Page 20 of Devil May Hunt (The Devils of Vitality #8)

“It’s bullshit,” Brennon said. “All of it. Want to know why I really chose the Academy?”

“Why?”

“Because I overheard her and my father talking about how disappointed they were that they’d ended up with me for a son.

My grades weren’t impressive enough. I wasn’t good enough at sports.

I failed at securing ties with the Imperial family by being unable to attract Kelevra’s interest. They didn’t want me. They were just stuck with me.”

Oh. He’d meant that snide remark about being married off. Gunho had partially believed it was all talk, but now he could see the truth of it.

Brennon wasn’t freaking out because in some way, he’d been waiting for this to happen to him. Waiting for the call telling him he was no longer a part of the Cree family.

That they’d managed to find something better in exchange for him.

Freedom.

“I’m just another rich kid who threw a tantrum and inadvertently tossed his inheritance in the process,” Brennon finished. “That’s all I’ll ever be. A rich nobody. Someone expendable. Someone not good enough.”

“You really believe that.”

He laughed, but the sound was empty. “I seem ungrateful, don’t I? Poor wealthy loser. Had all the privileges and opportunities given to him from birth and still managed to find something to whine about.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Because you already think so, or because others have told you before?” Gunho didn’t like the idea of anyone putting him down. “No one is allowed to judge you for your feelings, Brennon. The sooner you learn that, the easier everything will become. Your emotions are your own.”

“They’re misguided,” he dropped his gaze. “I’m aware of that. I know how I come across. I’m the Royal who threw it all away. I hear them whisper about me—when they bother to talk about me at all.”

“You have an inferiority complex that admittedly surprises me.”

“I do not.”

“What would you call it then?”

“Your suggestion implies I feel I’m not good enough. That’s not the case. I just have ears. I know what they believe. But they’re wrong. I could run Cree Cosmetics in my sleep.”

He’d been groomed for it, so there was little to no doubt in Gunho’s mind that it was true, even without schooling.

The fact he’d chosen the Academy instead of studying business at Vail had given Gunho reason to believe Brennon held no interest in the corporate lifestyle, but perhaps he’d been wrong.

Perhaps they all had.

“You never spoke to your parents about what you heard, did you?” It was easy enough to guess.

“Why bother?” Brennon shrugged. “It wouldn’t change anything. If they denied it, it was to save face. If they admitted it? I’d just feel worse.”

“So you opted to piss them off and alter the course of your entire life over a few passing statements?”

“No, actually. I opted to choose for myself. I don’t regret it.”

If there wasn’t at least some semblance of regret, he wouldn’t have brought it up. Unless…

“You are a spoiled Royal,” Gunho said it fondly, hoping it wouldn’t come across mean.

“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“Self-awareness?” Not self-deprecation. Interesting. “People aren’t usually comfortable painting themselves in a negative light.”

“Why should I pretend in front of you?” Brennon just kept surprising him. “You said we were going to be life partners.”

“We will.” He licked his lips. “We are.”

“Does he want this? Does he not want this?” Brennon’s tone turned mocking. “Does he want the company? Does he not want the company? Is he sad? Is he not sad?” He clicked his tongue. “You’re more expressive than I noticed before. Or maybe I just wasn’t paying enough attention.”

“I have your attention now.”

“You do.”

Gunho’s eyes narrowed. “Why does it suddenly feel like I’m the one who walked into a trap, instead of the other way around?”

“Because you offered me the chance to set terms and I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Was this entire conversation just a means to run us around in circles to buy time, pretty lover?”

“I’ve been training at the Academy for two years, remember,” Brennon said. “I’ve learned a lot in those two years, like how to read people. How to test them.”

He was claiming he’d used these past ten minutes to feel Gunho out?

Even though they’d mostly spoken about him?

People who grew up in the types of settings they did, surrounded by wolves in sheep’s clothing, all fake smiles and empty invitations to garner favor with the right person to stay relevant…

Those types of people were calculating and insightful out of habit.

Brennon had seemed, as he’d bluntly put it, average.

On campus, he was known as a friendly, carefree guy.

His plan to form a special forces unit after graduation with one of his friends was well known.

He hadn’t bragged about it, but he hadn’t kept quiet when asked, as though he’d wanted everyone to know he fully intended to follow through on this path he’d chosen.

A path that deviated from everything the Cree name had stood for throughout several generations. One he’d just gotten done telling Gunho he’d chosen only out of spite for his parents' harsh words.

“Ah.” Gunho crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “Cree Cosmetics.”

“It’s mine,” Brennon remarked. “You’re going to give it to me.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Because?”

“Because you’re trying too hard to force a connection between the two of us quickly, and exposing yourself in the process.

You’re a general, you better than most understand the importance of timing.

Expose your throat too early and…” He made a slicing motion with his finger across his neck and grinned.

A wicked, entirely too tantalizing to be real, grin.

Beautiful.

Even when he was gearing up to threaten Gunho.

He’d chosen well. His mate was perfect.

“I know what you really want, alpha,” Brennon said.

“I’ve made that clear.”

“Oh, you have, but not in the way you think.”

“Enlighten me.” Gunho meant it. He was fascinated by the turn this had taken, by the way Brennon’s brain worked.

It was unexpected, the level of cunning he was displaying, how quickly he’d turned the tables, and the ease with which he held the reins of this conversation, steering them in the direction he wanted without once giving himself away.

All of those people had been wrong about him.

He wasn’t friendly or carefree.

He was a master of disguise.