Page 156 of The Devil's Thorn
And still… I kept walking. Straight toward the fire.
His eyes didn’t move from mine. Not once. Not when I crossed the space between us. Not when the hem of my dress shifted with the breeze. And especially not when I came to a full stop just a breath away.
The heat in his gaze wasn’t new. But tonight—it felt sharpened. Like a blade waiting to be unsheathed.
“Did Yuri touch you?” Rafael asked, voice low, unreadable.
I tilted my head slightly, pretending not to notice the way his grip tightened around the glass in his hand. “Would it matter if he did?”
His jaw flexed. Just once. Subtle. But I noticed it.
“I told you to be careful with him.”
“And I told you I’m not yours to protect.”
His eyes dropped again—this time deliberately. Not at my legs. Not at my mouth. At the faint line that dipped beneath the neckline of my dress. The fresh tattoo.
“You let him mark you.”
“I letmemark me.” I crossed my arms, keeping my voice level. “He just had the hands for it.”
Rafael’s mouth twitched—something between a smirk and a warning. “Yuri’s hands have killed more men than you’ve probably met, Isabella.”
I didn’t flinch.
He stepped in closer, his voice low and smooth. “You think he’s the funny one. The charming one. The one who makes jokes so no one realizes how many monsters he’s buried. But you’d be wrong. He’s the closest thing to a psychopath you’ll ever meet.”
I held his stare, refusing to blink. “I’ve met worse.”
“Doubt it.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything. Tension coiled between us like a live wire. Then he turned slightly, nodding toward the open bar just past the pool. “Come.”
It wasn’t a request.
I followed, brushing past him, catching the subtle scent of something expensive and dark—like cedar and danger.
I cast a quick glance back over my shoulder. Kellan was leaned against the far pillar, arms crossed, scanning the area. Ash was sitting on a lounger, throwing a chip at a lizard by his foot.
They didn’t move. But I knew they were watching. Good.
I slid onto one of the bar stools and crossed one leg over the other as Rafael stepped behind the counter, poured two drinks without looking down, and handed one to me.
Then, his fingers grazed my hair. Not all of it—just the small, newly braided strand. The one Yuri had tied with the red thread.
Rafael held it between his thumb and forefinger like it was some kind of specimen. Then he let it go, letting it fall back against my shoulder.
His voice was silk. “He braided this into your hair.”
I took a slow sip of my drink, ignoring the way my pulse quickened. “Observant.”
He didn’t smile. “Red thread is a Russian symbol. A blood bond. Yuri doesn’t do that for just anyone.”
I looked at him. “Maybe I’m not just anyone.”
“You’re not,” he said simply. “That’s why I’m wondering what game he’s playing.”
I met his stare, unblinking. “I’m the one who agreed. If anyone’s playing games…” I leaned in slightly. “It’s me.”
