Page 69 of Scarred
His jaw tenses as he lifts Xander up until his toes are kissing the ground.
There’s a tendril of worry for my cousin, but I’m so surprised by the sheer energy radiating from the prince that I’m frozen in place, a heady sensation flooding through me as he dominates every other man in the room just by choosing to be in it.
My eyes track along the rings on his fingers, moving over the thick veins in his hand. My thighs press together when I remember that same hand dipping between my legs while dozens of people watched, none the wiser.
I regret not taking the opportunity of feeling how much I affected him when I had the chance.
“A family member has just been poisoned in our home, yet you still speak to me as if I won’t slice up your body and feed it to the mutts for dinner,” Tristan spits.
Nausea rolls through me at the visual his words create.
“I wouldn’t recommend it, Your Highness,” Xander stutters out, wincing when Tristan’s grip tightens. “I’d be so gamey, not an appetizing meal at all.”
The prince sneers, dropping Xander to the ground, and I rush over, crouching beside him and helping him to stand.
“Be civilized,” I snap, glaring up at Tristan.
His eyes rage like a wild storm, all of his playful banter gone as if I made it up in my head. My heart stutters against my ribs as I hold his stare, and for the first time, I get why they fear him. My uncle’s warnings blare through my brain.
“The scarred prince is unhinged, Sara. Stay away from him until necessary, do you understand?”
“How do you know it was poison?” Michael questions.
“Because I’m not an idiot.” Tristan breaks our connection and spins toward his brother. “Did you not see the convulsions? The struggle to breathe? The quick and torturous death?”
Michael sucks in a breath. “He’s dead?”
Tristan chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.
“Hyenas,” Xander hisses.
My brows rise to my hairline, irritation at the disgusting name bleeding through my pores. I get what he’s doing; pinning the murder on the rebels. It wasn’t the plan, but I see the appeal of using them as scapegoats to help us hide in plain sight. Still, the thought of innocent people being hurt drops in the center of my chest, weighing me down until my legs tremble. Hopefully, I can finish the job before it comes to that.
Michael huffs. “Here? In the castle?”
“They’ve made it in the castle before,” I speak up. “Is it so far-fetched to believe they could again?”
Tristan leans against the wall, the muscle in his jaw tensing and releasing. He pulls a joint from behind his ear and rolls it over the cupid’s bow of his lips before slipping it in his mouth, and even though it isn’t an appropriate time or an appropriate reaction, my stomach tightens, desire pooling between my legs.
After our night under the stars, I don’t know that I’ll ever look at smoking the same.
He grabs a match from his pocket, a few wayward strands of his jet-black hair falling over his scar as he leans forward to light the end; the flame making his features glow a warm shade of orange. His eyes flash when they flick to me, and he straightens, allowing the fire to burn down the wooden stick until I’m sure it’s grazing against his skin.
But he doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even move.
I swallow, stuck in his gaze like quicksand.
He smirks, smoke seeping out of his mouth and curling into the air.
“Regardless, there’s nothing to be done for it now,” Xander says, snapping me out of my daze.
My chest twists as I turn my attention away.
Michael paces back and forth, his eyes bouncing from one wall to the next, and I bite the inside of my cheek as I take him in, wondering why he seems so uneasy when a few short weeks ago, a decapitated head rolled at his feet and he couldn’t be bothered to care.
“Don’t worry,” Xander continues. “I’ll take care of everything.”
CHAPTER29
