Cruel War (The Gilded Sovereign 1)

“My father, our parents, aren’t who you think they are,” he grits out. “But we can’t talk here.” Gently, his left hand trails up my torso toward my shoulder, and the moment it makes contact with my skin, goosebumps rise on every inch of my flesh. He grips me then, spinning me around, so our bodies are flush. The cup I’d been holding is taken from my hand. It’s clear who’s in charge here—and it sure as hell isn’t me.

“I told you, you’ve walked into the wrong town,” he murmurs; his voice low and seductive, as if he’s trying to both scare and seduce me with one sentence. “But since you’re here, and you’re as stubborn as I am, I suppose you’ll need to know what you’re up against.”

His words should scare me, but what he doesn’t know is that I’m no longer afraid of what’s going to happen. Anything Ares throws at me, I can handle.

“Take me to the church and tell me what I need to know. And when you’re done, you leave me in peace.” My retort earns me a smirk that makes my stomach bottom out. He’s slowly getting under my skin, and it’s so annoying. No, it’s fucking frustrating.

I’ve never been so affected by anyone before. Yes, I’ve had crushes before, I even lost my virginity at prom, but this… It’s as if electricity is shooting through every part of me. But it’s not only attraction; it’s the anger that wars with it. Ares makes me want him in ways I shouldn’t.

“I’m not someone you can scare away, and I am certainly not someone you can fuck around with like a toy,” I tell him, lifting my chin with confidence that only makes him grin. If I’m honest, the darkness I see in him intrigues me more than I’d care to admit. I want to see more of it, and it may be dangerous, but my body reacts to it in ways I can’t decipher.

“You don’t know who I am, who we are,” he informs me with a glint of wickedness in his honey-colored eyes. “We’re not playing kids’ games here, flower,” he warns. “This is bigger than both of us.”

“You’re so adamant you hate me, but I have a feeling you don’t. Something tells me it’s not me you’re angry with but yourself.”

“Oh?” he tips his head to the side, amusement dancing in his eyes. “And why would I be angry with myself?”

I want to tell him I know he wants me that I can see the desire that burns in his stare each time he looks at me, but I can’t find the words.

He steps closer to me as if he’s trying to mold himself into me. “You think I want you?” This time, his voice is tainted with a hint of a challenge, so I nod. “Mmm,” he murmurs. “I do admit you make my dick hard if that’s your idea—”

“Fuck you, Ares,” I bite out in frustration, attempting to hide the blush on my cheeks and the way my nipples are hard against my bra. “If it’s not me, then it’s about my father.”

“Fuck your father,” he bites out, interrupting me once more. Rage dances wildly in his gaze, fire burning in those beautiful orbs. “Do you really think your asshole of a father is such a good man?” The sneer on his normally handsome face tells me this man knows my father far too well. And whatever it is he knows is not good.

“To me, he was.” I’m adamant, which only earns me a smirk of derision. “Why? Take me to the church, I’ll go willingly if you tell me.” I tug free of his hold, needing to put as much space between us as I can. But I only get as far as the large wrought iron gates that stand open before I feel him following behind me. The night is much darker now, and the crowds have increased. He can’t do anything to me since we’re in public.

But something tells me he doesn’t give a shit about who’s watching. Like he said, this is his town. I reach my car and press the key fob before pulling open the door and slipping into the driver’s seat, but before I can shut myself in, Ares is there.

His hand grips the door, holding it wide, so he can step closer to where I’m seated. He leans in, his left arm draped over the hood, and his fingers curled around the edge of the driver’s door.

“I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes, and if you’re not there, I’ll find you. And you don’t want me to come running after you, Dahlia. You won’t like the results.” He bares his teeth; his anger is palpable.

Before I can respond, he slams the door so hard that I expect it to fall from its hinges. I watch him through the windshield as he saunters over to a girl beside his friend, pulls her into his arms, and whispers something in her ear.