Page 65 of King of the Cage

“I won’t share her…” I started, my chest feeling oddly full. It was certainty. There was no conflict or indecision. It was done. It looked like I was going to make Da happy after all. You couldn’t fight fate; it was a futile endeavor, and we had been marked for each other from first glance.

“Because?” The Sentinel prompted.

“She’s my fiancée.”

18

GIADA

“You know, I might have misjudged you before… but you’re smarter than you seem, Lost Boy,” I murmured to Bran as we reached the cool night air of the street, finally.

The last few hours had been fucked up. So fucked up I hadn’t really processed them.

“I’m not just a pretty face, wee one,” Bran murmured, his hand on the small of my back.

After the madness inside the hotel, even the creepy street was comforting.

Bran glanced back at the hotel and took my arm in a firm grip. “Let’s talk somewhere more private.”

I was nearly too embarrassed to look him in the eye. After that scene at the altar, I’d gone and come, despite the eyes on us, despite being afraid. His touch and scent had wrapped me up and carried me far, far away. So much so, I’d come just from the pressure of his cock rubbing my clit through my panties. I’d never been more embarrassed. Then again, he’d followed rightbehind me, leaving me wet and sticky. I could feel him on my belly, and that should be disgusting somehow.

But it wasn’t.

I needed to clear my head. I was losing it.

“I need to see Sol,” I argued instead.

“Then you’ll want to come with me, because I know where she is,” Bran pointed out gruffly and stalked off toward a motorcycle parked at the curb.

I followed him reluctantly. I didn’t want to go with him, but I didn’t want to be left here alone in front of The Tartarus, either. I felt like a ticking time bomb that was likely to blow at any second.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up in front of a pub, deep in Hell’s Kitchen.

Outside the car, the brightly lit pub sat on the street corner, the windows clouded with condensation. The Selkie’s Rest. The paint was bluish-green, the door cerulean.

“He took Sol to an Irish pub?” It seemed an odd place to take someone who’d escaped a traumatic event.

“This isn’t just a pub, it’s home.” Bran closed the door behind us. “I hope you’re ready to meet the family.”

He walked confidently toward the pub. The double doors opened, and three men tumbled out, in the middle of what appeared to be a pretty serious fight. Loud Irish music spilled out with them, and the raucous atmosphere of what had to be the rowdiest place on the block. Bran simply stepped around them.

“What if I’m not, though?” I called after Bran.

He grinned and held the door open.

Inside wasan assault to the senses. The music was loud, but the people were louder. It was packed. Absolutely every table was full. People were eating, drinking, and being ridiculously merry. There was a sports game of some kind on the TV screens, and several men at the bar seemed to have brought their own instruments and were singing away together. Now and then, the entire pub joined in. The playing got steadily worse as the level of inebriation went up.

“Where are the bathrooms?” I asked quickly.

Bran glanced down at me, and then lower still, his gaze drifting over my skirt. We were both thinking the same thing. He was all over me.

His thick throat bobbed with a hard swallow, and he pointed over my shoulder.

“To the right.”

His voice was low and husky, and I could somehow make it out over the din in the pub. It was like that moment, on the damn altar, had made me attuned to him in a way that didn’t seem to be wearing off.

I turned without a word and headed that way.

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