Page 99 of Tethered In Blood

His eyes locked onto mine the moment I neared. That knowing smirk spread as he tilted his head. “Hey, Broody,” he drawled, stretching his arms behind his head. “Where’s our girl?”

Our girl.

My jaw ticked, and I glared at him. The words still landed deep and settled in a way I didn’t care to explore. “You haven’t seen her?” I clipped.

He hummed while his gaze swept over the street until his posture shifted. His smirk twitched, and he let out a sharp whistle. “Oh, boy.” His tone had my muscles locked.

I followed his gaze, and my chest tightened. That bastard from earlier was leaning against a market stall, arms crossed, his posture easy and too relaxed. His expression was intentionally vague, but his gaze wasn’t. It was locked on Quinn, watching her.

Quinn stood before him, flipping a bundle of herbs between her fingers, her journal tucked against her hip. Her expression was drawn and focused. Not wary or uneasy. She was listening. Taking in whatever bullshit he was feeding her.

She didn’t look uncomfortable. But she didn’t look aware, either.

A biting pressure built in my jaw.

Everything about it—abouthim—itched beneath my skin, needling at a part of me I couldn’t name. He leaned into her space, and his gaze flickered over her with quiet calculation. The way she tilted her head to listen, unbothered.

Garrick hummed beside me, shoved his hands into his pockets, and exuded nothing but casual amusement.

My irritation flared hotter.

“You know,” he mused, tilting his head, “what he said about the ocean seemed… off-putting.”

I tore my gaze away from Quinn long enough to glare at him. “You think?”

He huffed a chuckle. “I mean, yeah, the whole ‘the sea doesn’t like outsiders poking around’ bit isn’t quite comforting. Not to mention, he seems awfully interested in her.” His eyes flicked back to Quinn, and his smirk grew. “Can’t say I blame him.”

I could have responded to that. Could have said anything—a sharp retort, a cold dismissal, a warning.

But the half-elf had leaned in. Quinn didn’t flinch or step back. She tilted her head closer again, as if what he was saying held any fucking value at all. A slow, simmering heat burned through my veins. Garrick let out an amused hum. “You could go over there, you know.”

I ground my teeth. “She’s not alone.”

He snorted. “No, but she sure as hells isn’t with us.” He tilted his head toward me, watching, waiting for a reaction.

My expression remained flat.

“So,” he continued, stretching the word, “are you going to do something about it? Or are you just going to stand here brooding like the jealous, overprotective—” I shot him a warning look so sharp it could have drawn blood. He raised his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk never faded. “Fine, fine,” he said, clearly entertained by the situation. “But if she drowns because you let that half-elf sweet-talk her onto a boat, that’s on you, Sinclaire.”

My patience snapped. Garrick chuckled behind me as I strode toward her, my pulse hammering with violent and undeniable rage. The bastard was still speaking, still holding her attention as if he had any fucking right to it. She listened intently, nodding, her brows furrowed in thought as she rubbed a bundle of herbs between her fingers.

He was still looking at her.

And she was still letting him.

The half-elf’s gaze flicked up and locked onto mine when I stopped beside her, lips curling at the edges, as though he knew something I didn’t. He believed he had the right to stand there, talk to her, and look at her like that.

Quinn sighed when she felt my presence.

“You must stop doing this,” I insisted.

She turned to me with a strained expression. “I don’t have to wait for you, Sinclaire. The village is small enough that you would hear me from your room if I screamed out here.”

I became rigid, my fingers twitching at my sides. She didn’t know how those words affected me or how much they infuriated me. She thought it was a joke, just a throwaway statement to dismiss my concerns. She failed to realize that the thought of her voice cutting through the night in fear or pain made my blood run ice cold.

“I’m fine,” she continued, brushing past me as if it was nothing.

“Horseshit.”

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