Cruel War (The Gilded Sovereign 1)

He spins around, those caramel eyes meeting mine. “That word on your tongue is dangerous, little flower.” This time, it’s his turn to grin, that grin, the one that turns me inside out.

“Then give me honesty.”

I’m met with a long sigh before he responds, “I don’t know what he wants. If he knows that you’re aware of your father’s involvement in the Sovereign, I honestly have no idea what he’ll do.”

“Why did my father leave?” I ask, needing to know one more answer before I go with him. If he can’t offer me the answer, then I’ll ask his dad; Abner Lancaster has to tell me why my father would’ve walked out on something as serious as a vow he took.

“I told you,” Ares responds, his hands gripping my shoulders, holding me in place for a moment as he stares at me. “Come with me, let’s go together. I’ll explain to my father that you’re not a threat to the Sovereign, and since your dad was a Crown, he has to show leniency.”

“Leniency?” I squeak. Fear takes hold of me once more. The desire for Ares is gone, and I’m filled with trepidation as to what he could possibly mean.

“I won’t let him hurt you.”

Crossing my arms in front of me, I regard him before asking, “I thought that’s your job?”

“It is.” He awards me with a smile, a genuine one, that makes my heart do stupid things, like flip flop wildly in my chest.

“And how do I know you’re not doing this because you’re just obeying his request? What if you’re still being a good little son running errands for a tyrant?”

Silence hits me hard when Ares doesn’t respond. But it’s not because I’m right, those honeyed orbs pierce through me, looking into my depths in an attempt to find my soul. But that’s hidden away until I know I can fully trust him.

I may be attracted to the devil, but I’m not about to hand him something on a silver platter. “Unless you’re afraid I’ll walk out of here and make you do something you might regret.”

“Don’t fucking analyze me, you have no idea—”

“Then, fucking tell me!” I drop my hands to my sides, fisting them to keep from slapping him in frustration. My blood is hot, simmering in my veins. I’m angry and frustrated, and all I want to do is kiss him. My mind is a mess of emotions, and I don’t know how to clear it up.

“My father had my mother killed,” he tells me in a gravelly tone filled with rage and pain. “She didn’t agree with his… methods, and when you disagree with Abner Lancaster, you pay the price.”

“I’m so sorry.” Stepping toward him, I reach for Ares’ hand, the heat searing me the moment I make contact. His skin is smooth, warm, and his touch is gentle when he laces his fingers through mine. He lifts our hands, looking at the connection, and a small, wry smile dances on his lips.

“You didn’t pull the trigger,” he says, absentmindedly, but something in his tone when he says ‘you’ makes my heart stall. Hazel eyes meet mine, the green flecks darkening considerably as he watches me. He’s telling me the truth with a mere glance.

A lump forms in my throat, and I realize just why he hated me so much. He should. Even though it wasn’t me who pulled the trigger, it was the man whose blood I share. The man whose DNA is racing through me at this very moment.

“It was my father. Wasn’t it?”

Ares steps toward me, causing my back to hit the wall beside the door. Cold air swishes around us, and I shiver when he leans in, his mouth inches from mine. Electricity fills the air the moment his lips brush along mine. His breath comes in shallow wafts along with my own as if he’s breathing me in and I him.

Back and forth, we inhale each other. The minty breath of him mingled with the strawberry gloss that shines on my lips. We’re so close, practically one person with two hearts and minds.

It’s a scorching and volatile moment when he finally crashes his mouth to mine, and his tongue invades me like he’s trying to steal every sound I make, along with the air from my lungs that I need to survive.

Can someone kill you with a kiss?

His body presses along mine, every inch of him against me. He’s solid. I feel him, the hard ridges of his torso, the dips and valleys of his stomach against my softness. His one hand still holds onto mine as his other grips my long dark hair in a fist, tugging me this way and that so he can delve deeper into my warmth.

I can’t think straight. His scent makes me drunk on him. I reach for him with my free hand, wrapping it around his neck, so I can pull him impossibly closer. That’s when he releases me and grips my ass, lifting me against him and pinning me against cold concrete, but I’m burning up.