Page 88 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

He’s afraid.

The realization hits me like a jolt of electricity.

"He's coming for me," I say, my voice steadier than I expected.

Samuel's grip tightens painfully around my wrist. His dark eyes snap to mine.

He recovers fast, but not fast enough.

He forces a smirk, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Then I guess we should give him a proper welcome, shouldn't we?"

He yanks me up by the arm, dragging me toward the hallway. I stumble, but I keep pace, forcing myself to stay alert. There will be a moment to strike. I just have to wait for it.

We climb higher, up the crumbling staircase, toward a grand, decaying room with shattered windows.

Samuel’s grip doesn’t relax as he hauls me forward, pressing the cold steel of a gun under my jaw. My pulse hammers in my throat, my breath uneven as he shoves me into the center of the dimly lit room. The ruined walls of the abandoned castle loom around us like the skeleton of a beast, the shattered windows allowing a frigid night breeze to slither in.

Then—Dominic’s voice.

"Let. Her. Go."

The world shrinks.

I twist sharply, my breath catching.

Dominic stands in the ruined doorway, blood staining his shirt, his gun raised, his dark eyes locked onto mine with a fury I’ve never seen before. His presence alone is a storm barely contained, his body thrumming with the promise of violence and vengeance.

For the first time, Samuel looks uncertain.

“Dominic,” I breathe.

Samuel's grip tightens painfully, regaining his arrogance, and a slow, cruel smile spreads across his lips. He chuckles, the sound dripping with mockery.

"Well, well. You made it." He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "I have to say, I almost didn’t think you’d be this predictable."

Dominic doesn’t look at him.

His eyes never leave me.

I see the unspoken questions there. Are you hurt? Are you okay?

I barely manage the faintest nod, my body too stiff, too wound tight with terror.

Samuel’s gun digs deeper into my skin.

"Here’s what’s going to happen, Castellano," Samuel continues, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "You’re going to put that gun down, and you’re going to watch while I put a bullet through her pretty little head."

My heart seizes.

Dominic doesn’t pull back. Not even a little.

His grip on his gun is steady, his face carved from stone, but I see it—the raw fury burning beneath his icy exterior.

And then, his lips curl into a smirk.

A smirk.

My breath hitches.

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