Cruel War (The Gilded Sovereign 1)

“Yeah? And what does your secret society do? Kill people?” Even at my nonchalance, fear skitters down my spine in a cold rush of anxiety.

“Yes.” Just one word from the man before me makes every hair on my neck stand on end. My stomach twists with anxiety and lust, and I can’t fight the attraction I have toward Ares.

I tug my arm from his hold, pinning him with a glare. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.” There’s brutal honesty in his words, in the deep gravel of his voice, and in his startling hazel eyes. Those two fucking words hold more truth than anything he’s ever said, and that makes my stomach churn with unease. “All things done in the dark are hidden by the Sovereign.”

“Don’t talk in riddles.”

Fire blazes in his eyes, making the honey color turn to gold. Ares leans in, his body engulfing mine, heat searing me from every inch of him that’s pressed against me. Once again, I find myself against a wall with Ares Lancaster keeping me upright.

“If you’re going to be flippant about this…” he smirks allowing his words to filter into nothing. His gaze drinks in every inch of my face. When his stare lands on my lips, it lingers for a moment, and hunger burns brighter than the confidence he exudes. “You’re in danger, Dahlia,” he tells me suddenly.

“Yeah? I’ve spent my life in danger. Do you think some little gang of boys are going to scare me off?” My words ignite something within him, and his hand trails up my arm quickly before gripping my neck. His fingers wrap around the column of my throat. He could easily squeeze and steal my breath, and I wonder briefly if he’s contemplating it.

“You may think you know what we are, but you don’t. Let’s start with your precious dad,” he sneers. “He became a cop after he left this town, acted as if he was too good for us.”

“He wasn’t like that. My father—”

“Was one of the Sovereign,” Ares interrupts. There’s pure satisfaction on his face when he tells me this.

His confession stalls my words, causing my brows to furrow in confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

Gently, his thumb traces small circles along the pulse point in my neck. He tips his head to the side, watching the erratic movement of my heartbeat. He seems more intrigued by that than my question.

“My father and yours were close friends,” he says then, “Your father wore one of the crowns, he was inked just like I am.” For a moment, I’m confused, but Ares releases me and smiles when he tugs his shirt up and over his head, showing me the large emblem on his back. The dark ink crown along with a ribbon beneath and a date sits on his tanned skin.

I try to focus, but I can’t stop my gaze from taking in every dip and peak of his toned body. He’s slender, yet there’s tightly packed muscle that makes me want to trace each contour with my tongue.

Get out of your head, Dahlia.

He turns to regard me again. “Enjoying the view?” Ares taunts. The corner of his mouth kicking up into a grin, gifting me a glint of pleasure in his intoxicating eyes.

“This isn’t a joke. Tell me about my father.”

“I told you he was one of us. He did things that were questionable in the eyes of the law. When he walked out of Tynewood, banished for turning in one of the brothers, he became a cop, married a pretty girl, and had a daughter.”

“That’s what you brought me out here to talk about?” I retort, frustration clear in my voice. “I know my father had a daughter. I know he was married. You’re not exactly telling me anything new besides the fact that he had friends who didn’t stick with him when he wanted a better life.”

“A better life?” He chuckles darkly. “He would’ve had a far better life if he’d stuck to his vows, to the promises he made the Sovereign.”

“Why?”

“We take care of our own.”

“So that’s why you hate him? Hate me?” I lock my gaze on his, trying to gain answers to all the thousand and one questions racing through my head, but I can only voice one at a time.

Ares shakes his head. “I don’t hate you at all, little flower. Not anymore,” he murmurs, leaning in close, he feathers his lips over the shell of my ear, causing me to tremble with both tension and desire.

“What do you mean, not anymore?” This time, it’s his turn to shiver when I whisper the words in his ear. The spicy cinnamon scent of his cologne wraps itself around me, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to wash it off or if I’ll ever want to.

“I wish I could hurt you,” Ares murmurs along my flesh, his lips burning every inch of skin as they trail a white hot path over the curve of my neck. His hand grips my hip, the other gripping my face, holding me steady. As if I’m merely a puppet for him to toy with.