Page 24 of The Kings
It’s later than I’d have liked. I’ve got an early class, and after four hours of sleep, I have to get moving.
Rolling off the bed, I wince from the cut on my side. It’s nothing a sticky bandage from my handy first aid box won’t fix, but it will slow me down for a few days. Checking the bandage anyway to make sure it’s not bleeding, I shrug when it appears to be clean.
I stretch my naked body as I pass the mirror to the bathroom. The tattoo on my back, a skull and rose entwined, is a symbol of what I am. Beauty and death wrapped in one package.
It’s the same as my dad’s. He has his on his left hand. I went bigger, bolder, a definitive sign that I’m his daughter and anyone who crosses me will wish they hadn’t.
Stepping into the shower and turning it on, steam curls around me, a warm caress against my skin. Droplets of water hit the tiles, the rhythm a soothing counterpoint to the chaos that awaits me beyond these walls. My fingers trace paths over my shoulders and down my arms, slick and smooth with soap. I tilt my head back, letting the cascade erase the remnants of sleep, sharpening my senses like steel honed to a fine edge.
The water washes away all hesitation, leaving only the certainty that I am a force to be reckoned with. It’s my place.
A few minutes later, I shut off the water, stepping out onto the plush bath mat. I wrap a towel around my body and cross over to the wardrobe to pull some clothes out. Nothing fancy, all practical. Tight blue jeans, a tight white tee and my boots. I throw on my black leather jacket to complete the look and slip Flick into the holster at my back, attached to my belt.
I descend the stairs, the scent of strong coffee drawing me toward the kitchen. As I enter, the conversation halts. Raphael’s jaw is set, his eyes hooded; Tarquin leans back in his chair, a frown creasing his forehead; James rubs the back of his neck, and Oliver has his gaze fixed on some point beyond the room.
“Morning,” I say, despite the chilly atmosphere. “Interrupting something?”
The guys exchange looks, their guarded expressions telling me more than words could. Something’s up, something big. I cross to the coffee maker, pouring myself a cup and then tipping it into a travel mug. The black liquid is bitter and strong—just the jolt I need.
“Course not,” Raphael says, his voice dark and foreboding and not convincing me in the slightest.
“Hmm, well, if you want to have secret meetings, go find somewhere secret to hold them. I won’t hide in my room all day, and I’m not walking around on eggshells in my own home.”
Tarquin stifles his snicker. “It’s not a secret meeting.”
“Then continue.”
Tarquin’s gaze finds mine across the room, and something unspoken zips between us. His eyes are a stormy sea, churning with a longing swirling with questions he can’t voice out loud. I hold his stare, letting the connection simmer.
My smile unfurls slow and deliberate, like a secret being whispered through the shadows. Tarq’s gaze burns into me, smouldering with that raw edge of desire that sets my blood on fire. His uncertainty of where we stand after our rampant fuck last night is a live wire between us, sending sparks shooting in the charged space. I let my eyes twinkle with mischief, a silent challenge I know he reads loud and clear.
“Something you’d like to share, Eliza?” Raphael’s voice cuts through the tension, but I don’t break my gaze with Tarq.
“Nope.” I break my gaze away from Tarquin and turn away from them all, sipping my coffee to hide my smile.
Picking up my bag from the table near the front door, I slip out into the growing chill of the autumn morning. We will probably have one last burst of warmth before the cooler weather sets in. The campus is quiet, holding its breath like it knows shit’s about to go down. I pull my jacket tighter around me, the leather feeling like a second skin.
Footsteps echo behind me – quick, deliberate.
“Eliza!”
“Talk while we walk,” I murmur as Tarquin catches up to me.
“We’re not keeping secrets,” he says, eyeing me warily.
I shrug. “Don’t care if you are or aren’t. Just do as I ask and move your meetings elsewhere.”
“I’m glad you think of the Manor as your home.”
Sighing, I stop and turn to face him. “What is this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you out here trying to placate me like we’re dating, and I walked in on you about to get a blowie from the campus bike?”
He snickers loudly, his eyes lighting up. “Not my style, petal. When I’m in, I’m in.”
“And what exactly are you in, Tarquin?” I take a sip of coffee while I wait for him to sort out his thoughts.
