Page 37 of Blood Heir

“It’ll take you another two hours to even reach the main road,” his voice drops lower, cooler. “I won’t ask you again. Get in.”

My throat burns. My legs ache. My pride wants to keep walking, but my body is screaming otherwise.

He starts rolling the window back up slowly, but I slap my hand against the glass, stopping it.

“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll get in.”

The car brakes gently. The door opens. I climb inside, sinking into the cool leather, my muscles grateful but my ego bleeding.

Serevin clears his throat and gestures. Cassian presses a button, and the partition rises with a soft hum, sealing us inside together.

He turns toward me, jaw tight. “Making out with the guard? Are you that lowly?”

I roll my eyes and turn my head toward the window. “Do you realize I don’t care what you think about me? I don’t even know you.”

He scoffs, but his eyes darken, sharp with anger. “You have a reputation. I have a reputation. I cannot have you humiliating me like this.”

I fold my arms, leaning back. “I should’ve just kept walking,” I mumble.

Suddenly, his hand shoots out, gripping my chin roughly, forcing my head toward him.

My breath catches. His eyes burn into mine.

“You’re hurting me,” I say, my voice shaking as I stare up at him.

His fingers dig harder into my jaw, thumb pressing against my cheekbone like he’s trying to carve his control into my skin. His face is close—too close—his eyes wild and burning. The usual cold calculation is gone. What’s left is something unhinged.

“Did you enjoy him kissing you?” His voice is low, almost a growl, biting at my ears.

I bring my hands up, pushing at his chest, but it’s like shoving a wall. “Let go of me, you freak!” I shout, my palms slapping against his chest. He doesn’t flinch. His grip tightens. My head jerks slightly from the pressure, tears welling at the corners of my eyes.

“Let go, please,” I whisper, my voice breaking as the tears threaten to fall.

And then—something shifts. His breathing slows. His eyes lose some of that sharp, frenzied light. The tension in his shoulders drops slightly, as if my words finally cut through the madness.

He releases my face, letting my chin fall from his hand. His fingers twitch once before he draws them back, straightening his jacket with a sharp tug, trying to smooth away the scene like it never happened.

I rub my chin, the skin sore beneath my fingertips. My lips curl into a bitter smile, and I laugh under my breath. “You fucking piece of shit.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t bite back this time. His eyes flash, then cool, as if forcing himself back into his usual mask.

Finally, he speaks, voice clipped. “I was looking for you because you were supposed to accompany me to a meeting.”

I blink. My spine stiffens slightly. A meeting?

My mind races. Who was I supposed to meet? Could it be someone who knew me? Someone who might finally break this fog wrapped around my head?

Before I can spiral too far, his voice cuts back into my thoughts. “Contessa Vittoria Accardi,” he says, each word falling with weight. “My aunt.”

The name slams into me like a gust of cold wind. My breath stutters. My hand lifts instinctively, my gaze following as goosebumps rise across my forearm. My skin tingles and tightens with some buried memory I can’t quite grab.

He watches me carefully, eyes narrowing slightly.

“She learned you were discharged,” he continues, his voice softer now, almost coaxing, “and she requested we have dinner with her.”

Something coils in my stomach, tightening.

Before I can ask anything, his tone shifts again, hardening. “You don’t remember, but my aunt can be…tough. No cursing. No yelling. Speak when you’re spoken to. Leave the rest to me. She knows the situation, so she won’t push much.”

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