Scarred(Never After #2)(87)

“It’s too risky.”

“There is no reward, if you don’t take a risk, my love.” I reach down, my hand touching his cheek. “I trust you. I believe in you. Let me help you.”

He continues drawing, although he leans into my touch. “I don’t wish to use you this way.”

“It’s the easiest plan, Tristan. Please. I can do this. And before he can even blink, you’ll gather the rebels, and come find me.” My heart kicks in anticipation, sick and twisted excitement bleeding through my pores. “You’ll take what’s yours. And your people will be behind you, ridding you of any person who wishes to keep you from the crown.”

His eyes snap up. “Our people.”

Emotion swells in my chest. “Our people,” I correct.

He blows out a shaky breath and leans in, leaving a light kiss on my thigh, his fingers smoothing over it after, before he sits back, grinning at his art.

I push up on my elbows and stare down at what he drew.

It’s a heart. Not the kind that you see kids draw or the type that you would expect in paintings that depict love. This one is of the organ, blood dripping off its edges, and vessels running through the muscle. A thick chain wraps around its center and coils beneath it, a padlock on the end. I squint my eyes and look closer, realizing there’s writing on the lock.

Tristan’s Property.

I scoff, shoving at his shoulders. “Romantic.”

He lets out a small laugh, sliding up my body and pressing a kiss to my lips, his hand gripping my face. “For you? I’m barbaric. And after tomorrow, when we kill Michael and seize the castle, I’m going to fuck you while his spirit is still in the room, just so he knows you never belonged to him.” His other hand skims up the inside of my thigh, resting on top of the bleeding heart. “And then I’ll tattoo this on your skin, so you never forget I own you as much as you own me.”

I lean in and press my lips to his again, passion surging through my center and exploding through my pores until it wraps around us both. It’s intense and I’m not sure if it will lift us up or burn us down.

But either way, it consumes me.





CHAPTER 49





Sara B.





My nerves are at an all-time high. Before, when I was planning on killing the king, it was personal. And while it still is, now it’s mutated; tinged with devotion. As crazy as that sounds.

But it’s devotion that makes me slip the laudanum in the small pocket sewn into the hem of my skirt, and its devotion that has me batting my eyelashes and whispering soft words into Michael’s ear, asking if we can go somewhere private.

Tristan has proven time and time again that if I fall, he will catch me. That if I break, he will hold the pieces until I’m ready to stitch them back again. So, I’ll do the same for him, and stand by his side, helping him claim the throne. Helping him seek his vengeance.

I ache with every move like he’s still perched between my thighs, taste him on my lips as though he’s resting on my tongue, feel him in my veins as if he’s fed me all his blood.

We are intrinsic. Fated. Destined.

Or maybe we’re simply mad.

But I’ll gladly live insane, if in the end, it gives me him.

“How was dinner?” Michael asks, as he sits next to me on the couch in his private quarters. The fireplace crackles in front of us, and the sheepskin rug is soft beneath the pads of my feet. It’s untoward for me to be here before the wedding, but Xander isn’t here anymore to speak sense into the king, and Michael thinks with his cock and not with his head when it comes to females.

It was just as easy as I thought it would be.

I smile, lowering my lids to half-mast as I stare at him through my lashes. “It was delicious.”

He smirks, his hand landing heavy on my thigh and rubbing over Tristan’s mark.

“I hope you still have room for dessert?” he asks.

My stomach is in my throat as I continue, knowing that after this, there’s no turning back. “Actually, I’d love some more wine.”

“Of course.” He twists around to grab the bottle on the table to his side and I take my chance, uncorking the laudanum and trickling it in his glass before he turns around, sweat beading on my brow and my heart slamming so fast against my ribs that I feel as though I may have a coronary.

He twists back, pouring the wine into my glass until it’s almost full. I watch it swirl around, splashing against the bottom of the crystal, imagining that it must be similar to how my insides look as they flip and churn, threatening to spill over with anxiety.

He sets down the bottle, and I lean forward, grabbing both glasses, handing his over before taking mine. “Thank you, sire.”

He sits back, staring at me for long moments, his eyes intense, and for the first time all evening, a trickle of unease swims through my veins. Michael has never looked at me this way before.

“I tire of games,” he says. “Are you here to give yourself to me, Sara?”

The thought alone sends bile surging through my throat, but I grin through the nausea, knowing that Tristan will be here in less than an hour, and he’ll wash all the filthy feelings away.

I run my fingers along my collarbone, tangling in the thin chain of my father’s pendant, while my eyes flick to the wine in his hand—the one that he still hasn’t taken a sip from.