Chapter 10
TROY
Why was she even up there?
Was she going to bloody jump? I don’t need the authorities and their dogs swarming my island right now. Thank Christ, I was there to stop her.
My pulse still hammers from those seconds when I thought she might fall, when every carefully constructed wall I’ve built around the memory of Nell threatened to crumble with her.
And then the back of her dress had split and torn on the ledge, revealing the color of her underwear.
Lavender bloody lace.
I didn’t bloody think. I just hauled her over my shoulder before she could slip again. She fought me the whole way down, squirming, cursing, her warm breath against my neck. She had no idea of what kind of danger she was in.
From me.
Because if she’d stayed in front of me like that, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from shoving her against the wall. From wrapping my hands around her until she understood exactly what kind of monster she’s trapped herself with.
Now the feel of her is branded on my skin. Her lavender perfume lingers on my clothes. She won’t get out of my head.
This is exactly why she needs to leave.
Though she still won’t. Sage has made that pretty clear.
She has no idea she’s the prey, and that I’m the predator her mother warned her about.
I should drag her to that boat myself, throw her in it, watch until it disappears across the lake, and I can breathe again, think again. But something keeps me from doing that.
So, I reach for my hunting kit instead.
If she won’t go, then, fuck it, I will.
Because if I stay one more night with her under my roof, wearing my clothes, sleeping in my bed…I’ll stop warning her.
And I’ll start taking.
My demon won’t ask permission. It won’t care about carefully laid plans or that she’s Lovett by name only, nothing except the way she looked up at me the first night, shaking but refusing to run.
It’s seared into my mind so much so that when I close my eyes, I can still see the desperation in her eyes as she clawed to get away from me.
From then on, it’s easy to imagine the sounds she’d make. How desirable she’d look, bloody and breathless, screaming my name.
So I need to hunt something worse. I need to sink a blade into something that deserves it before I sink it into something that doesn’t. Before I cross a line I swore I’d never cross.
I grab my bag with more force than necessary.
And then, slowly, I recheck my hunting kit for the tenth time.
When Mundel’s footsteps echo in the hallway, I’m satisfied it’s all there.
Of course it is. I never put it back without checking every blade is where it should be.
Except the one in my jacket pocket. Mercy.
I’ve been carrying the blade since Nell happened because she wanted me to stop.
Now I know who Nell was, the razor has no reason for being there.
But I haven’t put it back yet.
Hell knows why.
I reach for Truth, and the razor slips free with the merest hiss against the leather, and I’m already turning slightly when he appears in the doorway, my grip tightening on the cool metal handle.
“You sent her up to the tower.” I don’t look up from the weapon in my hands, testing its edge against my thumb. “Why?”
Mundel steps into the room. In my peripheral vision, his hands are visible, but not empty. He’s holding his hunting rifle, likely to clean it.
He hesitates in the doorway. “I was doing what you asked. I was watching her.”
“I never asked you to do that.” I scrape out, low and soft.
“And I was testing you.” His voice stays level, professional, like he always is around me.
“Me?” My tone sharpens.
He walks in and places the rifle on the counter, close to me, but his hands stay on the gun. “I wanted to see what Sage would do given the chance to climb the tower, where she’d go first. And what you’d do when you saw she was up there.” He pauses. “I wanted to know if you still—”
I step behind him and press the steel against his skin. Truth finds his throat before he can finish the sentence, the razor’s edge kissing his skin just below his Adam’s apple. “If I still what…Mundel?”
“If you still have a weakness.” He doesn’t flinch or pick up the rifle. He knows me better than that. “And now I know you do.”
The twisted, sadistic part of me really wants to slice him open, demanding blood.
But the blade stills against his skin. The nasty side of me that spent years in Port Penn learning exactly how much a man can bleed before he stops breathing, longs to open his jugular and feel hot blood spill over just for mentioning her name.
She’s not his to watch. She’s mine.
After what her family did to me, and after what Nell did, I’ve earned that right. If anyone is going to hurt her, it’ll be me, and then I won’t hesitate. My demon side would make such a mess that even her father wouldn’t recognize what’s left.
“No one—not even you, Mundel—gets to touch what’s mine until I’m done with it. Got it?” My voice is low in his ear.
