Page 40 of The Devil's Thorn
They are lethal.
The drunk stammers. “I—I didn’t know?—”
“You did.” Rafael takes one slow step closer. “But now you’ll remember.”
The man backs up. A beat passes. Then he turns and stumbles away into the crowd like his soul’s already halfway gone.
I release the breath I’d been holding, the tray in my hand finally steady again.
Rafael’s gaze turns to me.
And for the first time tonight—I don’t know who’s winning anymore.
My fingers tighten around the tray as Rafael’s gaze locks onto mine.
It’s not a question.
Not a threat.
Justabsolute controlwrapped in perfect calm.
I should look away. I should lower my eyes. I should fall back into the role I came here to play.
But I don’t.
I meet him there—eye to eye.
And for the first time, I realize how dangerous it is to be seen by him.
Not watched.
Not studied.
Seen.
“I had it handled,” I say, voice quieter than I mean it to be.
He doesn’t blink. “You shouldn’t have needed to.”
That lands harder than it should. Somewhere in the back of my ribs, behind the layers of steel I’ve built to survive.
His voice lowers, smooth and steady.
“You’re not to go to anyone’s suite,” he says. “Not unless I request you myself.”
The way he says it—request—makes it sound like a promise. A threat. A contract.
My throat tightens.
“I thought I was just another server,” I murmur.
“You were,” he says simply. “Now you’remyserver.”
It’s not flirtation.
It’sclaim.
My heart thuds once, hard.
