Page 98 of A Heart of Bluestone

Without a word, he halted our party and went in to buy for them for me.

These shoes matter because they are a glimpse into the heart of my brother, when he’s kind, when he is the Oliver I loved, not the one I loathe.

This is the Oliver I loathe.

But Dray gave himself away. On the pedestal, leaning back against a wooden pillar, he’s so obviously prepared to view a masterpiece of others’ pain.

He was involved in the bile.

Not my brother. I know that because, while Oliver grins, there’s a faint lift of his brow, a look of impressed surprise.

So my sights set on Dray.

And maybe it’s not just the shoes that have me clambering to my feet, wild gaze locked onto him.

Maybe it’s a lot more than some shoes.

Frankly, maybe I don’t give a fuck anymore.

A guttural sound rips through me, and I push into step.

I march for them, the Snakes, and my hands are flexing at my sides. The soles of my feet are searing hot, the griffin bile eating away at my skin, bubbling warts and boils.

But I’m storming now, too late to stop and wince.

Dray arches a brow as I advance on him.

Slowly, he uncrosses his arms and draws from the pillar. He takes a step off the ledge onto the cleared patch of floorboards that I am certain he makuted clean.

He stands straight, tall, a fucking tower I should run from.

Our gazes are locked, like hooks in the ocean. My legs move faster, and distantly I am aware of the hush that falls over the atrium, of those who drew in closer to see the cause of the screams and laughter.

If I paid any mind to anything else in this moment, it wouldn’t be the silence that steals everyone, and that they all watch me break into a run—aimed right at Dray.

I would pay attention to the thrumming of my heart, the bite of warning in my gut, like it’s pleading with me,please, no, don’t do this, stop, turn around!

I might even pay more attention to the ghostly sheen that washes over Oliver’s face out the corner of my eye as he steps off his pedestal, onto the safety of the untouched floor.

But I only look at Dray.

I only think of him.

And I barrel into him, hard.

I throw my entire body into the collision, turn it all into my shoulder, and it’s enough to have him stagger back a step.

Just a step, but I don’t care.

I’m in it now, the tornado of nothing but pure, utter rage that tears through me.

I shove at him again.

My hands smack into his solid chest, and I push and push and push, until my hands fist, and they are raining down on him.

“You fucker, you motherfucking prick, fuck you, you piece of shit—fuckkkkkkkk!”

He is unflinching.

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