“So you don’t want me to get rid of her?” I did ask him to deal with her, but that was before…
Before what?
My hand tightens on the metal as I shove that thought out of my mind. “I changed my mind. If you put one finger on her, Mundel, I’ll feed you to my dog piece by fucking piece. She’s off limits. To everyone. Is that clear?”
There’s a pause. I can hear the wheels turning in his head.
“Crystal. What about the boat?”
“If she leaves, then let her.”
“If she stays?”
“She won’t.”
It takes everything in me to pull the blade away and slip it back where it came from. Unfortunately, Mundel is a necessary evil. The only reason he’s still alive is that I need him. For now.
But every day he pushes me, he moves one step closer to becoming another body in the lake.
He watches me intently as I grab my kit, a leather roll with dark brass buckles and S.T. burned into the strap, and slip it into my bag. It looks like any other men’s grooming kit, but he knows what’s inside.
And he shouldn’t forget it.
Not who I was, and who I still am.
The Demon of Port Penn.
I leave without a word, before I change my mind and slice him from ear to ear.
I don’t kill those still loyal to me—or women and children, not like the men who murdered my family while they slept.
I have rules. I’ve always had rules. No matter how much my fingers itch to, or my blood sings that he’d deserve it.
As I walk, I check the cameras on my phone again, just to locate her. She’s still in the orchard, sitting at the base of a tree, crying where anyone could see her. Where Mundel could see her. The thought of him spying on her, even on a security feed, makes my jaw clench.
But I think I’ve made my point clear. She’s not his.
On my island, she belongs to me.
At least now, I’m leaving. And that’s more mercy than she deserves. More than I’ve given anyone in years.
And when I get back, she’d better be gone.
I pause by the kitchen as I’m on my way out. Katherine is kneading dough when she sees me hovering and gives me a suspicious look. The kitchen is her domain, and I usually keep out of it. If I want something, I’m supposed to ring a bell like Lord of the fucking Manor—her idea, not mine.
Kath wipes her hands on her apron and walks over. Her eyes stray down to my travel bag. And just like that, I’m twelve years old again, caught trying to sneak biscuits before dinner.
“Leaving so soon, Master Troy?”
I don’t mind that she still calls me that. Kath has earned the right. She was the only one who visited me in Port Penn, who didn’t believe the lies.
“I won’t be back for a few days. Hunting.”
Her mouth makes a flat line. “I figured.” She knows exactly what hunting means.
“She’s in the orchard,” I say before I change my mind.
Kath blinks. “Who is in the orchard?”
God, this woman. “The Lovett girl.”
“Oh?” She cocks her head, waiting, with that knowing look that says she sees right through me.
I glance around the kitchen and then back at the woman who knew me before all of this, who still doesn’t take any of my bullshit. “I think she’s crying.” I know she’s crying. I saw her on one of the security cameras right before I started packing.
“Ah. You want me to console her? Take her a cup of tea, perhaps?”
I give a curt nod.
There’s a faint smile on her lips. She doesn’t have to say what that smile means. “You like this one.”
I don’t like anyone.
But she’s still bloody smiling.
“Just stop her crying and get her on that boat.”
“Tears scare you, do they?” She pats my arm like I’m still twelve. “Off with you then. And Troy? Try not to off anyone I’d miss.”
I frown at her, and she opens her mouth to say something else, but I turn and leave abruptly. I’m not going to stay to natter with the woman.
It’s only when I’m on the boat, engine rumbling beneath me, that the dark whisper under my skin eases.
It’s just a touch, but it’s enough to remind me what normal felt like, if I’d ever known it.
Most of the time, all I can think about, day and night, is spilling blood, feeling it calm the storm inside me.
But the last few days, just as the urge sharpens…
She slips in.
Automatically, I reach for my phone to see how she’s doing.
My hand falters. I shouldn’t be watching her. I stalked her on the security cameras all morning—such a waste of my time. Every minute I spend on these feeds is another minute I’m losing control. This girl is making me obsessive, weak.
Mundel is right.
I can’t seem to look away even when I need to.
The boat glides as I steer it, cutting through the water until I reach the shore. Quickly, I get out, tie up, and then head straight to my cabin. When I open the door, Ben bounds out, jumping up at me and trying to lick me to death. I rub his ears, speaking in a low voice.