Page 122 of His Trick

Her voice was thin and brittle.

I didn’t press—not here, not in front of her friends. But I kept my eyes locked on Tyler as he moved through the room, laughing and shaking hands. His charm was as slick as an oil spill. He was the kind of man who looked polished to strangers, but the rot was visible to anyone who knew better.

To the other monsters.

Like me.

Something in me tightened, a coil winding in my chest at how small Xanthy became in my arms. I didn’t lash out, didn’t make a scene.

Not yet.

But the splinter was there, lodging deeper with every chortle I heard from his mouth.

No matter how much blood I’d worn for Xanthy, this was the man who’d carved everlasting scars into her. And I couldn’t unsee the way her body folded in on itself the second he walked through the door. I couldn’t stop looking at the marks on her pale skin where he broke her.

Tyler didn’t rush. Men like him never did. He moved slowly and deliberately, collecting attention like it was his birthright. People clapped him on the back, while women leaned in closer, their nervous laughter following in his wake. Feared by men and adored by women, it sounded familiar.

I kept my arm snug around Xanthy’s waist, watching her smile too hard at her friends, trying to follow the conversation as her knuckles went white where she gripped her champagne glass. Every time he laughed, I felt her flinch a little more.

“Xanthy, darling!” one of her friends squealed suddenly, cutting through the music. “There’s someone you absolutely must see. A special guest just for you.”

And then Tyler was there.

He slid into the circle of silk and perfume as if he belonged there, his smile sharp enough to ooze arrogance in every pore. His eyes landed on Xanthy and lit up, like she was something he’d dropped years ago and was pleased to find untouched.

“Alexandra Francis Harding,” he drawled, his stupid fucking voice smooth as honey. “Haven’t seen you since—well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it, baby?”

Her smile faltered as his eyes met hers.

“Tyler,” she said, just his name, tight and polite, but her throat bobbed when she swallowed.

He looked her up and down slowly, like a fucking slab of meat he was tempted to buy, before his cat-like gaze flicked to me. “And who’s this? Alexandra, dear, you’ve always been so nice to strays. Must we bring them to your dearest friends’ weddings?”

I met his stare head-on. His eyes were dark, glittering, and hungry for a reaction.

“Dr. Shiloh Anderson,” I said evenly, squeezing Xanthy’s hip. “And you are? Sorry, I have not met you once in the year I’ve been with Xanthy.”

Bait, set, match, bitch.

Something flickered across his expression, curiosity, disappointment, or maybe even challenge, when I didn’t look away. Then his grin widened, all teeth. “Well. Aren’t you a pleasant surprise, Doctor?”

Xanthy shifted beside me. “Tyler?—”

But he cut her off with a chuckle, shaking his head like the three of us were sharing a private joke. “Relax, silly, little girl. I’m just making conversation. Nice to meet you, Dr. Shiloh.”

He offered his hand.

I stared at it for a beat too long before finally taking it. His grip was firm, the kind of handshake meant to prove something. My grip was stronger. Neither of us looked away, except my girlfriend.

Beside me, she let out the faintest of breaths, so quiet no one else would’ve noticed. But I felt it. Saw the tension pulling her shoulders higher, her body angled slightly toward me like she was using me as a shield.

He’ll never hurt you again.

When Tyler finally released my hand, I flexed my fingers to keep from balling them into fists.

His gaze slid back to Xanthy.

“You look beautiful,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just hollowed her out with the weight of his presence alone. “Lavender suits you. Reminds me of a few of my favorite pieces of lingerie.”