators who think my family’s territory is ripe for takeover since my father’s “absence” and my uncle’s “betrayal” have left us vulnerable to attack.

I’d like to walk over there right now and smash their heads together. They’re drunk enough that I could do it.

But I have to focus on Hedeon instead.

He approaches Ilsa directly, cutting through the group of giggly girls, drawing the angry scowls of Bodashka and Pasha, who had hoped to swoop in any moment.

Ilsa gives Hedeon an appraising look, her eyes roaming over his bare torso. Hedeon stands firm under her scrutiny, arms folded over his chest.

“I didn’t think you danced,” she says.

“I didn’t come over here to dance,” Hedeon replies.

“Come to offer me a drink, then?”

“No.”

Now a gleam of curiosity flares in those indigo eyes.

“What, then? Arm wrestle? Footrace? Ares knows there’s no better foreplay,” Ilsa says, shooting me a sly look.

I keep my expression neutral, though I can feel my neck getting hot, and not from the fire.

It’s impossible to do anything at Kingmakers without someone seeing and guessing exactly what’s in your head.

Ilsa knows the thrill of physical competition. She knows damn well that chasing after Nix gets my blood pumping in more ways than one.

Luckily, Hedeon isn’t going to be distracted.

“I want to talk to you,” he says to Ilsa doggedly.

“Alright.” She shrugs, abandoning her clique of blushing girls.

Ilsa and Hedeon stalk off across the sand to a slightly quieter patch of beach. Neither of them questions why I’m following along after them. Hopefully Hedeon thinks I’m offering moral support.

“What is it?” Ilsa says, standing with legs apart and arms crossed over her chest just as boldly as Hedeon himself.

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