44. Chapter 44
44
Graysen
I ’d felt the winding of wicked power ensnaring my legs far too late to save myself from tripping face-first into a mud pool— thank you very much, Wychthorn.
My brothers waited inside my quarters while I showered off the sludge. Changing into a fresh tuxedo, I roughly dried my hair with a towel while entering the guest bedroom and its living space. Jett moped around with his hands shoved into his pants pockets, finding displeasure in everything, even the Klimt painting. My youngest brother, as usual, was typically dressed in an over-the-top style. The silver tuxedo’s fabric shimmered with his moody movements.
Folding the damp towel up neatly, I hung it over a chair near where Caidan stood with his back to us. He stared through the window at the gardens lit up with wildfyre torches and watched House Zielenski, who oversaw our brothels, entering the arched entrance to the marquee. Caidan had been on edge since he’d arrived at the Wychthorn estate. His normally easy-going smiles were few and far between. Something was on his mind, but I didn’t have the headspace to give it room.
I tugged my shirt sleeves down over my wrists and twisted the gold cufflinks into place, before shrugging on the navy jacket of the second tux I’d brought with me—thank gods. Giving it some thought—how the day was obviously heading between Wychthorn and myself—I strode over to the bedside table and grabbed my phone, sending a quick text to Ferne. My sister wouldn’t have left our family estate, so she’d be able to bring me some spare tuxes, just in case.
Slipping my phone into my pocket, I strolled to a mirror hanging on the wall while running my fingers through my damp hair, tousling the wavy locks. Kenton handed me a new tie. My brothers and I didn’t do bow ties. Looking like penguins? No, thank you. Wrestling with the damn tie, I struggled to knot the thing while cursing beneath my breath. None of us were any good at this. Ferne always fixed them for us.
Kenton, who had the build of a rugby player, wore a classic three-piece tuxedo. He was born an old soul. Ice-cold, quiet, and wholly fixated on vengeance. Jett and he were deceptively alike, though Jett hid it by being loud and obnoxious.
Kenton poured a drink for me. His sharp eyes met mine in the mirror as his deep bass voice rumbled, “One month, Gray, before the Alverac puts her in our hands.”
I returned a dark look. As if I need reminding.
About to take the whiskey Kenton offered, I stilled when I caught Jett’s reflection. My youngest brother lurked at the adjoining door between Wychthorn’s room and my own, fiddling with the brass-plated handle. He scowled. “It’s locked.”
After what I’d done to Wychthorn last night, she had every reason to lock me out. There was probably an armoire shoved up against it as well. But I didn’t say that either.
There was something slender in Jett’s hand and I realized too late what it was—a Shadow Key. We Crowthers were thieves after all, and a locked door was nothing to us. Within a second, Jett had picked the lock and pushed open the door.
Fury razored through my blood, and I spun around.
“Oops,” Jett said, grinning at me.
“Get your fucking nose out of there!” I stormed toward him. It infuriated me that Jett would dare think he could slink through Nelle’s quarters. But did he listen? Fuck no. He tossed me one of his jerkass smirks and strode right on in.
My brows inched closer with confusion when I heard a strange sound of crunching coming from beneath his shoes. He loosed a long, low whistle before muttering, “Holy hellsgate.”
Pushing forward fast, I was inside Nelle’s quarters in an instant, drawing flush with him.
Jett and I shared a disbelieving look.
What the hells happened?
Was this because of me?
A horrible sick feeling twisted my gut.
It looked like a hurricane had swept into her rooms and destroyed almost every single thing. There were a few items that remained untouched, like her books, computer, and media system. But everything else was wrecked beyond repair. The four-poster bed was a heap of shattered wood, its linens shredded into tattered strips. Stuffing from the mattress and pillows, reduced to fluff, littered the floor with the rest of the debris. The armoire, dressers and tables, couches and armchairs, and clothing were obliterated. Porcelain and ceramic and glass and mirrors—dust. And all those pictures tacked to her walls were torn into tiny pieces and blanketed the mess like a layer of ash.
“What did this?” Caidan asked, frowning.
Me.
Because I could taste the residual anger tainting the room and the faintest tang of heartache.
But I replied, “ Who? That’s what you should be asking.”
Shit, shit, shit—
Wychthorn’s anger was fresh. She’d clearly exploded with fury after fucking with me outside the marquee. And here, Wychthorn unleashing in her rooms, with all the Houses outside—reckless and stupid. She was losing her control over what she was or her anger with me had overridden good sense.
