Page 54 of Shattered Jewel
A strangled laugh escapes from her, vulnerable and acidic. “Is that what you tell yourself to justify the horrors you commit?”
“Oh, beastie.”
My nickname for her lands like an untracked nuke. Even Axe stops his constant, silent brooding to start cataloging our argument.
I rise from my chair, closing the distance between us until I can see every golden fleck in her eyes.
And then I do something unexpected, something that earns me a gasp from Elara and the complete and utter stillness from my brothers. I take her hand in mine and press her palm against my chest, my sling’s bandage rough against our combined hands.
I lean forward until our faces are inches apart, until I can smell the sweet scent of citrus mingled with fear wafting off her skin. ““Do you feel that? It’s a heartbeat. Even the most vicious have them, too.”
“Not all hearts beat in the same way,” she responds, pulling her hand from mine. It’s a surprisingly graceful action—calm and steadfast that somehow makes it feel like she’s touched me more deeply than I’d intended. “Some are ... colder.”
“Is that what you think?” I ask, the nonchalance in my voice contrasting with the tension in my body. The memory of her touch still lingers on my chest, making every nerve there hyperaware of its absence. “That I’m a coldhearted bastard?”
“Yes,” Elara states firmly.
I show my teeth. “Good.”
Axe snorts from his corner. Elara shoots him a quizzical look, but he merely shrugs and returns to his task.
Elara’s eyes narrow at that, preparing to rebut. But before she can utter a word, I turn on my heel and stalk off to where Wilder is enjoying a 100-year-old bottle of whiskey he found inside a broken grand piano.
As I accept the offered drink from him, my shoulder suddenly twinges with the reminder that I’m in a sling because of her—the fucking Wraithwoods.
Against my better judgment, I steal one last glance at Elara. She’s hunched over Axe’s phone again. The screen’s light clings to her face.
Like a beacon that only draws you in to crash against the rocks.
I fight against the pull, turning away to focus on the expensive whiskey Wilder expects me to drink directly from the bottle. There’s no use digging around for a glass. The burn down my throat is just harsh enough to ground me.
Wilder grins, a sardonic smirk on his face as he reaches for the whiskey.
“She’s got spirit,” he comments idly, tipping back the bottle and swallowing the fiery liquid.
I grunt, eyeing him in my periphery. “Is that what you call it? I call it a death wish.”
Wilder shrugs, a wry glimmer in his hazel eyes as he stares at Elara across the room.
“Semantics,” he says, setting the bottle down on an old, dusty tabletop with a soft thud.
Elara continues to devour whatever details Axe has typed in his notes. She could’ve asked me to watch the video again, but I know why she hasn’t.
That would mean facing me. Asking me to give without taking.
I suppose I could also preempt and offer to replay it—but I don’t.
It should come as no surprise that I’d love to see her beg.
For a moment, I allow myself the pleasure of watching her: the intelligence in her eyes; the way she bites her lip when deep in thought; how passionately she fights for what she believes in...
No, not pleasure—a quickly growing obsession. One of my favorite vices.
“Hey.” Wilder interrupts my thoughts, nudging my injured side with his elbow. I cover my wince with a growl.
Wilder doesn’t react. “You might want to keep those dirty thoughts off your face before she catches you.”
I grind my teeth and root my gaze on the bottle beside us, containing whatever unwanted emotions are boiling beneath my skin.