I toss the cold hand to the floor. It rolls until it hits his foot.
“Clean yourself up. And watch where you’re fucking going next time.”
A smirk lines Christian’s lips.
I ignore him.
Seven’s hand is at her lower back, and he guides her away from the kitchen and into the hall.
Did I fuck that up? Was I just supposed to let that prick hurt her?
Why are my thoughts so jumbled and polarizing? One second, I’m thinking about murdering anyone who so much as brushes against her, and the next, I’m wanting to kneel down right here and now and taste what Seven got to taste earlier.
And then more dark thoughts of our king doing just that slam through my mind.
Among the bustling of the chefs, the kitchen knife is picked up from the floor and laid on the edge of the shining black countertop. My fingers curl around the cold hilt of it, and I slip it quietly into my jacket.
I’ll be seeing Boris soon. And perhaps it’s time for our king to find himself in the same position my father was in decades ago...
More fanatic thoughts lash through me until I want to scream out and bury myself between her thighs and just fucking hide there.
“Fuck,” I hiss out as I shake my head ever so slowly at my fucked-up mental breakdown I’m currently drowning in.
It takes several minutes to reach the garden doors. We travel at a slow human pace. It shouldn’t bother me, but it just gives me even more time to dwell on the fuckhole we’ve thrown ourselves in.
And Christian, he’s so far down in that fuckhole, he’s starting to decorate it like it’s our new home we’ll be living in for the rest of our fucking relentless lives.
The change in him is subtle, but I notice it. He’s too tolerant with her. He doesn’t drag her through the castle like that first night. He’s careful and thoughtful, even if his features remain impassive and vacant.
I never thought I’d see the day this fucker actually cares. But I know he’s also thinking the same thing I am: our Pretty Pet is in deadly trouble when our king sees her. Because of us.
And then the doors open.
Chapter 18
Crymson
My palm is sweating in Christian’s cold hand, but I can’t bring myself to let him go. My nerves are a tangled mess buzzing around my racing thoughts. I don’t want to do this.I don’t want to step outside. I don’t want to see him again.
I don’t want any of it.
The moment the door opens, all that anxious energy disappears, and is replaced with sudden confusion. Ash tinges the hot air. Smoke drifts in and clouds my sight as we step out into an unbearable heat.
The garden is a dirt path. Hard soil and dry dust kick up around my black satin heels. The smoke clears, and then I see why.
The wordstarlightechoes through my thoughts with every moment anyone here has repeatedly said it.
Because starlight doesn’t exist for these people.
Delilah’s voice is loud and clear in my mind:
The Thorn King burned our borders as a reminder to us...
Burning embers flick through the air while a cloud of smoke looms overhead. If there’s sunlight or moonlight, either one, they’re covered by a sky of eternal flames.
“It’s Armageddon,” I whisper, frozen where I stand.
Christian’s steely eyes lift to the crimson sky before looking back at me like he has just revealed a dark secret he never meant to tell me.