Page 154 of Priest and his Anarchist

His fingers flex around my throat, lowering until the tip of his nose touches mine. He’s untamable, his pupils swallowing the green in his eyes. It’s too much.

He’s too much.

I kiss him once, searching his eyes. “It’s me.” Skimming my nose over his, I kiss him again. “It?—”

He forces me back to the ground with his forehead, the growl rattling from his chest a primal warning. His lips sail over mine gently, a contrast to the beast weighing me down. “Stop talking.”

Releasing his grip around my throat, his eyes close and the tension in his shoulders weakens.

“I’m s—” They open back on me, the moss green in his eyes finally expanding.

“Stop talking, Madness.”

“O—okay.” I nod, desperate for him to come back. For him, I’d do it all. For him, I’d do anything. Because I know for me, he losteverything.

His hand rests against the one I have on his cheek, sliding it down to the corner of his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss against my palm before pushing up to his feet and lifting me right up with him. If his intention was not to be obvious, he failed, pushing me behind his wall of muscle, blocking me from seeing anyone else in the room.

When Vaden had unlocked the door not ten minutes earlier, I knew it was bad. To expose me this early only meant one thing.

“We’re losing him.”

My world stopped. I didn’t see anyone but him. No one. Not the danger, threats. My life meant nothing if he wasn’t in it. I left Vaden behind, following the screams and cries from the people who loved him. Everything moved in a blur through the tears in my eyes, passing the collection of framed art. I’d spent yearsfighting my feelings for him, and he’d spent all his years drawing his.

Silence.

Nothing but silence hovers around us and in a room full of Kings after finding out that someone had been taken from them, and not just anyone, Madison, this is the calm before a storm.

“Priest, I need you to lie down so we can fish this bullet out of you. If it hasn’t already moved,” Evie grumbles. “Even on death’s doorstep, you’re stubborn and pissing me off.”

He listens—hallelujah—keeping one hand on me while lowering us both onto the sofa. Swiping a stray bottle of whiskey on his way, he pours it over the wound with his free hand.

“Care to explain?” The strain in Bishop’s voice sends waves through the room around the clinking of Evie’s tools.

Priest’s thigh connects with mine and my heart slows when darkness closes in around me, absorbing my fears and worry. He claims my surrender as if reading my mind.My mother.I’m not strong like her. It was what she loved most about me. Was her. What would she think of me now? Without the influence of something she resonated with.

“I’m not having that conversation until her parents get here, and since we have a more pressing issue at hand, I’m going to go ahead and sayNovit enim dominus qui sunt eius.”

Bishop leans back in his chair, his composure threatening. Blood stains his suit and his hair is in disarray. Dark shadows form under his eyes, and even though he’s most likely going through unbearable pain, he’s a picture of controlled rage.

“I could tell you…” Her voice falls over the room. I’ve heard it before. It settles under my skin like an uninvited guest. “After I explain the reason why I’m here. Right, Priest?”

“I don’t doubt it,” he growls, leaning farther back in his chair, his hand moves up my thigh, stopping over his inflicted scar.

Evie whacks him with the back of her hand. “Sit still.”

In a display of tempered evil, the kind that’s patient and deliberate, he relaxes, keeping the tension in his jaw tight.

I trace the corded veins that ripple from his hand up his arm. When I feel the weight of the intruder’s gaze, I find her watching with a curved brow.

“…Huntress Supreme.” He squeezes my thigh. Right. That’s who she is. The one who…chooses the others?

“So quick to dust off death, Mad Prince. If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I’d think this one was anotherpretty girlon your wall.” Her deep-brown eyes darken, almost matching the color of her skin. Flawless. Not a single blemish.Bitch hasn’t changed.

Her dark hair curls down her back in tight coils. Shuffling out of the oversized coat, she chooses the chair opposite. One long leg crosses the other. She shouldn’t unnerve me, but when the corner of her burgundy lip twists up in a menacing grin, it triggers what little memories I have of her and I at Del Morts. She was gone the day after I arrived.

“Are you threatened by me, oh, Madness? I promise you do not need to be. He only took me to Wonderland once.” She pretends to ponder. “…maybe four times.” Her eyes darken to match her smirk as she holds Priest’s stare. She wreaks of femininity.

Jesus. He was fucking a Huntress? I thought she was off-limits for everyone except for her kind.

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