“ This… is coming to live with us next month?” Jett murmured, dread coating his tone, as he slowly turned around, taking in the destroyed room.
Caidan’s gaze traveled across the great rents gouged into the walls and ceiling. He arched an eyebrow at me. “The girl is seriously pissed off.”
I tipped my head from side to side, examining the deep, jagged gashes. They almost resembled slashes, as if something with claws had taken to the plaster and wood.
“What is she?” Kenton demanded quietly as he came to stand alongside me.
I bristled. It was the same fucking question he asked every single time I’d returned from my day spent in Nelle’s company.
Without answering, I stalked from her room, my shoes crunching through glass and splintered wood, returning to my quarters. I headed straight for the tumbler of whiskey Kenton had placed on the table beside the outside window. Snatching it up, I downed it all in one go and poured another.
Godsdammit—I’m an asshole!
Last night I’d pushed Nelle away in the one way I knew would hit her hard. But I guess I’d taken it too far, hit her too deeply, and my timing, as usual, sucked ass. The Horned Gods Blessing would take place in a few hours and all the Houses had gathered outside. But this…I hadn’t anticipated this. Wychthorn’s anger. Sure, I expected that—the girl could burn the world down because of a slight—but I’d expected coldness. For her to mess with me slyly. Not to use her power to screw wi th me or decimate her bedroom.
Shit, she was being utterly irresponsible.
Or else… it was beyond her control, her volatile emotions intertwined with whatever she was.
And that, in there, in her bedroom, was all on me. Because I didn’t want to talk about my scarred back with her. Didn’t want to confess what had happened that night, long ago, that pitted our two Houses against one another. Because that night, I’d unwittingly chosen her over my own family.
Fuuuck!
I kicked the leg of the table hard enough to crack the wood and sent it slamming against the wall. The bottle of Macallan jostled, sliding over the tabletop, and I swept it up before it fell and spilled everywhere. I took a swig right from the bottle—getting drunk was certainly appealing.
I heard my brothers re-entering my room, the soft snick of the adjoining door shutting behind them.
“Gray,” Kenton prodded, thinly veiled anger tainting his deep voice.
I turned to face them, feeling sick and disgusted with myself. The three of them stared back at me with their various shades of violet eyes, waiting for me to speak.
Well, fuck them. I clamped my mouth tight.
“The Houses are right outside that door,” Jett snapped. His features twisted into a contemptuous glare at Wychthorn’s stupidity. “Anyone could have felt this, seen this.”
“Did you?” I bit back. Because I sure hadn’t. She’d contained it somehow. Fuck knows how, but she had. My nostrils flared as my fingers fisted the bottle’s neck. I was one breath away from smashing that snide look from Jett’s face.
“If she’s discovered before we claim her, all our plans are fucked!” Jett shot back.
“I KNOW! I FUCKING KNOW!” And I hurled the bottle at the wall. Shattered glass and whiskey exploded all over the Klimt painting. Amber liquid ran down in a river to soak into the carpet.
But I wasn’t pissed at my brother. I was fucked off with myself. Hissing through gritted teeth, I paced back and forth, willing myself to calm the fuck down. It was quiet between us for a drawn-out moment. While Kenton and Jett assumed my outburst was over my inability to control Wychthorn, Caidan searched my face, his features becoming thoughtful as he slowly came to another conclusion.
I dropped my gaze from his and hardened my resolve .
She means nothing to me.
Nothing.
“Is that normal?” Jett asked, slanting his chin toward her rooms beyond the adjoining door.
“Yeah, dickhead, the girl likes to redecorate her bedroom once a week.” I barked sarcastically, scowling at him.
Jett pressed a spread hand to his chest and mocked me with a hurt look, “Dude—harsh.” Then, rolling his eyes at me, he silently padded over to my bed and sat down. He dug a dagger from where he’d strapped it to his combat boots—no polished Oxfords for him—and started tossing the blade up into the air, catching it on the downward glide, only to toss it back up again.
“So what the hells was that in there about?” Kenton asked, shifting his weight to his other hip, his dark eyes narrowed.
Behind Kenton, Caidan slowly shook his head at me with a disappointed look that antagonized the shit out of me. Neither Kenton nor Jett saw him, but I heard the silent accusation— You did that to her, you fucker.
I shrugged a shoulder as if I didn’t know. But I did. Caidan was right. That mess in there was all because of me.
