Page 47 of Greed: The Savage
“Nooo!”
An animal-like cry pierced the park-like grounds. It was the kind of blood-curdling wail made by weaker prey that had been pounced on by a creature bred for battle.
Her heart thumped.
This was the sound of a man in a one-sided battle—one Malric had initiated, dominated, and would finish to the death. The violence was raw, unmasked, and of the street, the sort she’d never thought to hear from a gentleman, for she hadn’t believed them capable of such primal ferocity.
Of course, she hadn’t ever met a man like Malric before either. Addien took off running, letting ear-splitting screams and pleas lead her way.
By the time she reached the source of them, the man’s wails had waned, but Lady Darrow’s caterwauling joined in.
“Unhand him now, Thornwick!” the baroness raged.
Addien stopped in her tracks and took in the sanguinary scene.
At some point, Malric had systematically disarmed no fewer than seven of the baroness’s big, burly footmen. And he’d made violent work of the brother, painting the laced-up dandy in various shades of his own blood.
The bulbous nose the viscount turned up at Addien was now shattered. His protruding eyes, swollen shut, when—and if—opened, would sport a shade of purple, and only after the crimson smears were cleaned away. Even the mangled pulverized version of Lord Dunworthy wasn’t enough to shake Addien’s breathless focus on Malric.
Transfixed, Addien stared at Malric, a warrior of old, resurrected from the ashes of his medieval ancestors and come back to life for the sole purpose of destruction. His always immaculate locks lay in a tangle over his forehead; those dark strands parted enough to leave his vision clear, the damp, sweat slick strands parted enough to give him clear sight of his prey and to give Addien a sight of the deadly, dangerous, savage violence in his emotionless eyes.
If there’d even been a distant, fantastical possibility Addien wasn’t of the streets, the unnatural twist of tenderness andarousal at Malric’s charge of that violent tableau firmly cemented her among the have-nots.
Nay, it wasn’t just that.
Emotion closed off her throat.
Malric did this for—
“You,” a voice hissed. “This is all your fault. Dynevor sent you for my brother’s enjoyment, and this is what you’ll do?”
The baroness made a grab for Addien’s arm.
Built on a lifetime of instinct, Addien grasped the widow’s frail wrist and applied pressure.
The baroness cried out.
Christ!
Heart thundering, Addien immediately pulled her hand back and took a hasty step away from the powerful noblewoman.
A soul-penetrating hatred contorted the previously beautiful baroness’s features and twisted them into a mask carved from bitter malice. “My God, you will pay for that, you slut!” Lady Darrow’s rabid brown eyes burned bright with that vow of vengeance.
Cold prickled over Addien’s skin.
The lines she’d crossed today were likely too wide to return from, but on the ghost of a chance, she braced for the hand she knew was about to fall.
With a crazed smile, Lady Darrow drew her arm back.
Addien made herself watch the woman strike her, eyes locked, unblinking. To hell with them all.
As if the Devil adjusted the hands of time so Addien could watch her fate unfurl, moments moved to a crawl. The same elegant, tapering fingers the widow had all over Malric came hurtling for Addien in a blow—
That never landed.
Malric, his sharp, aquiline nose in full, feral flare, held the baroness’s wrist in a punishing grip. The instant he prevented the strike, he released the widow.
“Do not ever, madam,” he whispered. “If you strike her, if you or your brother so much as utter her name, you will rue the day you were born to the wealth and power that brought our paths together. Am I clear?” His hard lips were peeled back, displaying two rows of even sharp, white teeth, wolf-like in nature.
