Scarred (Never After #2)(40)

“Do what?” I move toward the desk and peer in the case.

There are half a dozen cigars arranged perfectly, and right on top is a black handkerchief with gold lining, the initials MFII engraved in the corner.

Realizing they’re his father’s, I reach out to touch, but Michael flies forward, smacking my hand back. “Don’t touch it, stupid woman.”

I gasp, bringing my palm to my chest.

“Sire, please.” Xander moves up next to me, his brows drawn as he reaches out to touch my arm. “Are you alright?”

I nod, my mind racing a thousand miles a minute as I watch Michael pace back and forth behind the desk, his fingers pulling at the strands of his hair.

“Xander, look at this.” He throws his arm toward the open case. “What are we going to do about this? I’m not crazy, I told you I wasn’t crazy.”

My stomach tightens as I watch the scene unfold. Xander walks forward, peeking into the box, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. His shoulders stiffen the slightest amount, and his head snaps up, staring at me just like Michael did. As if I’m the one who somehow put his father’s handkerchief in the case.

He sighs, looking over at Michael. “There’s an easy explanation for this, I’m sure.”

“Then explain it,” Michael snaps, his fist slamming on the desktop, making the foundation tremble.

Xander’s eyes flick between us, his voice coming out controlled and slow, as if he’s trying to tame the beast before it leaps from its cage and tears us to shreds. “Your Majesty, perhaps it’s time we sent Lady Beatreaux back to her quarters before continuing this conversation?”

My jaw stiffens. I don’t want to leave. I want to know what’s happening. “I think if there’s an issue that’s worrying to His Majesty, it’s imperative I stay, if only to provide support.”

Michael takes large, quick steps over, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. His energy is manic; it winds through the air and wraps around me, vibrating until it sinks into my bones. And while his touch is warm, there’s no comfort there.

No spark.

There is, however, a slight tremble.

“You are a treasure,” he says, his eyes flicking from me to the wall and then back. “And I’ve overreacted. That handkerchief is... important to me. I thought I had lost it forever.”

His thumb tips up my chin. “Maybe you’re my good luck charm.”

I force a smile. “I hope to be more than that.”

He grabs my hand then, pulling it to his chest. I let him and notice how quickly his heart is racing beneath his clothes. If I were a naive girl, I’d think it had to do with me.

But I know the truth.

Something has spooked him.

And it’s something to do with his dead father.





CHAPTER 22





Tristan





When I mentioned the abandoned cabin to Antony before I snapped his neck, I wasn’t lying.

I found it one day after escaping from my brother and his pack. I’m not sure who originally owned the place, and I know even less about who inhabited the inside, but I do know in the ten years since I found it, there hasn’t been another living soul that’s known of its existence, or been inside the shoddy, crumbling walls.

Over the years, I’ve cleaned it up. There’s no running water, and electricity is too new for it to exist here, but despite all of that, it’s comfortable.

It’s also in such a condensed area of the woods that nobody can hear the screams.

“I don’t want to continue hurting you,” I say, walking around Edward. I anchored his arms with thick chains to a long wooden table that’s declined enough for his head to be beneath his body. “I want to trust you.”

His breathing is choppy; I can tell from the way the dirty white cloth that’s over his face morphs with each of his heavy breaths, being sucked into his mouth and blowing back out.

“You were foolish,” I continue. “And as a result, everything could be ruined. Do you know what you’ve done?”

He shakes his head, the chains clanking from where his arms pull. “I’m sorry,” he says, the words muffled behind the fabric.

My stomach burns from what he’s forcing me to do, and I exhale a breath, clicking my tongue. “It’s too late for apologies, Edward. We must repent for our mistakes and learn from them.”

I dip the large metal jug into the bucket of water at my feet, bringing it over his head and tilting until the liquid pours in a steady stream onto his face, soaking the cloth and dribbling into his mouth until it fills his airways.

The tendons in his neck bulge as he thrashes against the table.

“I’m sure you know this is nothing compared to what will happen if your lover gossips and we’re arrested for treason,” I note. “After all, you’ve been the one doling out the punishment for years now.”

His breathing garbles, his body rising and falling in jerky movements as he chokes on the water, unable to do anything except experience the sensation of drowning and pray that I let him live.

I snap the jug upright again and sigh, my insides curdling at the thought of having to resort to such extremes. The large bottle thumps against the rotting wood floor as I set it down, before leaning over Edward and removing the cloth from his face.