“What do you know?” Kenton said. It wasn’t a question, it was a demand.
I rubbed my face and dragged my hand through my damp hair, tugging hard enough that a burning pain swept across my scalp. My gaze fell on Caidan. Out of the four of us, he was graced with more lightness. He knew what the Wychthorns had done to our family, but our aunt had never quite twisted him to the way the rest of us viewed Nelle. He said nothing as his eyes bounced between mine, but I could see he read me easily—the indecision I grappled with.
This was it. This was the moment I had to choose between my family and Nelle.
My gaze slid to the beige carpet, and I rubbed the back of my neck, not understanding why there was such heaviness inside my gut.
Gods, why is this so hard to do?
I needed to choose. I had to choose.
So I closed my eyes briefly and remembered my little sister’s terror, her agonizing screams, and my mother on her knees begging for my life…and me …there was only me between the two people I loved the most and them . I’d been thirteen at the time, but like all my brothers, I’d been raised in the art of violence and could wield a sword before the age of five. But I was nothing, absolutely nothing, facing off against a Horned God. I was a mere insect, annoying, but easily swatted aside.
I began to talk. And as I talked, my brothers’ eyes grew wider and wider .
I went through what I’d learned. Each word betrayed and condemned Nelle, and as I told them everything I knew about her, I felt as if I was flaying my soul.
I explained about the Uzrek, what had happened down in that dank catacomb. Why she’d gone there in the first place seeking answers for herself. But I left out what the Uzrek had said about me, about us.
You do not know what you are either, Son of the Wyrm.
Do not know what you mean toge—
I just knew it was going to say— together. But what else was it going to reveal? What was it between us?
Caidan blew out a breath of disbelief, but then a small smile tugged his mouth up. “She sought out the Uzrek?”
“She didn’t just seek the Uzrek out, she put him in his godsdamned place,” I replied.
Jett’s face scrunched with an odd mix of disgust and awe. “She can swift?”
Everything we knew said nothing living can swift and yet I’d swifted with her.
I had no idea how I could survive that endless abyss of shadows. Maybe simply her holding me . A shudder rippled down my spine at the memory of that creepy sensation, like ghostly hands pawing all over my body, icy tendrils of power trying to trap me in the void forever. And the eerie feeling we weren’t alone in that place, either.
“I’ve seen her with fire, the ground quaking, aether charging the air, manipulating wind,” I told my brothers.
“All of them?” Caidan asked, his eyebrows rising nearly to his hairline.
I nodded.
“Holy hellsgate,” he hissed, running a hand down the front of his white dress shirt before he turned away to snatch up his drink and gulp it down.
I shared the last of my tale, of what had happened down in the catacombs and what remained of those things after they tried to kill me and capture her. “She incinerated every single one of them to ash.”
Jett flopped straight-backed upon my bed. He shoved away the wayward hair from his forehead with the fist wrapped around the hilt of his dagger. “Holy shit, we are so fucked.”
Kenton sank into a chair, propping an elbow on the armrest while rubbing his chin with his free hand. For a while, silence filled the room as my brothers contemplated what I’d revealed—what that meant. None of us knew of any recordings of mortals or anyone from the Houses serving the Horned Gods who controlled more than two elements. Mostly, others fell into singular brackets. There were all kinds of others . Some could manipulate emotions, the kind we used to alter the mood in our gambling halls to entice the patrons to chase the thrill of a winning streak. I didn’t know the depth of the well of dark power Wychthorn could draw from.
Or what else she was capable of.
“What is she?” There was a glint of accusation in Kenton’s hard gaze. A reprimand for not discovering it by now.
“She doesn’t know.” I didn’t taste her lies when she’d spoken to me about it. And without witnessing firsthand what she was capable of, I was still in the dark.
My little bird was a knowledge gatherer. I knew that about her, but my irritation at being stuck in her company blinded me to that fact. On a few of those days, she had kept me holed up in her family’s library. She had a personal table, reading lamps, and a high-backed leather chair. And stacked upon the table were piles of books she had dug out during the period between my visits. She’d perch on the edge of her seat, a furrow between her brows as she read. And whenever she had difficulty deciphering the old language, the tip of her tongue would touch her upper lip, and the pen loosely held in between her fingers, tap, tap, tapping on the folded leaves, slowed down.
While I sat there or stalked the quiet room, seething, she’d been researching our world, doing it right in my face and I’d been such a dumbass that it hadn’t clicked.
Godsdamn, I was an idiot.
