Scarred(Never After #2)(60)

“You know what?” He clicks his tongue. “Why don’t you go… catch it.”

He tosses the sketchbook into the fire.

“No!” I surge forward, reaching out, but the flames shoot higher, crackling as they eat the paper like fuel.

Something snaps inside of me, and I spin, all of my pent-up rage propelling my limbs as I charge at him. I’m three years younger and far less capable when it comes to physical strength, but I still knock him off his feet, both of us tumbling to the ground.

“I’m going to kill you,” I seethe, my hands wrapping around his neck and squeezing. Black fury races through every piece of me. Envy from him getting my father’s time mixes with the sorrow of him destroying the only other thing that matters. My sketches.

They’re all I had to keep me company. My only friends.

He overpowers me, throwing me across the room, my back smacking against the wood floor. Groaning, I roll over, squeezing my eyes shut at the sting in my spine. And then, a sharp pain slices up the side of my face, agony spearing through me, making a scream scratch my throat raw as it pours from my mouth.

Liquid gushes into my eye as I try to blink, my vision going red and dark, before gushing down my cheek and slipping through my lips, a metallic flavor settling on my tongue and making me retch.

My head grows dizzy; woozy from the pain, and I throw my hand over my face, my fingers becoming slippery as they’re coated in blood.

The blurry form of Michael hovers over me, a fire poker gripped in his hand. “Now you don’t even look like him,” he sneers, spitting on my broken body. “See how much he loves you when you’re nothing but a disfigured freak.”

He walks away and I curl into a ball, consciousness weaving in and out while I wish for someone to come and find me. To hold me. Heal me. Love me.

The way they would if it were him.

But no one ever comes.

“Tristan.”

Sara’s voice snaps me back to the present, and I force a smile, my chest aching from the memory.

She shakes her head, removing her hands from my face. “You don’t have to tell me… I shouldn’t have asked.”

Snapping my arms out, I grip her palms in mine, bringing them back until they cup my jaw. “My brother was never a fan of the way I resembled our father. I suppose this was his way of settling the score.”

Her eyes flicker down the length of the jagged mark. “Michael did this?”

“Michael has done many things, little doe. This is just one of them.”

Something dark coasts across her face, her jaw tensing as her fingers grip tighter on my face. “I know.”

I bring the joint to my lips one last time, the paper having burned to where it touches just above my fingers, and I inhale before tossing the end on the ground and stomping it out with my boot.

My hand slides behind her, grasping the nape of her neck and dragging her into me until mere centimeters separate us, energy weaving between our bodies and spinning electricity through my chest, making my heart beat a staccato rhythm and nerves dance beneath my skin. I tilt my head, my thumb pressing into the bottom of her chin, forcing her perfect, pouty lips to part and ghost across the edges of mine.

The tension of being so close yet so far almost kills me, and I swear to God I would give it all up, right now, if she would promise to be mine.

I exhale, the smoke billowing from my mouth into hers.

My cock is painfully hard.

Her eyes widen in surprise, and my fingers tighten on the back of her neck, holding her in place, my other hand moving to her throat, two fingers stroking down the front as she swallows, the smoke that was inside my body escaping from her lips.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” I tell her.

“Why?” she whispers.

“Because, ma petite menteuse, the thought of not kissing you makes me want to die.”

Our lips collide, and with just one touch—one single moment—I know I’ll never let her go.





CHAPTER 34





Sara B.





As usual when I’m with Tristan, everything around me mutes; dulls like it wasn’t there to begin with. I don’t worry about the ball that’s likely still going strong at the other end of the castle. I don’t think of how we’re in the open, and while I’ve been assured no one comes to this garden, technically, we could be found at any time. And I definitely don’t focus on how I’m somehow supposed to kill this man.

His kiss overwhelms every single one of my senses, and I sink into it, drowning in his essence, hoping the burn of his touch can blaze away the imprint of the ones before.

He groans, his palm tightening on the back of my neck, his other hand sliding down my side. His touch soaks through the thin material of my slip dress and the chemise underneath, sending goose bumps sprouting along my arms. He reaches the outer part of my thigh, bunching the fabric in his fingers as his lips break away, skimming down the expanse of my throat.

I tilt my head, allowing him easier access, even though somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I know I shouldn’t.

But I like the way his lips feel pressed against my skin.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” I force out.

“I disagree.” His teeth nip my collarbone, his fingers slipping beneath the shoulder strap of my garment, tingles sprinkling through my middle and pooling between my legs.