Page 75 of The Beast Of Gloomenthrall

Perhaps it was the mead going straight to her head. Or the fact they stood in deep dark shadows together, making it feel like they were disconnected from the real world. “I was embarrassingly young, very naive, and bone deep sure that I was a mature woman in love, marrying the man of her dreams.”

“And?”

“Over three years my dream slowly turned into a dark reality. Looking back there were many, many signs of what was to come. I was just too blinkered and wilfully gullible to question my husband’s veracity and nature.”

“He abandoned you?”

“He tried to kill me! And gleefully left me for dead.”

“The bastard.”

“Hold.” Perri reached out, grabbing Brandth’s arm to keep him close, his face a hard shadowed mask in this light, but she knew he intended to seek Regal out, confront him. “You are nothing but an observer in all of this, Lord De’Luca, remember? Besides… there is my son to consider.”

Taking several deep breaths Brandth visibly calmed enough that Perri felt confident enough to release her hold on him. Not thinking about how very warm and muscular his arm had felt under her grip. Absolutely not being a ninny and getting distracted by her body’s irritating biological urges.

“I’m afraid I will have to recuse myself from the casual observer role when it comes to you, Lady Perri.”

Her stomach dipped, Brandth was going to excuse himself from her life. He’d discovered what he needed to know and was going to retreat. Treating her henceforth like a bare casual acquaintance. Perri’s stomach iced over and abruptly ached abominably.

“You see…” His hand reached out, fingers trailing up her arm, pushing aside the fluttering free edge of her scarf just enough that his fingers could dip underneath. Perri was frozen, she wasn’t ready, not yet, not for Brandth to see her face. Not to have him look at her with horror, and pity. However, instead of lifting the veil his fingers slid along her collar, brushing against the side of her bare throat to wrap around the nape of her neck. Brandth leaning over, pulling her gently closer to him, resting his mouth against her ear. “… I find myself captivated by you Perri Gloomenthrall. The way you walk and sit. I’m driven almost to distraction by your every breath. Rivetted by how your hair catches the light and throws out sparks of fire. I’m obsessed with how you hiss in exasperation when I say, or do something that peeves you. Unable to stop wondering if there are far more pleasurable ways to make you hiss… or perhaps sigh. Even the way you say my name, so coolly, drives me a little mad. Because then all I can do is think about ways to drive you to distraction so that it will fall from your lips in a sated whisper.”

Brandth’s heated breath against her ear raised goosebumps over Perri’s entire body. But then he leaned even closer, planting soft, very warm lips against the side of her throat, just below her ear, setting her ablaze.

“I ask you to think on it, Lady Perri. You and I… together, in those few moments of respite when you are not plotting the death of your husband… that is all I ask.”

Good heavens. His lips brushed against the highly sensitised skin of her throat a second time, hatefully briefer than the previous kiss. Over too soon. Then Brandth was releasing his hold on her. Straightening, bowing slightly, before crutching his way off back to the light, to the party.

Perri had never had much call for a fan, but she was in dire need of one right now. Cruddy Hell. Brandth De’Luca had just asked her to… have an affair with him. More shocking however was that she wasn’t immediately dismissing his request out of hand. Temptation, thy name was a man with seductive honey brown eyes, who teased her with the strangest compliments, that meant more to her than if he waxed on lyrically about the colour of her eyes.

The Gods were a fickled bunch, how else to explain how Perri found herself in the crosshairs of a beautiful man. Once, was understandable. Regal had been power mad, craving a beautiful obedient trophy wife. But Brandth, he’d never even seen Perri’s face, and she came saddled with a psychotic estranged husband and a damaged child… yet still, he made his wicked, wicked suggestion.

Hah, it was official, there could be no other explanation, Perri was a magnet for the mad, bad and imminently dangerous to know. Complicating things. Because though she suspected Brandth wasn’t right in the head, it didn’t appear to lessen in any way Perri’s physical attraction to the man. Drat.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I’m not sure splitting up is the wisest of moves.”

It was a token protest from Perri, they both knew it.

Alia, busy glaring at her reflection in the mirror, fighting the urge to fidget as her sister finished arranging her hair. Pinning the sides up in simple braids. Leaving the bulk to fall in heavy dark golden waves down to the middle of her back. “You want to catch a glimpse of Levi, don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

“Well, he won’t be at the gathering this morning where each of the bridal candidates is expected to display a talent or aptitude.” Alia’s gaze flicked to the morning schedule that had been slipped under their door at the crack of dawn. Talent? She highly doubted the aristos would be interested in watching her bring down a boar, and proceed to gut and skin it in record time. Pity.

Talent? Alia’s concerns that she was about to make an embarrassing public spectacle of herself were only minor when compared to Perri’s current state of mind. She looked pale, with dark heavy circles under her anxious blue eyes. “It will be fine.” Alia grabbing her sister’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right… what talent do you intend to exhibit?”

“I’m still trying to decide.”

Finished with Alia’s hair, Perri had moved on to smoothing down the hunter green collar of her sister’s jacket. Very similar in style to the one she’d worn the previous day, though with more elaborate gem work along the lapels. Which drew attention to the creamy expanse of Alia’s full bosom and the glaring pink ridged scar that slashed across her throat.

“You don’t intend to sing, do you?”

“Heavens, no.”

“Good. I mean, that’s sensible… you’re not known for your voice.” There sounded a faint knock at the door, Perri flinging a pale blue scarf that matched her dress over her head before moving to answer it. Ushering in Deacon. Closing the door behind him, Perri pulled off the scarf and eyed him, the Lair had a master spy of their own. He was mute, in his late teens, with a mop of curly dark hair that hid intelligent watchful eyes. His nose long, and he was only just finally beginning to grow into it. Perri signed, enquiring about Deacon’s health, his accommodation and whether he was getting enough to eat. He was a growing boy, he never got enough to eat, and happily caught the apple Alia sent hurtling his way.

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