A spoiled princess —I liked to throw that in her face every opportunity I could.
She was simply a girl who didn’t know what she was, and perhaps didn’t even understand it herself. But did that stop her or get her down? Fuck, no. No wailing or self-pity from Nelle. She quietly got to work in the only way she could, sifting through the ancient tombs of the library, rifling through the Wychthorn history to find out anything about herself; by trying to discover the location of some monstrous beast that might help her unpick the threads binding her secret.
Those pictures on her wall, now shredded into tiny scraps, were the lairs of monsters and otherworldly creatures she’d discovered, pinpointing their territory. The Uzrek was the closest creature she could ask about her dark power.
And how long had she been up to this monster hunting? Years, judging by the layer of pictures lining the walls in her quarters.
I’d misjudged her. We all had. Thinking her a spoiled princess—cloistered on the estate, pampered and coddled and clueless.
All the while, Wychthorn had been researching and planning and biding her time, waiting for an opportunity to find herself free and alone in the city of Ascendria.
And I’d provided that moment for her.
The cleverness of it all, her fearlessness, and the fact she’d duped me so easily when we’d ridden the subway… Her sharp mind was a godsdamned aphrodisiac and my body tightened with lust.
“Any ideas?” Kenton asked.
I blinked, adjusting my position slightly. My hair ruffled as I slowly shook my head. “I haven’t figured it out yet.” Whatever Nelle was, her power was close to a Horned God’s might. And by the apprehensive look etched on Kenton’s face, he’d realized it too. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to contain her on the estate.”
The Alverac would contain her . But none of us knew if the binding of the Alverac would contain whatever dark might prowled beneath her skin.
“She’s turning twenty in a few weeks’ time. And that…” Jett jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the adjoining door. “What the hells do we have to trap that?”
“ That has a name,” I snapped back.
Her name is Nelle Wychthorn!
But how often had I let myself utter her first name? Hardly ever.
I saw Jett’s confusion at my angry reply turn into a stormy black look. Kenton eyed me shrewdly, contemplating my reaction. Both of them harbored deep resentment for Wychthorn. Can I blame them?
“Besides, you forget who we are,” I grumbled, kneading my forehead with my fingertips. I had to sever those tangled feelings I had for Nelle. I had to, or else I’d never be able to do the things my family needed from me. Shoving those confusing feelings down deep, I filled my blood with ice.
She means nothing to me.
Nothing.
Straightening my spine, I quirked up one eyebrow. “We are Crowthers. The oldest family amongst the Houses. We’ve weapons given to us by the Horned Gods, forged by Zrenyth himself.” Somewhere in our armory, we’d find something to bind Wychthorn’s powers.
“Besides, we have another problem,” I added as I strode over to my saddlebags and pulled out a roll of velvet. No one, besides my brothers, knew Wychthorn and I had encountered the mysterious faction that was hounding the Horned Gods. How the hells I was going to inform Novak, without giving us away, was beyond me.
I unfurled the fabric, revealing the crossbow bolt I’d pushed from Sage’s chest. “ Those things , that army of the dead in the catacombs, they’ve got to be looking for others . That’s why they’re attacking our shipments, searching through our stolen souls. I don’t know if Wychthorn and I were at the wrong place at the wrong time. But I’m certain they were after her.” I handed the bolt wrapped in velvet to Kenton. “This brought down a wraith-wolf.” The bolt was the only thing left after Wychthorn had obliterated all of those things that were hunting her.
Jett got up from my bed, stalked over, and leaned in to stroke a fingertip along the length of the bolt. He snatched his hand back, flicking his wrist, cursing at the blisters rendered into his skin. He frowned. “What the hells is that thing? I could feel myself unraveling.”
I could only offer a shrug. I didn’t know. But I’d felt the same sensation when I’d worked it out from Sage. A tugging at my senses, my strength, the very blood in my veins—trying to steal the power we’d all been blessed with from my family line and our mother.
Kenton passed the wooden bolt to Caidan before his gaze sliced to mine. “And those things hunting you in the catacombs are equipped with these?”
“Yep.” I poured a whiskey into a fresh glass and took a deep swig, welcoming the burn sliding down my throat.
Caidan gave the bolt a good going over before handing it back to me. I wrapped it up in the velvet and placed it in my saddlebag, pausing a moment at the window. Our own extended family members were arriving on the estate. Aunts and uncles, cousins who worked alongside us as enforcers or soldiers, were strolling into the marquee. Ferne would be here soon too, with our father and aunt.
