Page 93 of Pervade London
Xavier followed fast at a blur, unable to slow down in time to stop. I watched in horror as the point of the joust struck his abdomen. A huff of pain escaped his lips and he doubled over, collapsing to the stone tiles while clutching his belly.
The joust fell from my grip with a loud clang.
James slumped to his knees beside him and reached for his shirt. “Let me see!”
Xavier went still.
A scream tore out of me as I hurried to my fiancé’s side.
I scrutinized his body, trying to see the severity of the wound, vaguely aware of James’ angry glare on me. The one I deserved, the one that told me I would regret this for the rest of my life.
“Please, no,” I sobbed.
“What were you thinking?” yelled James.
Xavier opened an eye and laughed, rolling onto his back and pulling me down on top of him. “That hurt.”
I let out a howl of relief and pressed my cheek to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
Xavier rubbed his stomach. “I’m okay.”
James sprang to his feet and grabbed me by the back of my shirt, hauling me off of Xavier with momentum and dragging me alongside him down the hallway. My legs were almost off the ground as he forced me to run at his pace.
“James,” Xavier called after him. “I’m fine.”
“Not the point,” James growled.
“It’s kind of funny,” Xavier said, hurrying after us.
“There’s nothing funny about it.” James kicked a door and it flew open.
He dragged me into a grand dining room with a long table surrounded by high-back chairs. The decades in here were as preserved as this man’s fury.
He lifted me up and thrust me down forcefully on my back. Searing agony shot down my spine as I landed wrong, my legs dangling off the edge. My body shuddered under the fierce pressure he exerted when I tried to rise.
It happened fast—James left my side for a beat and then quickly returned with a sword. I heard the grate of metal against metal as he unsheathed the weapon and brought the silver edge to rest at my throat.
I froze, the blood draining from my face.
My flesh chilled with terror. One slice through my neck…
James gripped the hilt with white knuckles. “Want to play, little girl?”
Xavier raised his hands to caution him. “Don’t.”
The sword’s edge pressed deeper into my neck and I tried to swallow as the cold metal dug into my skin.
“James, you promised you wouldn’t,” said Xavier.
“She could have killed you.”
Xavier stepped closer. “Put it down.”
“This is not a game, Ms. Rampling,” James seethed. “This is life or death and I’m done playing nice. This is where your privilege ends.”
“I’m sorry,” I managed.
James pressed harder.
