Page 60 of Wicked Beasts
“Wow, it’s nice to see you too,” he replies, clearly taken aback by the bite in my words, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he was expecting some other kind of welcome.
“Sorry,” I mumble, quickly tugging at the sleeve of my dress in an attempt to regain some composure. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… What are you doing here?” I ask again, trying to soften my voice, to make the question sound more curious than hostile, though the rush of confusion still lingers under my words.
“Kehau gave me your number,” he says. He shifts on his feet as he sticks his hands deep into his pockets. He seems uncomfortable. “I tried to text you to see if you’d like to go out, but you weren’t answering. Apparently, you weren’t answering her either, so I offered to drop in and see if you were alright.Since I’m closer…” His words drift off as his gaze shifts beside me.
I glance over my shoulder just in time to see Tristan lingering in the threshold of the east wing, his hand slowly yet deliberately pulling the door quietly closed behind him. The faint click of it seems to echo, cutting through the thick tension that fills the foyer.
“Everything alright?” Tristan asks.
I inhale sharply, my mind scrambling to catch up as I turn back to face Ikaika. My fingers move instinctively through my hair, but I can't shake the nagging feeling that I've completely lost track of time. When was the last time I evenlookedat my phone? The past few weeks have blurred into one chaotic mess, and I’m not entirely sure where I left it. Surely, it was somewhere in my room.
“Yeah, this is?—”
“Ikaika Kahale,” he interrupts smoothly, stepping forward with a confident grin and extending his hand to Tristan.
“Ah, the performer,” Tristan says, his gaze flicking briefly to me, as if searching for some confirmation or explanation.
“You know who I am?” Ikaika asks, his tone taking on a sudden, almost boastful edge, as though he might be proud his reputation has reached this far.
“Yes,” Tristan replies, his eyes never leaving mine. “Gisella was very excited about you.”
“The girl I was with,” I add quietly, the words slipping out before I can fully grasp their meaning.
Ikaika nods, his arms folding across his chest once more. He straightens, puffing out his chest, as if trying to make himself appear larger, a stark contrast to his usual laid-back demeanor. He’s considerably shorter than Tristan and only a bit taller than me, though there’s an air about him now, a subtle shift in posture that suggests he's trying to hold his own. Perhapsthe presence of Tristan—so naturally alluring, so undeniably charismatic—makes him feel small. It’s a world apart from the cocky ease he had with his sea of adoring fans back at the marketplace.
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Tristan's suggestion catches me completely off guard, the unexpected invitation hanging in the air like a challenge.
Before Ikaika can even respond, Mortimer steps in, his tone as cold and sharp as ever. “I don’t think that’s a wise decision, sir,” he interjects, his eyes flicking dismissively to Ikaika, then back to Tristan. “You know your…brotherhas never been one for strangers dropping inunexpectedly.”
I feel the weight of Mortimer's words, a strange undertone beneath them, like there’s something more hidden in his voice, something I can’t quite grasp. My thoughts swirl, caught in a labyrinth of confusion and unease that refuses to untangle.
I can’t believe Tristan even asked him to stay for dinner.
If I could, I’d find Mortimer’s shoes in the shadows and kiss them for opposing the idea. There’s something about his words that feels like the smallest spark of relief in this otherwise tangled mess.
Yet, Tristan dismisses it.
“I do not exist to bend to Dante’s will,” he says. He pulls himself up with a confidence and energy I can’t recall ever seeing in him. “Besides, soon enough, he will no longer be anyone’s problem.”
The words hit me like a bolt of lightning. I turn my head so quickly, my neck protests, the sharp motion almost making it crack.
What didthatmean?
“I don’t want to intrude,” Ikaika says hesitantly, his eyes flicking between the three of us before settling on me.
Mortimer’s voice is cold, cutting through the tension with an iciness that makes the air feel heavier. “You should have thought about that before you knocked on the door.”
“Nonsense,” Tristan replies smoothly, a careless grin pulling at his lips. “The more the merrier.”
Who is this man, and what has he done with the elusive and withdrawn Tristan Black? Now he’s inviting strangers to dinner?
Who is he trying to piss off? Dr. Shadow?
Is this intentional?
I frown, the crease between my brows deepening, but it vanishes almost instantly when I catch Tristan’s eyes on me again. I feel a wave of warmth wash over me; reflexively, my tongue finds my lips, searching for the lingering taste of his kiss.
“Is this alright with you, Miss Amara?” he asks, his gaze flicking to the slight furrow in my forehead before settling back on mine.