I jerked my chin toward the outside door, indicating it was time for us to join the celebration.
My brothers and I gathered down at the back of the marquee. Our dark reputation and carefully schooled masks of indifference kept everyone else at a distance, apart from a few servants who offered canapes and flutes of champagne, which I waved away. I’d brought a couple of Byron’s aged Macallans with us. It gave me a childish sort of amusement to think how pissed Byron would be when he discovered the dent I’d made in his vintage whiskey collection.
Leaning my ass against a banquet table, with my hands braced on either side of me, I narrowed my gaze on Caidan. “What have you got on, Danne?” The motherfucker had kept a low profile today. I hadn’t spotted him anywhere on the estate and I’d been purposely looking for him. I might have been spoiling for a fight, so it was lucky for Danne that I hadn’t found him.
“Gambling again. Racked up quite the debt. Drowning in it,” Caidan advised.
“With who?”
“Not any of our own,” he replied, sliding a hand into a pocket of his dark gray jacket. “But I uncovered a name—Silas Boon.”
“Who the hells is Silas Boon?” The name meant nothing to me.
Caidan shrugged one shoulder. “Still figuring it out.”
“What do you think Danne wants with Wychthorn?” Jett asked.
I shook my head. I wasn’t sure.
Caidan’s cheek dimpled with a sly smile. “Have you considered he could actually like her?”
Mother—
Fucker!
Caidan was three years younger than me. Out of the four of us, he and I were the tightest. He’d also taken it upon himself to bring me back to myself after I’d survived that frigid well of darkness beneath the Keep when I’d fucking lost it after signing the Alverac.
Caidan was the one who knew me the best, but he liked to stir and stir until he got a reaction. And I didn’t disappoint. The thought of Danne douchebag Pellan daring to even share the same breathing space as Wychthorn—
“That fucker likes only himself,” I snarled.
And girls that scream—NO!
That thought must have been written all over my face because my three brothers suddenly grew still, sharing dark looks among themselves. Kenton tossed back the remains of his whiskey, slamming it down on the table so hard that glasses and even the candlesticks rattled. His deep voice rumbled, “He’s going to get what’s owed to him. Sometime soon.”
I’d scented Danne’s interest in Wychthorn when I’d found them in the marquee last night, dancing together—Danne playing her like it was some kind of cheesy romcom. Dickhead. As I’d marched for her, territorial possessiveness raging through me, I’d scented a faint trace of lust and something else—a tang that reminded me of stale spice that had sat in the cupboard for too long—retribution.
“He could want what? Maybe a way in with Byron? Find some way of paying off his debt?” Jett said, shifting his lean figure to snatch a couple of goat cheese canapes from the silver tray a servant offered.
Maybe me. Maybe getting back at me .
Last year, without my knowledge, Kenton had taken Ferne to speak with Danne while he was recuperating at home after I’d almost pounded him into an early grave. Ferne was strong-willed, and I guess even I wouldn’t have been able to stand in her way once she’d made up her mind. Ferne had gone in alone, but Kenton had lingered outside, listening into their conversation. She hadn’t begged on my behalf. Typically, like the Crowther she was, she’d threatened Danne and scared the ever-living shit out of him. She’d be the one to end him if he dared try to twist what had happened—what he’d been about to do to her—by bringing me to meet judgment before Byron or even Master Sirro for attacking him.
Then—
Something acrid stung my nostrils.
I sniffed the air in the marquee.
What the hells is that smell?
Smoke?
My attention snapped to my brothers as soon as I heard Caidan’s snort-laugh. Jett’s cheeks were red as he guffawed obnoxiously, his upper body bent in half with his hands splayed on his knees.
Even ice-cold Kenton cracked a smile and huffed a laugh.
“Dude, your tux is on fire,” Jett crowed loudly, just as blistering icy heat scorched the flesh of my arm.
Hells, my tux is on fire!
I tore off the jacket, throwing it on the ground and stamping out the flames beneath my leather shoes.
How the fuck?
I glanced around. Sure, I’d been leaning against the banquet table, but I was nowhere near a godsdamn candle.
I felt her then, that incessant prickling awareness thrumming across my skin. Swiveling around, I found Wychthorn standing outside the entrance to the marquee, her silver dress shivering in a wind I was pretty sure came from her. My gaze clashed with her fiery death-glare that screamed disappointment I hadn’t exploded in a fireball of melting flesh. Hells hath no fury like a woman scorned. Nelle Wychthorn had kicked in the gate to Nine Hells, shoved Hazus off the throne, and proclaimed herself Queen.
