Page 64 of Princess Claimed

He shakes his head. “I was full of rage. Uncontrollable. What you saw today…” His eyes close, and a tremor shudders through him.

“Back then, what made you so angry?”

His eyes narrow. “Everything. Everyone. But mostly my fucking father.”

“I’m so sorry.” Caressing the side of his face, I let my fingers trail through his hair, and Phil inhales, his eyelashes fluttering as if my hand is stroking somewhere more stimulating. But I don’t want this to turn sexual. At least not yet.

“Bastard beat me,” he says with a growl. “Beat my mum, too. Beat us all, but I was the oldest, the biggest, the only one who could protect the others.” His eyes fill with so much anger it freezes my insides.

A couple of days ago, if Phil had this look in his eyes, I’d have run. But he would never hurt me. He didn’t even hurt me when he warned me that he planned to. Sure, our first rounds of sex were rough, but he was way more careful than he’d admit. And I’m more than willing to admit how much I enjoyed the extra-vigorous sex.

“That must have been horrible,” I say softly.

He nods. “I don’t remember a day that I didn’t want to kill my father. I wanted to pound every last bit of life out of his body. But as hard as I tried, he always got the better of me. Many times, he thrashed me within an inch of my life.” He shakes his head. “But fighting him, keeping him off my mum and my brothers made me strong. And I did all I could to grow bigger muscles. Stealing food where I could, taking exercise whenever I wasn’t doing chores. And by the time I was fourteen, I’d grown bigger than my father. Stronger. Knowing it, the bastard backed off me.”

Phil’s expression grows colder—even more fierce.

“But I couldn’t always be on the farm and couldn’t always take Mum and the boys with me.” His eyes cloud with rage, deep golds swirling around the flecks of amber that explode like lightning as I watch. Phil’s power is exhilarating. Awe inspiring. Terrifyingly sexy. But most of all, it’s heart breaking.

“One day,” he continues, “I returned to find them all beaten. Mum tried to hide her cuts and bruises, but it was impossible. I went into a rage and made sure he’d never hurt them again.”

“Oh, Phil.”

He looks away from me. “I smashed in his head. Kept beating him long after he was dead. And then I ran.”

“Ran? Where?” I want to add why, but stop myself.

“The neighbors called the constable. There was talk I should be hanged for murder.”

“But you were defending yourself. Defending your family.”

“No one saw it that way.” He shakes his head. “Folks were already scared of me. I couldn’t risk staying. And with him dead, I knew Mum and the kids were safe.”

“I’m so sorry you went through that, Phil. Killing someone, your own father, must have deeply affected you. I can only imagine…”

“He was only my first. The first of many.”

I gasp.

He turns away. “I fled to Glasgow. Found a place where men bet on fights. When I won, I got paid.” He shakes his head. “I won a lot and have no fucking idea how many of my opponents I killed.”

“Phil…”

He won’t look into my eyes, so I snuggle into him, trying to show him how this hasn’t changed my feelings. “You were doing what you could to survive. You were young.”

“I haven’t told you the worst.”

I pull in a ragged breath.

“You’ll fucking hate me.”

“Not possible. Please. Phil. Whatever it is, it might help if you tell someone.”

“Crusher knows.”

I nod, glad that he’s at least shared this burden with someone.

“He doesn’t know about my Father, or Glasgow, but he knows about…”

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