Page 83 of Promise of Darkness
I saved the bastard’s life once.
Now he owes me some answers.
The prince straightens to his full height, arching a mocking brow as he reaches past me for his shirt. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Clearly.”
“Come to beard the wolf in his den, my love? You ought to tread carefully, you know. I might think you’re just trying to catch me naked. Again.” Thiago reaches up, brushing his knuckles against my lip, his gaze dropping to my mouth as if he’s dying to replace one touch with another. “You’ve already paid your part of the bargain today. Don’t tell me you’d forgotten.”
“Kiss this,” I snap, thrusting my clenched fist toward him.
It makes him snap his head back, which gives me enough opportunity to escape the jail of his body. I reel into the center of his chambers and then stop, realizing I’ve trapped myself.
I’ve never been in his rooms before, and if I thought my bed looked sinful, then it has nothing on his. For one thing, it’shisbed, and I know those sheets have seen all his sins.
Looking at the bed is no safer than looking at him.
And it only makes me angrier.
“Enough with the games.” My fist curls around the necklace, and I shove it in front of him. "Why do you have my necklace? My grandmother's necklace? Why were you keeping it in your audience chamber?"
He pauses, then slowly resumes slipping his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. “I see. You’ve been digging around in places you shouldn’t have been.”
“Oh, don’t make this about me. You stole my necklace.”
“I didn’t steal it.” His lip curls in a half-snarl.
“No?” I pace around him in a half-circle. “Then who did? One of your lackeys?”
His mouth thins. Clear evidence he doesn’t intend to answer me.
That does it. I cast about me and see his dagger, resting in its sheath. Lunging toward it, I unsheathe the steel with a rasp and turn to press it to his throat as he moves to grab me.
Thiago freezes, his rugged chin tilting sharply as the vicious tip of the blade digs into his tanned skin.
"You tell me what is going on. Right now."
He visibly swallows, a stubborn glint lighting those wicked green eyes. “Or. There’s usually an ‘or’ in this case.”
“Or,” I say, in an icy voice, “I’ll bury this blade up to the hilt.”
He pushes closer, the blade drawing blood. It trickles down the smooth column of his throat, drawing my attention to the hard planes of his chest and those rippling tattoos that constantly shift. “You won’t do it.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“If there’s anything I know, it’s this: You don’t have the spirit for murder. You’re not your mother. Despite everything she’s done to you, she’s never been able to tarnish your spirit.”
“Stop speaking as if you know me!”
“Stop acting as if I don’t.”
I swallow. My back meets the edge of the windowsill, and the prince rests his knuckles on either side of my hips, trapping me there.
“What are you going to do now?” he taunts. “Kill me? I’m sure your mother would relish the thought of my blood splashed all over the carpets.”
It’s too close to the truth.
“Considering your warlords would have my head, I think it unwise to pursue such a plan.”
