Page 13 of Vicious Desire (Fallen Royals 4)

In the old days, a scream would’ve brought Mom running.

This house creaks in the wind, but right now it’s deathly silent.

“Is she okay?” he asks me.

“I’m sure she’s fine. I need your help.”

His eyebrow tics.

“I had a weird sort of accidental thing happen on the trail to the state park this morning,” I blurt out. “And I lost my water bottle. Will you come with me to look for it?”

His attention focuses back on me. “Accidental thing?”

When he spots the scrapes, he lets out a hiss of breath.

“I know, I know,” I say. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just freaked out, and you used to like running.”

What I don’t add is that he never much liked running with me. My pace was always too slow for him—but I was a cross-country runner, working on marathon speeds, while he enjoyed the quicker sprints. A mile or two as fast as he could go.

I just wanted something sustainable.

He grimaces, but the longer I stare at him, the more I feel it: he’s going to crack.

He.

He already cracked four months ago. But this new wall he’s put up? The ice he’s managed to form around his heart?

Yeah, that’s thawing.

“Fine,” he says, sighing. “Give me a minute to change.”

I clap.

He comes back downstairs in shorts and an old t-shirt. It used to be fitted. I remember it from his senior year, because one of his girlfriends almost didn’t give it back.

It hangs on him now.

“Ready?” He snaps his fingers in front of my face. “How far is this, exactly?”

I wink. “You should’ve asked that before agreeing.”

It’s easier to take the first few steps out of the house with Noah behind me. The back of my neck prickles, but I shove the sensation away. Now I’m being paranoid.

We get to the end of the street, then pick up a slow jog. I don’t want to kill my brother—especially when he finds out that it’s about a five-mile round trip.

“Stop,” he calls, just two minutes later.

I circle back. He’s doubled over, his elbows on his thighs.

“I can’t do this,” he says. “If you want me to go, we’re driving.”

“Probably should’ve done that in the first place,” I murmur.

We walk back to the house, and he nudges me.

“I have something bad to tell you,” he says.

I glance at him. Immediately, a million thoughts race through my head. He’s had a rough few years, but he hasn’t been especially forthcoming about it. Maybe he’s going to admit—

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