Page 27 of The Beast Between Us
I laugh softly…and this time, he doesn’t look away.
He just watches me. Quiet.
And then, as if nothing strange or significant had just passed between us, he returns to his stew.
“Pardon the intrusion, Sire,” Oswin says from the entrance to the dining hall. “You have a guest.”
“Tell them to go away,” Thorne mutters, not looking up from his bowl.
“I already did, Sire,” Oswin replies evenly, though he smooths down the front of his crumpled shirt.
My brows knit. Oswin’s clothes areneveranything but perfectly pressed.
“But… he was rather crude.”
I stand abruptly, ignoring the sharp pain that flares in my back and side.
“Did he grab you? Did the guest hurt you, Oswin?”
Thorne’s head snaps toward him at my words, his eyes narrowing like a blade being drawn.
“T’was nothing I couldn’t handle, my Lady,” Oswin says quickly, offering a small, reassuring smile.
“That ismost assuredlynot the point, Oswin,” I snap, already marching past him toward the front entrance. “There is absolutelyno reasonsomeone should lay hands on you just because they showed up uninvited and didn’t get what they wanted.”
“You mustn’t, my Lady,” Oswin says, voice rising with urgency as he follows.
“I’m just going to share a few words, that’s all,” I say, already reaching for the door latch.
“Sire…” Oswin calls out behind me, panic thick in his voice. “It’s Lord Byron.”
The name means nothing to me.
Whoever he is, he shouldn’t be grabbing my friend.
I throw open the door without hesitation, the wind instantly whipping through the entryway, catching at my hair and the skirt of my dress.
Rain pelts the stone steps. A tall man stands just beyond the threshold, his grin wide and smug beneath the hood of his riding cloak.
“Well, now,” he drawls, eyes gleaming. “A new little bird in the cursed tower.”
Behind me, I hear the scrape of a chair against stone… and then the low, unmistakable growl of something barely restrained.
I ignore it.
All rational thought flees as I step into the doorway, fire in my chest, and rain soaking my sleeves.
“Listen here,” I snap, voice sharp. “What possible reason could you have for grabbing my friend? Have youno shamein hurting others just to get your way?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, his eyes trace my face…slow, assessing.
Then, with a smug smile, he reaches out and lifts a single tendril of my hair between his fingers.
“Pretty little thing,” he murmurs. “Much too soft for a place like this.”
The storm doesn’t just grow louder.