She stared back at me with eyes as stormy as the angry clouds gathering overhead. I was dead to her, and if she had her way, I would be literally dead, and she’d prefer my death to be long and agonizing.
My brothers took her in. She gave every one of them a slow, lingering hate glare.
“Holy shit,” Jett murmured beneath his breath, brushing a hand through his hair. “I think if an asteroid the size of Manhattan slammed into us right this moment, it still wouldn’t satisfy her.”
I fought the grin that threatened to expose itself. Yeah, I got the same feeling too. That fury she burned with…gods, it made her even more breathtaking.
She looked like moonlight, beautiful, ethereal in layers of silver that shifted and shimmered with the unnatural wind. I’d never seen her in anything so fitting before, or so grown up, either. The gown’s front split down her cleavage, right between the swelling of her breasts to her waist. And she was completely oblivious to the appreciation slithering about her from the males inside the tent who’d noticed her presence. The kind of appreciation that heated my blood, and not in a good way. My fingers curled into fists at the scent of lust filling the space.
My brothers and I were silent for a long, drawn-out moment, staring back at her. It was Caidan who spoke first, with a dimpled grin that split his face. “I like her.”
“Did she… Did she do that?” Jett asked, his eyes gone round as he toed the mess of smoking fabric at my feet with his shoe.
I picked up my burnt jacket, the stench of melted wool assaulting my nostrils. “Yep.” And I was lucky she didn’t incinerate me on the spot. “That was a matchstick compared to what she’s capable of.”
I furtively scanned the other occupants of the tent. But those drawn into small and larger groups, chatting, sipping champagne, or nibbling on canapes, didn’t appear to have noticed what had happened. A few nearby had, casting curious glances before dismissing it, and turning back to their conversation with each other.
Thankfully, House V?duva hadn’t arrived yet, as they hunted others . If they’d felt it, seen—
Shit, if Wychthorn exposes herself in her desire to fuck me over…
Where would that leave us?
We needed her.
I needed her—
BLOCK IT!— I ordered myself.
“Why?” Kenton cocked a perceptive eyebrow my way. “What did you do to piss her off?”
Gods, what I’d done shamed me.
I dropped my gaze to my smoldering jacket, but all I saw was her sweet face. The confusion that pinched her features, how her chin quivered as realization sunk in at all the vile ugly things spilling from my mouth last night. All intentional. All to hurt her.
And now that fire and brimstone and hate she burned with… I’d done that, and I fucking deserved it.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.
I had to be ice. I couldn’t care.
Wychthorn is nothing to me.
She is a means to right a wrong.
She is the reason my mother was—
Gods, I couldn’t even stomach my own bullshit!
Flicking my eyes open, I rubbed at my chest where something hurt. Fuck, I ached inside. What the hells is that?
Kenton stepped up, close enough we were chest to chest. “The girl confronted the Uzrek and lived. She wiped out those things in the catacombs that even you couldn’t take down.” I met his ice-cold glare with my own. “She set you on fire. Destroyed her rooms. And I’m guessing your bumbling ass didn’t trip over into mud—she did that to you.”
All true, but I didn’t say anything. I gritted my teeth.
“We cannot afford for her to reveal herself. We can’t lose her, not when we’re this close—”
“I get it,” I snarled.
“Whatever you’ve done to her, fix it. And find out what we’re dealing with.”
“Er, Gray…” Caidan jutted his chin in Wychthorn’s direction.
And what I saw had red-hot rage searing my blood.
The milling crowd partly obscured them, but I caught glimpses of some guy, as massive as Kenton, swooping in to scoop up Wychthorn. And that smile, that glorious smile lighting up her face, both wounded me and inflamed my rage further.
Some.
Fucker.
Is.
Touching.
Her!
Had her grinning that cute crooked grin and laughing in delight as he spun them both around fast and tossed her up in the air like a child.
They briefly disappeared, and without realizing it, I was shifting to locate a better vantage, only to find his back to me. I had no idea who he was, but I knew. I just knew what the fucker was doing as he dipped her slightly sideways so I could see her warm expression, her pretty lips parting as his descended on hers.
Some other guy was kissing her!
Caidan slapped his hand on my taut shoulder, leaning in to whisper with a smug smirk. “Looks like you’ve got some serious competition there, brother.”
All I saw was red.