Page 68 of Ruling Scar
“You’re annoying.”
His eyes narrow. “Am I the only person you talk back to?”
I swing our hands as we walk, my other in my coat pocket. “If you asked my sisters, no.”
Elijah pulls me closer when a group of tourists pass by us. “You never speak back to other people. Am I the only one who gets to see this pushy side?”
“You’re the only one who brings out this pushy side,” I mutter.
He lifts our hands, kissing the back of my palm. An ember sparks deep inside me and I try to ignore it. Such a simple gesture makes me giddy, though. His attentions are something I’ve always wanted.
I mean, a man’s attention. Not specifically, Elijah’s. . . right?
He pretends to pout. “Are you going to continue to try to keep me away from your friends?”
I stare down at my sneakers. “Ren said to invite you to Isolde’s birthday party.”
“Ren?” Elijah rolls the name around. There’s no malice in his voice, but rather curiosity. Like maybe he wonders about her after all this time.
“She’s only said good things about you.” I’m kind of surprised, because not only does she typically dislike the Zimins, but not many people like Elijah to begin with. But she’s oddly supportive of this crazy plan.
“Don’t you know not to trust people who have good things to say about me,” Elijah says with a smirk.
“I have good things to say about you.” Despite all the times, he’s annoyed me.
His dark brows quirk and for a second I think he’s confused. It quickly smooths away. He wraps an arm around my shoulder, the scent of cinnamon and cloves settling around me.
“And what good things do you say?”
“You’re a good brother.”
He stiffens and I think he wasn’t expecting me to be serious. Elijah operates in sarcasm and gray areas after all.
“You’re nice to Russet,” I add. “And I love your dog.”
I’m rewarded with his genuine smile. “Everybody loves that damn dog.”
“He’s adorable.”
“And me?”
“Now you’re fishing.”
“Not to mention I’m a skilled kisser.”
“Now you’re laying it on thick.”
“And—”
I shove him away from me before he can finish the sentence. He bounces back, a retort on his lips when he follows my gaze.
“What’s my sister doing over here?”
She’s across the street and luckily not facing us. She stands in front of a storefront but from our vantage point, it takes me a moment to realize it’s a bookstore.
Adeline loves fantasy as much as I love my smutty romances. But she’s unmoving as she stands in front of huge bay windows.
“She’s never over this way.” Her work is nowhere nearby and there’s something about the way she stands so still.
