Page 59 of Break Her Heart
But I knew August wouldn’t choose from these.
Still, he didn’t stop. Just kept walking, gaze cutting through the haze like he was searching for something specific. Until he saw her, a tall brunette smiling like she already knew what he wanted. He stopped in front of her, and she said something, low and teasing, and I couldn’t hear the words. But I saw the way he leaned in slightly, the way his head tilted to the side.
He was flirting.
My chest tightened. A slow, hot burn lit behind my ribs—jealousy, sharp and unbidden. It wasn’t fair, and I knew it. He wasn’t mine. Not really. Not in any way that mattered. But that didn’t stop the possessive rage that coiled low in my stomach, the irrational need to tear her away from him.
I hated the way she looked at him like she already knew him, like he was hers. I hated the way he leaned into it, let her touch his arm, let her laugh like it didn’t matter that I was right there—watching. Like I was invisible.
I hated that it hurt.
And I hated myself for caring at all.
He said something else—too low for me to hear—and then they vanished into the alley together like they’d done this a hundred times before.
I should’ve turned away. Should’ve stayed where I was. But I didn’t.
I moved, creeping forward, staying low against the edge of the wall. My heart pounded louder than my footsteps, echoing with every step like betrayal.
“Your Grace,” one of the guards whispered, but I waved a dismissive hand, too angry and too determined to care what I might see.
I found them in the alley. Her back was pressed to the stone, her neck arched and her lips parted in ecstasy. His mouth was at her throat, and she moaned as he fed. His hands gripped her waist with reverence, like she was something sacred.
My breath caught, and heat flushed beneath my skin in waves. It was sick—awful—and yet my stomach coiled with need so fierce it nearly dropped me to my knees. My thighs pressed together without meaning to, heart pounding as I stared. I should’ve looked away. I should’ve turned and left. But I couldn’t.
Because I wanted that.
Not the flirting. Not the alleyway. I would’ve rather caught him kissing her. At least then it would’ve meant less. But this? His mouth at her neck? This was worship.
And gods help me, I needed him to bite me like that again.
The jealousy came like fire and ice all at once. My pulse screamed in my ears. My skin buzzed with resentment, shame, and something darker. Something desperate. I hated him for doing it, hated her for enjoying it, and hated myself most of all for wanting it.
I watched the life drain from her, slow and strangely graceful, until her knees buckled and her body slumped to the ground.
August raised his head. Blood on his mouth. Eyes wild. Then he went still. His nostrils flared—and before I could move, he turned.
In the space of a heartbeat, I was pinned against the wall, his body pressed to mine, his breath hot against my cheek. But he was more monster than August right now.
“It’s me.” I pressed my hands against his chest, ready to stop him if he couldn’t stop himself.
“Winnie,” he whispered.
His lips brushed my neck, and my skin pebbled. He pulled back, just enough to look at me. His eyes were still red, glowing like coals beneath stormclouds. He stared—like he didn’t trust himself to blink. And then, slowly, deliberately, he closed them. When he opened them again, they were brown.
“No,” he said, voice raw. “I can’t.”
And in that moment, I saw it.
The crack in the mask.
He’d lied. Again. He always lied. At first, it was to protect me. To keep me from knowing too much. Now, it was to keep himself from feeling too much.
But I saw through him.
He hated me, maybe. Maybe he couldn’t even look at me without remembering everything I destroyed. But he felt something. Still.
And I was going to make him feel all of it until he shattered.
