Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
B riony
“I … I … I …”
I don’t know what the fuck to say. I wasn’t expecting them home for hours.
I was not expecting to be caught snooping.
I was not expecting to be caught snooping in his underwear drawer.
“Did you find anything of interest in those drawers?”
“I … no … there …”
“Are you looking for something?”
“Can I go now?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest.
He tips his head to one side, considering me. “Are you stealing from us?”
“Oh, because I’m from Slate Quarter, I’d have to be a thief,” I spit.
“You’re the one rummaging through my drawers.” He crooks his finger towards me. “Come here, little thrall.”
I snort. “Err, no.”
“Come here and tell me what you’ve been doing in my room.”
I adopt that bored, vacant expression I’ve perfected, and he huffs and stamps towards me, stopping mere inches from my face. His proximity is intimidating – not just his size, but the way his magic pulsates around him in the air. And then there are his eyes. That strange silver color – mesmerizing like a snake’s. Is that why I shiver when he leans in closer?
It must be, right? Because I can’t possibly be turned on by him. Him, a shadow weaver?
He’s close enough for me to see the bruise blooming across his left cheek bone, the split on his lip, and, as he lifts his hand to slide his fingers around the back of my neck, the grazes on his knuckle.
“Hmmm,” he murmurs, his voice low and deep. “I like you in my room.”
“Wh-what happened to you?” I say, trying to ignore how good his hand feels gripping my neck. Trying to dismiss the way my heart is pounding in my ears, making me dizzy. Maybe there was some kind of potion in that mousse, because my body is not reacting the way it should.
I hate this man. I hate what his people did to my sister. And yet, the way he cups the back of my neck makes my knees weaken.
“Nothing,” he says dismissively, those silver eyes glittering.
I force myself to step away, ducking my head to release it from his grip and taking his hand in mine instead.
Safer, much safer.
I turn his hand over and examine those grazes, unable to help but let my fingertips trace over them.
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
“Don’t tell me you care,” he says with a smirk.
I drop his hand like it just burned me. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
His tongue wets the slice through his lip.
I can’t imagine anyone being capable of giving Beaufort Lincoln a split lip. He’s far more powerful than anyone else at the academy – or so he and everyone else keeps saying.
I guess I should be happy he’s taken a beating. And yet it has me uneasy.
“But let’s just say,” he says, “that girl won’t be bothering you any longer.”
“What girl?”
He tosses his head. “That little bitch the Hardies have taken as their thrall.”
All the blood rushes to my head. The room spins.
“What did you do?” I say, my words sounding far, far away.
I think of my sister.
Dead.
Killed.
Did they …
“I made sure she wouldn’t hurt you again.” He pauses. “You’re our thrall, Briony, and we will protect you.”
“What did you do?” I repeat. And to think only moments ago, I was softening towards him. But I was right the first time. He’s dangerous. We are nothing to them. “Did you–”
“Hurt her?” His face falls. For the first time, it looks like I may have insulted him. “What do you take us for?”
I stare back at him. What do I take him for? A killer. Someone who would take a life without a second thought. Isn’t that what they’re trained to do?
“You know, I was actually stupid enough to think you’d be grateful,” he growls, turning his back on me and striding over to his bed. “Go home, little thrall.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I’m more than happy to leave. More than happy never to speak to him again.
I’m halfway through the door, when he says, “We didn’t hurt her.”
“You expect me to believe that when your knuckles are grazed and–”
“You don’t know how things work between us shadow weavers.”
“No,” I say, “and I don’t want to.”