Page 137 of This Blood that Bonds Us
Our eyes met across the courtyard, and I swallowed. There was no way he knew I was coming because the anger in his eyes made me feel like I was five years old again.Oh, he’s so pissed.
He stalked toward me, and I had the strangest urge to run and hide. I was unbelievably happy to see my brother, but it didn’t matter because he was going to kick my ass.
The men around me bowed as he approached.
“Move,” he said, and they all scattered.
“Hi.”
He yanked the collar of my shirt and pulled me to walk with him. “Move your fuckin’ ass.”
“Miss me?”
“Don’t talk.”
He led me through a large set of doors already propped open and waiting, then down a few halls of ornate wallpaper and lit candles before shoving me into a room that looked to be a small office. And judging by the amount of dust, it wasn’t a room they used often.
I opened my mouth to speak, and Zach shoved me into the wall, the plaster cracked beneath.
“Ow.”
The pain ran up my spine, and the force drew the breath out of my lungs. When Zach shoved me, it was rarely that hard.
“Why the hell are you here?”
“I thought that was obvious. I came for you.”
He scoffed, his eyes boring a hole into me like he wanted to set me on fire. “I should kill you myself for being such a worthless little brother.”
I held my hands up while Zach’s fingers curled around the edges of my collared shirt, and he shoved me again. Pain ran up my spine, but I said nothing.
He continued, “I should have known you would fuck this up. I mean, what the fuck? How could you let Presley come here?”
“How is he?” I asked, a little too desperately.
“He’s fucking fine. No thanks to you!” He pressed his thumb into my arm until I cried out in pain. “He’s with Luke.”
Luke’s name sent a shiver up my spine. “Where are they? I want to see them.”
“I’m not done with you yet.”
“You going to torture me?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Zach lowered his brow into a deadpan expression, and he got inches from my face. My brother was serious. Kilian was right. That place was changing them, but nothing my brother would say could hurt me. I’d missed my annoying, hotheaded older brother. Even the rage I couldn’t stand, I loved as it was being directed at me. I’d missed it so much I wanted him to keep talking.
“Does it make you feel better?” I asked calmly.
“Does what make me feel better?”
“Using me as your punching bag.”
He grunted, pulling my shirt tighter.
“You can be mean to me all you want. It doesn’t change anything. I came here to save you.”
Something in his gaze shifted; his brow softened, and I was dropped to the floor.
