Page 58 of The Colour of Revenge
My smile is cold. Empty. A mirror of everything he deserves.
"La morte è troppo clemente per te1,"I whisper, my voice a silken promise of his end.
Then, with a clean, deliberate motion, I drag the blade across his throat.
A sharp, wet sound fills the air as his body jerks, blood spurting in violent streams, splattering my pale pink dress. I feel the warmth of it soaking into the fabric, the sharp scent of copper filling my lungs.
For a moment, everything is still.
Then I glance down at the ruined dress, half-regretting the loss of such a pretty outfit—until I notice Nate's eyes.
The way they rake over me, dark and burning with feral hunger, sends a shiver down my spine.
"You look so fucking hot right now," he murmurs, stepping forward.
His thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away a streak of blood.
I was right about him. He's sick.
And I love it.
Nate leans in, his breath warm against my lips. The air crackles, thick with something primal, something dangerous. He's about to close the distance when— "Oh, don't mind me while you eye-fuck each other over a corpse," Kai drawls.
The tension shatters.
Nate exhales a frustrated groan, his gaze snapping toward the doorway where Kai stands, arms crossed, mouth curled downwards.
"I was going to do more than that," Nate mutters, running a hand through his hair.
"Gross," Kai replies, scrunching his nose in disgust. He tosses a bag at me. "Here. I brought you clothes.
“You good?” I ask, nodding my head to the door he just came back through.
He inhales sharply. “Fine. Just didn’t need to see that.
“Go change, then get out of here." The shove he gives my shoulder is light, barely a nudge—but it earns him a warning growl from Nate.
In the bathroom, I splash water over my face, getting rid of the worst of the blood, then replace my ruined dress with the joggers and oversized hoodie Kai brought. They don't smell like Nate. They aren't his.
The fabric is too big, and the hoodie is swallowing me whole.
I step back into the room, and the moment I do, I know something is wrong.
Nate stands rigid; shoulders squared; his entire body coiled with barely restrained fury.
For a split second, I think I've done something wrong.
Then I realise his anger isn’t aimed at me.
"Why is she wearingyourclothes?" Nate's voice is low and venomous as he stalks toward Kai.
Kai leans against the wall, hands up like he's warding off an attack. "It was all I had!"
Nate's glare is sharp enough to carve into bone. His gaze flicks back to me, and though it softens, there's no mistaking the warning in his voice when he says, "I don't like it."
"Nate," I say, stepping closer to him, trying to calm the storm. "The quicker I get home, the quicker I can get these clothes off me."
That grabs his attention. He exhales a long breath, the tension leaving his shoulders as he steps back from Kai, who looks like he's just had a brush with death.
