Page 57 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

When I kick open Rian’s bedroom door, his decades of military training have him shooting up in bed, ready for a fight.

As soon as he sees it’s me, he yawns and squints at the window. “Fucking gods, Wolf. It isn’t even dawn.”

He must not notice that his two bodyguards are slumped in the hall, bruises forming on their unconscious temples, swords lying as useless as broomsticks on the stone floor.

He scrubs a hand over his sleepy face. “Why the hell are you?—”

I take a few powerful strides into his bedroom and cut him off with a hand around his throat. His thick eyelashes raise until I can see the whites of his eyes.

He tugs on my hand and garbles, trying to pry my fingers off.

“You. Sold. Her. Out.” Each word is a swift strike, foreshadowing the dark urge to drive my blade into him until his sheets run red. Leaning in until our noses nearly brush, I seethe, “You told King Rachillon where to find Sabine Darrow.”

His fingers freeze. For a second, the perfect still of his early-morning bedroom is broken only by both our heaving breaths, and then he lands a sharp kick right to my solar plexus.

It knocks the air out of me, and I stagger back, clutching my side. In a way, I wanted this. I welcomed it. Because I deserve it for even doubting the woman who haunts my dreams.

I thoughtshecould be a traitor?

It’s been him.

Rian, all along.

Straightening, I roll out my neck, muscles flexing in anticipation like a shark who’s smelled blood in the water.

“Are you going to deny it?” I snap.

Rian swings out of bed, his bare torso rippling with the muscles hard-won from a lifetime of training as he massages his throat.

His eyes waver before hardening. “No.”

“Then why?” I explode, barely able to restrain my fever-pitch temper. “Why cut a deal with a foreign bastard who wants to wake the gods?”

He grips one of the bedposts, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Beneveto was going to be named king. The Council had already determined it. I needed Rachillon to call off his lap dog.”

“You sold her out for a fucking crown?” Before I can stop myself, I lunge at him. My fist flies toward his chin, but he manages to dodge it and slam his shoulder into my chest.

He’s half-naked and groggy, but I’m still drunk on whisky and weak from being tied to a fucking chair—neither of us is anywhere near our sharpest.

With a growl, I loop my arm around his neck from behind and choke him. He snakes his ankle behind mine and sweeps my foot out from under me, sending us both crashing to the floor.

My knee connects with bare stone, but the crack of pain is so dulled by rage that I hardly feel anything.

I grab his calf and drag him across the rug until I can wrestle him in a bear hug from behind with his chestpinned to the floor.

“Don’t pretend to know my motives!” he shouts, head contorted to try to spit at me.

With my full weight pinning him to the rug, he can’t get free no matter how he struggles. “You never loved her!”

“What about you?” he counters, writhing under me like a snake. “You have no memory of her! Why thefuckdo you care about astranger?”

I slam his head to the ground. “Did you know Iyre would take my memory? Was that your idea?”

“Get the fuck off me!” He gets one hand free and grabs for an iron boot scrape, which he smashes against my temple before I can dodge the blow. Pain ricochets across my skull, and I stagger off him as I clutch the bleeding wound.

Rian scrambles across the floor to his desk, where he grabs the knife he keeps strapped underneath it.

He shoves himself to his feet.

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