Scarred(Never After #2)(28)

The portrait is of a king.

Black hair peeks from beneath his bejeweled crown, piercing jade-green eyes that come to life through the picture; fierce and harsh. A shiver skates down my spine.

“That’s my father.”

My breath whooshes out of me, stomach jumping to my throat as I spin around, coming face-to-face with Tristan. My hand flies to my chest. “You scared me.”

The corner of his lips tilt as he steps up next to me, his hands in his pockets as he glances at the portrait.

I side-eye him, wondering what his relationship was with his father. Michael piqued my curiosity, and while I don’t expect Tristan to open up, I can’t help the question from flowing off my tongue. “Do you miss him?”

Something dark coasts over his face, his jaw tensing. “Yes.”

My mouth pops open, turning my head to study him. “I miss my father too.”

It’s all I can think of to say. “I’m happy he’s dead and I hope he rots in hell” seems like it wouldn’t be an appropriate response.

He stares up at the painting, and so I follow suit, taking in the angles of King Michael II’s face and how similar they are to Tristan’s.

“He looks like you,” I note, glancing at him again from the corner of my eye.

His brow rises. “You mean unbearably attractive?”

I smile. “Terrifyingly so.”

“Hmm.” He nods, twisting toward me. “And are you one who runs from your fears, Sara Beatreaux? Or do you face them?”

My heart kicks against my ribs, and my mouth goes dry. “I don’t believe in running.”

“No? You might change your mind living here.”

My stomach drops, the good feeling disappearing. “Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” he replies.

“I saw you yesterday,” I blurt. “In the town square. You were hiding your face like quite the little creeper... is that because you didn’t want to be seen?”

He steps closer until his frame towers over mine, strands of his disheveled black hair falling over his brow. “So many questions for someone who gives nothing in return.”

My legs freeze in place, like I’ve stepped into wet cement and let it dry around my feet. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“That could take a long time.”

“You’re about to marry into the family. We have nothing but time. Unless Michael tires of you before the wedding and chooses one of his other whores instead.” He cocks his head, his eyes calculating as they blaze over my skin. “Or maybe… you have a secret agenda.”

Irritation rushes through my chest, expanding like a heatwave. “I am not a whore.” My fists clench at my sides. “And just because you have no propensity for morals doesn’t mean it extends to others.”

He reaches up and cups my chin, his thumb brushing over my lips. “Such a smart mouth. Pity my brother won’t know how to tame it.”

Fire blazes through my veins so fast my stomach cramps. “I don’t need to be tamed.”

“No?” He smirks.

“I stand on my own.”

“Yet you’ll come here every Sunday, pledging your life to a man in the sky.”

I crane my neck to maintain eye contact as he presses against me, his breath hot as it coasts across my mouth, making tension twist down my spine.

“If you want a god to worship, ma petite menteuse, no need to look so far.”

Scoffing, I reach up to push him away even as arousal floods through my center and pools between my legs. “You’re disgusting.”

He grabs my wrists, pulling me flush to his body until I can feel every hard inch of his cock straining against the fabric of his clothes. “I’d teach you to love begging at my feet.”

My core contracts when his words hit my lips, and I suck them in as if his breath is my air. My fingers clench his shirt, but instead of pushing him away, I drag him closer. “I’m tired of you playing games with me,” I hiss.

“Is that what I’m doing?” he questions.

“Stop.” Anger snaps at my nerves. “Nothing will get in my way of being Michael’s bride. Not even you.”

He leans back, his eyes flaring as his grip tightens around my wrists.

And it’s only then that I realize what I’ve said.

Stupid girl.

“I see.” One of his hands drops from my arm and rises along my side, goose bumps sprouting in every place his fingers touch.

“You thirst for power?” he rasps, his palm ghosting across my collarbone before wrapping around my throat. “I can fill you with it until you scream.”

My stomach jolts so fast my legs tremble.

His stare drops to my mouth.

A loud bang echoes off the cathedral walls, and I jump, icy dread trickling through my insides.

“Leave me alone,” I plead, pushing at his chest.

He brushes his thumb against the underside of my jaw before he releases me. My body grows cold as he backs away, but I don’t drop his gaze, even as my heart slams against my chest when I hear footsteps making their way toward us.

Any second and someone will see.

Tristan keeps his eyes on me for a second longer before spinning around and disappearing down the hall, like one of the ghosts rumored to haunt the corridors.