Page 62 of Taste of Thorns
She gazes down at the camisole for a moment before stuffing it back into the drawer and spinning around to face us.
“You can’t change who I am. I’ll always be this girl from Slate. You can dress me up in all the fancy clothes you like, but it’s going to be obvious to everyone where I’m really from.”
“That isn’t the reason we want to do this, Briony.”
“Really?”
Beaufort stalks towards her, pulling her towards him as she stares back at him with uncertainty.
“You look hot in your uniform. You look fucking amazing in every thing you wear–”
“Especially your birthday suit,” I add with a wink.
“We’re proud to show you off, whatever you’re wearing, Briony. We just thought you might like something new to wear.”
“But if you prefer your old clothes, we can get rid of all the new underwear,” I say with a mischievous smile.
“Nooo,” she says, sheepishly.
“We’re proud of who you are, Kitten, aren’t we?” I say, turning to Thorne. He’s standing silently in the corner, arms hanging by his side, gaze fixed to the ground. I groan. “Hey Kitten, did you know it was Thorne’s idea to add that reading nook to this room? He said you liked books.”
“I love books,” she says, twisting her head around and smiling broadly. “They were like this way of escaping all the doom and gloom back in Slate. That’s whenever I could get my hands on a book.”
“Wolves don’t read. But Thorne here, he reads fuck loads.”
“You do?”
Thorne meets her eyes briefly and nods.
“Let me guess,” she says with a slight tease, “non-fiction books about tactical warfare and manuals on training techniques.”
“Fiction.”
“Oh, what kind?”
“Erm, cozy mysteries.”
Her eyes go wide. “No way.”
“Oh, come on,” Beau says, from behind her, “surely you’ve realized by now, that behind that hard steely shell of his, Thorne’s as soft as melted caramel?”
Thorne snorts and diverts his gaze back to the carpet.
“I think he’s more like one of those clams,” I say. “The ones you have to prize open with a fucking knife, giving you just a glimpse of their soft squidgy interior before they slam shut again, taking the tip of your finger off with them.”
The little Kitten laughs. “That does sound more accurate.”
“I am here,” Thorne mumbles moodily.
“Then stop being a jerk and tell us what’s wrong.”
He keeps his eyes locked downwards. “You know what’s wrong.” This time his voice cracks just a little.
“The trial?” Briony asks gently, looking over at him with genuine concern and affection. People don’t look at Thorne like that. They usually look at him like they’re either scared for their lives or want to climb him like a tree.
“It’s more than that …” He swallows, then slowly meets her eyes. “I should be able to protect you.”
“And who says you can’t protect me?”
