Page 8 of Taste of Thorns

“Told me what?”

“I don’t think it’s my place–”

“Beaufort!”

He sighs and strides off towards the staircase, jogging down the stairs two at a time.

“Where are you going?”

“To get a drink. I need one.”

I scurry after him. “Beaufort Lincoln, stop being so cryptic and come back and tell me.”

He halts, swings his head around and stares at me. “Little thrall, are you giving me orders?”

I place my hands on my hips. “Do you have a problem with that?” I ask, glowering at him.

“I prefer to be the one giving the orders.” I hear Fly’s voice in my head, whispering,definitely kinky.

“I need to know.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to tell you,” he says, walking again. “Just that I need a drink.”

He strolls into the dark kitchen and walks towards the liquor cupboard. “You want one?”

I screw up my nose and jump up on the counter. “Know what I have heard is nice?”

“What?” he says, pulling a full bottle of a clear liquid out of the cupboard and screwing off the lid.

“Heated chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate,” he corrects.

“Whatever. Is it as good as they say?”

He rolls his eyes at me. “If you’re a five-year-old child.”

“Obviously I never had it as a kid,” I say, a little hostile, “so I’m making up for lost time.”

“Okay,” he says. He pulls a glass and mug out of another cupboard, pours himself out a large measure and then sets to work. We don’t talk while he’s busy preparing my drink, but soon I have a steamy hot mug in my hands. One that smells divine.

I blow across the brown surface and then take a tentative sip.

“Oh my stars,” I sigh, “that is seriously good. Why have you been keeping that from me?”

“Good things come to good girls,” he says, leaning back against the counter, seeming to enjoy the view of me enjoying my drink as he sips his.

I let the heated chocolatey drink warm my insides and then I place the mug down beside me and fix Beaufort with my most determined look.

“What happened to Thorne?”

He stares down into the clear liquid of his drink and for a moment I think he’ll be his usual stubborn self and will refuse to tell me. Maybe I was better off asking Dray.

“It isn’t a nice story, Briony, and I don’t want you to think less of him because of what happened.”

“Beaufort,” I say, cold creeping over my skin, “you’re making me nervous.”

“Well,” he says, pausing to take a largeglugof his drink, before wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. Then he begins again. “Thorne’s dad wasn’t a very nice man, Briony. In fact, he was damn evil. It was mostly verbal stuff, controlling too. Sometimes violence. Thorne’s magic was always powerful but I guess no one knewjusthow powerful. Until it happened.” Hepauses. “He was nine. His dad was beating his mom and Thorne lost control of his magic. He killed his father, Briony.” I nod. I don’t know if I’m meant to be shocked by that, but it sounds like the bastard deserved it. “His mom tried to stop it, grabbed him and …”