Page 88 of Prince of Masks
And freezes me from the inside out.
“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
My eyes widen at the sound of him.
I falter for a moment, then loosen a breath. I turn my face, and stare, wide-eyed, down the corridor at Dray.
Muddy, head to toe, his rugby gear is soaked through. But if he is cold or uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it.
Dray’s arms are folded over his chest, his head tilted as he watches me, and there’s a glimmer of interest in his seafoam eyes, like he wants to see what I will do now that I’m caught.
Boots planted on the rug, he is perfectly still, at ease, as he considers me—and waits for my excuse.
All I can do is… stare.
My lashes flutter with rapid blinks, then still, and I’m frozen in a lie I can’t manage to conjure.
Dray is patient.
Just stands there.
Streaks of mud trail down from his caked hair. Some strands are so coated that it’s hard to tell he’s blond at all.
“I was just… checking out your… library.”
My excuse is horrid.
Dray’s surprise shows in the lift of his brows.
Slowly, he unfolds his arms, then tucks his hands into his trouser pockets. “Exactly what sort of book are you looking for?”
My mouth purses. It’s an ugly, tense look and it holds for a beat. I watch a muddy droplet drip from the tousled strands of his hair, into his face, and streak down his cheek to his mouth.
I huff and draw back from the door.
My boots soften as I step onto the rug.
But my act of retreat is not enough.
Dray starts for me, slow and methodical steps, just as threatening as if he were to charge at me.
His gaze cuts to the doors.
“You will answer me,” he says, then slides his sharp glass eyes back to me, his lashes lowered, “or I will lock you in the fucking library, Olivia.”
How long will it take someone to find me?
That’s my first thought.
But of course, that’s not the point. The point is that someonewilleventually find me—in the Sinclair library of all places.
So that won’t go well for me, not at all.
I heave an annoyed sound. “Fine. I was just seeing if you have anything on deadbloods.”
His frown is fleeting. It comes faint between his brows, then smoothens.
Rigid, I am on the brink of braced. Braced for the makut to throw me through the doors and lock me inside.
