Page 215 of The Devil's Thorn
And maybe I liked that. Maybe I needed it.
“I’ve never been to anything like this,” I said after a pause, looking back at the dress. “The gathering. What should I expect?”
Rafael’s voice dipped, low and certain. “Power. Violence masked as etiquette. Men who smile like wolves. And eyes that will follow your every move, waiting for a sign of weakness.”
“And if I slip?”
“You won’t.”
“You sound sure.”
“I am.”
I didn’t ask why. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer. Still, I turned to face him again, letting the shadows settle around us like a curtain. “What exactly do they know about me?”
His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted. “They know what I tell them.”
“And what’s that?”
He came closer now. One slow step. Then another. Until we were standing only inches apart. “That you belong beside me.”
My breath caught in my throat again—an involuntary, traitorous thing.
“And tomorrow,” he said, voice almost a whisper, “I want them to see what happens when someone dares touch what’s mine.”
I didn’t answer. Not because I didn’t want to. But because I didn’t know if I could.
I looked away first. And that felt like losing something.
My hand lifted to the pendant at my neck, brushing my thumb over the worn edges as I stared back at the dress. Tomorrow… I was walking into something I didn’t fully understand. But I wasn’t afraid.
Maybe I should have been. Maybe I would be later.
But for now, all I felt was fire.
CHAPTER 18
ISABELLA
The light above the vanity cast a soft, golden glow across the suite, but I barely saw it. My eyes were fixed on the mirror, on the reflection staring back at me, unblinking.
The dress clung to me like a second skin, black silk molding to my frame, dipping low in the back, the serpent embroidered across it winding around my ribs with a single red thread looped through its eye. It was elegant—dangerously so. And somehow, it felt like armor.
I lifted my hand, fingers brushing along the curve of my neck the air felt heavier tonight. Everything did.
Behind me, Kellan sat in an armchair, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded. He hadn’t said much in the last ten minutes. But his silence was louder than anything.
Ash was by the window, leaning on the frame with a scowl that hadn’t moved since I walked out of the bathroom.
“You really gonna go with him looking like that?” Kellan finally asked, voice low and irritated.
I didn’t look away from the mirror. “Yes.”
“He didn’t even tell us what this gathering is about,” Ash added. “You know that, right? You’re walking blind into a den of men who want your ‘boyfriend’s’ head on a spike.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I snapped, the word slicing out sharper than I intended.
Kellan scoffed. “You sure about that?”
