Lords of Wrath (Royals of Forsyth University, #2)

by Angel Lawson

I’m not stupid. Last night, I fucked her like she was someone worth savoring. I fucked her like I wanted it so intensely, I didn’t even care if she realized it. I fucked her like I was getting a prize. All of that was true. Now she needs to understand what that means. Her virginity might be off the table, but she’s still under our rule—under my rule—and now that I’ve gotten a taste for her, I’m not letting go.

Killian might be a monster, but he’s never worn a mask to conceal it. Tristian might be a creep, but he’s never dressed it up in pretty lies. Rath is the kind of evil that infects you. He gets inside your blood and hides there, wounding you in places that won’t become apparent until he’s done with you. He’s an internal catastrophe you don’t see coming.

“Take the back road,” I repeat. “Since you’ve been really good to me the last few days and let me tag along, I thought maybe I could…express my appreciation.”

“Good girl.” She looks up at me through her lashes, so quick and demure that it could have been tailored for Killian himself. That’s the irony of it all, that Story unfolds so sweetly at the one thing Killian would never bring himself to give her; a simple word of praise.

Pressing my palm to her back, I inhale the scent of her hair. Softly, I answer, “I’d fucking kill them.” She nuzzles her cheek into my shoulder. “Okay.” Okay. It gives me an uneasy feeling, like I’ve just signed a contract I don’t know the terms to. It’s just so hard to care when she’s falling asleep against me, not flinching away at my touch.

“You’re mad at me,” he observes, head tilted as he searches my eyes. When he reaches for me, I flinch away. “Don’t.” His eyes go shuttered, that flawless mask of his clicking firmly in place. “Be mad, if that’s what you need. I’d rather have you mad than constantly at risk.”

“People chip their pets because they’re important to them. Because they’re precious. Because they care for them.”

“It means the woods are lovely, dark and deep. But we have promises to keep.”

But if there’s one person in the cab of the truck who owns the other, it’s her. I belong to Story Austin. And I’m pretty sure I always have.

The hard truth is that Tristian probably loves her. The harder truth is that maybe we all do.