Page 112 of Master of Salt & Bones

At the sound of something shattering in a nearby room, followed by what must be Anna’s shrieks, I snap my head toward the door. In an instant, I’m pushing out of my chair, and I stride out of the library and down the hallway, to find Anna and Roark in my father’s hobby room.

Small bits of porcelain lay scattered at Roark’s tiny feet, as he stands picking at his lip, watching Anna scramble to clean it up. From the coloring on each piece, it would appear to be one of my father’s many beer steins that he’s collected over the years.

Kneeling down beside Anna, I help her pick up the pieces before Roark can step on one.

“I’m sorry, Master Lucian. We were playing hide and seek, and …” Petite, and perhaps only just twenty years old, Anna always seems nervous around my father. No doubt, she’s probably ready to peel herself right out of her skin to avoid his wrath for this.

“It’s all right.”

“What’s going on here?” My father knocks into my shoulder as he passes, and when he bends forward to pick up a much larger chunk of the stein, a look of shock registers on his face. “This was the last Thewalt ever made. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He lurches toward Anna, but turns toward my son, taking hold of his shoulder.

At Roark’s first cry, I jump to my feet on a rush of pure adrenaline.

My father draws back his hand to strike him, but I catch his wrist, my teeth grinding in rage. A blinding fury explodes inside of me, and I shove hard against his chest, knocking him backward, over the coffee table, and he tumbles onto the floor.

Roark cries when I lift him into my arms, my whole body trembling with potent violence, and I breathe hard through my nose to catch my breath. “I ever see you raise a hand to my son again, mark my words, I will take pleasure in your suffering.”

With one hand holding his arm, he sits forward and chuckles drily. “I see the trait’s alive and well within you, after all.”

Chapter 42

Isadora

Present day …

The warmth of the bathwater surrounds me like a cozy blanket, as I sit on Lucian’s lap, my cheek pressed against his chest, listening to his heart. After another round of sex in the bathtub, he’s already washed every inch of me, including my hair, leaving me relaxed and content to fall asleep right here.

A part of me hates this comfort I feel with him, after we both agreed this was nothing more than sex, but I couldn’t have anticipated the emotions he’s stirred inside of me, the safety and trust. I expected him to treat me like every other asshole who’s taken a piece of me, and I hate myself for secretly wanting more from him, like some kind of betrayal.

Arms stretched across the edge of the tub, he breathes deep, and I lift my head just enough to peer up at him. The steam from the bath added to the soft glow of a candle casts a shine across his skin, emphasizing the muscles in his arms and chest.

He looks like a god. One roughened by life and wounded in battle.

Eyes on his, I bend forward and lick the dew from his skin, running my tongue over his nipple. Jerking forward, he bites his lip and growls, the expression on his face a warning. “You are a vision of temptation in the flesh, Isa. A man’s greatest weakness.” His eyes fall to my lips, and he leans forward to kiss me.

“And you should’ve been a poet, instead of a big, bad shipping mogul.”

“I’d have been happier for it.”