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And Kyle, who sat on my belly with his knees on either side of my hips, paused his first cut and looked over his shoulder.
His legs tightened around me, holding me down.
I tried to raise an arm—to claw away some of the paint to see, but Kyle shifted and snatched me from the ground. Crawling behind me and wrapping his arm around my throbbing chest, he pressed the tip of the knife against my throat. “Fuck off and I won’t kill her.”
Rubbing my face on his arm, I blinked through the red and froze.
Henri.
Or at least…it looked like Henri.
Sodden jeans, torn t-shirt, dirty bare feet. Orange streaks on his face and remnants of orange staining denim. His dark hair dangled over his forehead, dripping with the occasional droplet of ocean.
He looked like Henri, but…this man wasn’t Henri.
The fire in his grey eyes…extinguished.
The longing in his handsome face…dead.
With his jaw tipped down, lashes lowered, and fists balled, he looked as cold and as merciless as the caves below.
He didn’t look at me.
Didn’t even seem to recognise me.
His focus locked on Kyle and only Kyle.
I gasped in fresh pain as Kyle dug the tip of the knife into my throat. “Fuck off, Mercer.” His heart pounded against my spine, hinting he sensed the same unhinged ferocity in Henri that I did. “I won. Fair and square. She’s covered in my paint. I can do whatever the fuck I want with Victor’s blessing.” He dared to laugh. “She was open game. He said it so himself. You can’t do shit.”
A darkness rippled beneath Henri’s skin.
Nightmares flickered over his face.
Looking past him, I made eye contact with Mollie and Rachel. Beside Rachel, the older Master lay unmoving with a heavy log dropped by his head. The other two Masters stood side by side.
I’d seen how ruthless Henri could be.
I’d watched him turn into pure violence the night of the treasure hunt.
He’d taken on three men and won.
But…he didn’t seem to even notice the others behind him.
The two men crept closer with the faintest nod from Kyle.
“Watch out!” I croaked.
“You little bitch.” Kyle wrapped his hand around my neck.
Henri merely turned on his heel and glanced at the two Masters.
Quietly, coldly, he murmured, “I’ll give you one chance to leave. Just one.”
He flexed his fingers. His voice all wrong.
None of the passion I was used to.
No echoes of the man who’d confessed what he was and forced me to admit my own downfall.
