My eyes flashed behind him, where servers watched, their warmth dissipating into ice.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
His glare sharpened, and I knew if I didn’t take his hand, my torture would be a thousand times worse than champagne in my eyes. I placed my hand in his big soft one, and he yanked me up.
“You know,” he said, still holding my hand. “I really fucking hate people touching my shit.”
He eyed Pipa and Aundi, cold and callous, a king talking to his servants.
“Grayson.” Charlotte jogged in and looked between me and her friends. “What happened? Aundi? Pipa?”
Grayson still hadn’t let go of my hand, the warmth bled through my wrist, and my heartbeat couldn’t be controlled. His grip was tight but not painful. His hand completely engulfed mine, and the veins on his hand throbbed.
I had no answers for Ellie, for the rest who watched us.
“If anyone so much as looks in her direction…” Grayson continued, ignoring Charlotte. He dragged his ring finger across his bottom lip, thinking about it. “You’re dead.”
He dragged me out of the room by the wrist.
Seventeen
STORY
* * *
Grayson dragged me out of the Hall and inside a small stone shack. Then he dropped me and shook out his hand. I grasped my torn shirt, examining our surroundings. I’d never noticed it before. Inside smelled like salt and stone and moss, and foggy sunlight broke through the ceiling.
I held my shirt up tighter, and Grayson tossed his jacket at me, hitting me in the face. I caught it with scrambling hands. I slid one arm into his jacket. He threw me a glance, then with a frustrated noise yanked my arms into the sleeves.
“What are you doing?” I whispered. “Why aren’t you with Lottie? Why did you save me?”
“I didn’t save you.” Bitterness tinged his tongue as he tightened the jacket around my shoulders. “I don’t like people taking my car for a joyride, either.”
He’d chosen me over Lottie. Again.
Each time he showed me a scrap of affection something inside me grew. Something bad. Something that shouldn’t be.
He buttoned the jacket up so much more carefully than the fury in his eyes would have me expect.
I chewed my lip and he froze, eyes locked on the action. The air ignited.
“You’re mine now. Anyone who bothers you answers to me.”
My heart pounded like a drum.
My mouth dried, and I licked my lips.
His words felt ancient and primeval. I wanted so badly to ask what they meant to him.
So instead I asked, “What is this place?”
“Dovecote. Some bullshit medieval thing my great-great-grandmother built to try and play at being a real queen.”
I studied him, a question lurking in my gut. This place was easy to miss. Ivy crawled over the outside. It was on the east end of the Hall, the more historic part of Crowne Hall, where some of the old stone walls still stood.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Too many assholes inside.” His fingers tightened on his jacket.