Scars (The Triad 1)

He looked at me for a moment before flipping the pancakes. He turned back to me and crossed his arms, making the muscles on his tattooed biceps stand out even more. “When? Who?”

“The night I ran away. And I don’t know.”

He nodded once and then stacked some pancakes on a plate and sat them down in front of me with some butter and syrup. They smelled so good my mouth started to water. I slathered them in butter and syrup before taking a huge bite.

I closed my eyes and sighed at how good they were. I hadn’t had real, edible, home-cooked food in years. Yes, I did learn how not to burn my food when I cooked it, but that didn’t mean it tasted any better. If I didn’t cook, I was getting takeout. Home-cooked just hit different. A small moan escaped my lips, and when I opened my eyes, Tristan was staring at my mouth. I licked my lips.

“What? Do I have syrup on my face?” I asked through a full mouth. I swallowed and wiped at my face but didn’t feel anything. He took another drink of coffee and started putting his own plate together, completely ignoring my question. Whatever. I went back to shoving bite after bite into my mouth until they were completely gone and I was pregnant with twin food babies.

“I’ve never seen someone so small eat so much,” he said as he downed the rest of his coffee. I shrugged and looked at him across the counter.

“So, what’s the plan, Tristan? I’m here in this really, really nice house, you’re cooking me breakfast and taking me on tours of the grounds. What’s your grand scheme? Where does selling me back to my family come into play here?”

“That’s on a need-to-know basis, and you, Scarlet, do not need to know.” He picked our plates up and put them in the sink.

“You’re such an asshole. I may not need to know, but I sure as hell would like to. It’s my future, my life. Did you ever think maybe I left for a damn good reason? Did you ever think that maybe you’re going to try and sell me back to people who don’t want me? Or maybe they want me dead? Hell, they may just tell you to kill me yourself. Then what?”

“Why would your own family want you dead, Scarlet?” He leaned back against the counter again, arms crossed.

“I don’t know.” I tugged on the ends of my braids and stared off behind him at nothing, zoning out. “I don’t know who it was that tried to kill me, but I do know it had to be an inside job. It was done in my house, in my bedroom, and I screamed. God, did I scream. But no one came for me.” My eyes found his. “No one, in a mansion filled with family and guards, came running to help the supposed heir to the Dalca throne.”

“Well, someone definitely stands to gain something with you out of the picture, then.”

“No, shit, Sherlock.”

“Any ideas who that might be?”

“Nope,” I said and sat my empty coffee cup back down. “And seeing as you three aren’t doing anything to help me—quite the opposite really—let’s stop shooting the shit and get this tour over with so I can stop looking at your pretty face.” And the second that was out of my mouth, I bit down on my tongue. He smiled wide, showing off those perfectly white teeth.

“You think I’m pretty, Scarlet? I’m flattered.”

I rolled my eyes and jumped down off the barstool. “Don’t let it go to your head, pretty boy.” He didn’t move, just kept staring and smiling at me. “Well? Lead the way,” I said, gesturing out the door.

He led me to the front of the house, digging out some heavy coats from the closet and throwing one at me.

“Put that on.” I shoved my arms through it and watched him dig through the wellies. “Here,” he said as he handed me some knee-high ones. “These are your size. It’s going to be muddy out there.” After we had put our boots on, he put on his own jacket, zipped it up, and then zipped up mine. He pulled my braids out from the jacket and gave them each a tug. I grabbed his wrists and pushed him away.

“Do not pull my hair. We are not in primary school, and I don’t like you.” He laughed and threw his arm around my shoulders again and led me out through the front door.

“I could pull your hair like we’re in bed,” he said as he grabbed both braids in one hand and yanked my head back. His face was inches from mine, and my entire body was pressed up against the side of his. Heat spread through my belly.

“I will never go to bed with you,” I said once I could find my words. One side of his mouth pulled up, and he let go of my hair. But I couldn’t seem to stop staring at him. His arm tightened around my shoulders again.

“Keep telling yourself that, Scar,” he said, trailing his fingers across the scar on my jaw. The new nickname didn’t sit right.

“Do not call me Scar. I do not need a nickname that reminds me of the ugly mark on my face.”

His eyebrows pulled together, and he dropped his hand from my face. “Your scar isn’t ugly, Scarlet. It’s beautiful. It’s powerful. It’s a mark of survival, not of weakness. So when I call you Scar, it’s a fucking compliment. Take it as such.”

I opened and shut my mouth a few times, not really knowing how to respond to that. I had tried for years to not be ashamed of what had happened to me, but not once had I ever told myself my scar was beautiful. And neither had anyone else.

“Let’s go,” he said and started pulling us out to a barn off the side of the property.

He unlocked and pulled open the heavy doors and walked over to one of the many quad bikes parked inside. With a turn of the key, the thing roared to life under him. He patted the seat as I made my way over to him.

“Do I not get my own?” I said loudly over the noise of the engine.

“And give you a chance to run away? Never, princess. Hop on and hold on.” I sighed but swung my leg over the seat and scooted up next to him. “Hold on,” he said again as he revved the engine. I groaned but wrapped my arms around his torso. His rock-hard torso that I could feel even through the thick material of his coat. He reached back and grabbed my hips, pulling me flush against him.

“Much better.”

The ghosts of his fingertips lingered on my hips as I held on tighter than I needed to.

Yeah, I thought as we pulled out of the barn, this was going to be a very long day.