Page 85 of Their Broken Legend

After tonight, I’ll be all yours.

Possessive, his hand travels up to hold my throat.God, I hope he can’t feel the anxious pulse shuddering beneath his palm. I hate keeping this from him. I hate it.

Still, I choke out, “I have a scheduled day with my dad this morning, and I really need to talk to my mum.” My throat rolls within his grasp. I think about how he’s alone with this new diagnosis. “Will you be okay?”

“I’m fine, Baby. Don’t worry about me.” His hand squeezes my throat to contradict that.

“Fine is a contronym, Hothead. Are you fine as in divine, superb…” I lower my voice sadly. “Or the opposite, merely average, coping, dealing?”

He doesn’t answer the question, which screams the latter. Instead, he says, “I want to come. I want to be there for you. Meet this man.”

You can’t.

Blinking, I look down and see the words ‘monsters are made’ on his wrist, catching a frown along my brows.

No.And yes. A monster is made from something, and that something is still there, living and breathing beneath its angry skin. I lift and reach beside his drawer for my purse, needing to remind him who he really is. In case he forgets.

Retrieving a black liquid eyeliner from within the silk sleeves, I sit on his lap, grab his wrist, and start to draw.

Pushing up, Xander leans his large torso on the headboard. His chest is two carved, hard mounds. His abdomen is a perfectly formed grid of eight…

Shuffling, I continue my sketch.

He watches me closely. I can feel his eyes drag over my face, landing with intent on the art in progress.

Below the tattoo, I draw a little rabbit with one floppy ear that hangs in his lashes. Xander is a rabbit, just like me.

Much better than the tattoo. I snap the lid on and put the liquid liner away. Needing to talk as the silent message soars between us, I force my lips around the words. “I’ve bawled wearing that stuff, and it never smudges. It’ll last you all day and night. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His brows furrow above narrowed eyes, pain startling me within brilliant blue depths. “What did you bawl over?”

I tilt my head. “What?”

“Someone made you cry. Who did it?”

“Maybe I stubbed my toe.”

“Did you?”

Ugh, he’s serious.Amused, his flare of unbidden possessiveness settles into my heart. Passionately intense. Intensely passionate. My Xander Butcher.

I shift to straddle him, cup the back of his warm neck and kiss his mouth once. “What you gonna do?” My lips skate along his as I tease him. “Break the nose of every person who has ever made me cry? It’s a long list.”

“Start it now then.”

Oh, Hothead.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

xander

“This is Mac,”Kaya says, waving her hand at the old Mazda driver. “You wanted to meet him, and here you go. Mypersonaldriver.” That makes her laugh, and I fight my smile when hit with that sound.

I want to know who this man is.

How she came to be so cosy with a Cabi driver.

Gripping the top of the car, I lean down and in to scrutinise the greying individual that Kaya chose to drive her around in lieu of one of my family’s abundantly paid chauffeurs whom I offered for her to use. Mac—sun beat-up skin wrinkled around his arms, bunching at his elbows. Leather-looking lips and nose. “Mac, is it?”

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