Page 196 of The Devil's Thorn
The hallway was quiet, golden light pouring in through the long windows. My heels clicked against the floor as we moved side by side down the corridor.
“You didn’t answer me earlier,” I said eventually.
“About?”
“You had my things moved. That wasn’t just about avoiding Kellan and Ash.”
He gave a small shrug. “No. It was about control.”
I shot him a look. He didn’t elaborate. Of course not.
We turned a corner, approaching the wide entrance hall of the resort, sunlight pouring in through the open sides of the building. A soft breeze drifted through, carrying the scent of the sea and something floral.
As we stepped through one of the archways leading outside, I caught sight of a woman crouched beside the stone wall—one of the workers. She was sweeping up broken porcelain.
The vase. The one we’d knocked over last night. Shattered. Scattered.
I stopped walking for a second, my eyes locking onto the glinting pieces. Her hands moved carefully, sweeping them into a small pan.
It felt wrong to look away. But I did.
“Something wrong?” Rafael asked, glancing over his shoulder.
“Nothing,” I murmured, catching up.
We kept walking through the open breezeway, the path shaded by wooden beams overhead—a pergola,that’s what it was called. The heat pressed lightly against my skin, but the tension winding tighter in my chest had nothing to do with the sun. And everything to do with the fact that I didn’t know what today would bring.
We turned the final corner, the glass doors to the resort’s restaurant glinting in the morning light. As they swung open, the cool air inside swept over us.
And that’s when I saw them. A long table near the center of the room. Kellan. Ash. Nikolai. And Yuri. All sitting there. Waiting.
And I was walking into a storm that hadn’t even started yet.
The air shifted the second we stepped into the restaurant. It wasn’t just the chilled breeze from the AC or the clatter of silverware and murmured conversation from the few guests sprinkled across tables. It was the weight ofthem—four men seated like kings at a war table. Only this wasn’t a throne room. It was a battlefield.
Kellan’s eyes were the first to find me. Cold. Sharp. Wounded.
Ash wasn’t far behind, his jaw tight, his gaze cutting Rafael in half before it swept to me, unreadable.
Rafael walked beside me like he didn’t give a damn. Because he didn’t. Not about their glares. Not about the storm in their eyes. Not even about the fact that every single person at that table could probably smell what had happened between us last night.
Yuri, of course, didn’t miss a beat.
As we approached, he leaned back in his chair, arms sprawled, drink in hand—atthishour. His dark hair was pushed back, sunglasses hanging from his collar, and that signature smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Well, well,” he drawled, eyes flicking between me and Rafael. “I’d ask how you slept, bella, but judging by the bruises on your wrists… I already know. Walls here aren’t exactly soundproof, you know. Especially when your suite’s next to mine.”
My spine stiffened.
Kellan’s knuckles whitened on the edge of the table.
Rafael didn’t flinch. He just dragged a chair back for me. “The walls were never meant to be silent,” he said casually, eyes on Yuri.
Yuri snorted. “No wonder the poor cleaning lady looked like she’d seen a ghost this morning. Was sweeping up ceramic like it owed her money.”
I sat down without a word, keeping my gaze forward, even as I felt it—Kellan’s stare burning into my skin, Ash’s silence ringing louder than any insult he could’ve thrown. Rafael took the seat beside me, unbothered. Of course.
“So,” Yuri said, drawing out the word. “We gonna talk about what really matters or keep throwing glances like we’re at a high school reunion?”
