Page 95 of The Devil's Thorn

He smiles.

I part my lips to respond—some clever deflection already forming in the back of my throat—when the air shifts behind me.

No sound. No warning. Justweight.

My skin reacts before I turn. My breath slows. I already know who it is.

Rafael doesn’t announce his presence. He doesn’t need to. He steps up beside me, slow and controlled, stopping just close enough that his suit brushes my bare shoulder when he turns slightly toward Leo.

And suddenly, the space around us tightens. The wolves? They’re here. And now they see each other.

Rafael’s voice is low. Measured. Deadly in howcivilit sounds.

“You’ve had your share of her time.”

Leo’s smile doesn’t fade. But I feel the flicker of tension in his posture. “I didn’t realize she came with a clock.”

Rafael doesn’t even blink. “Everything does. Especially what’s valuable.”

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Two predators. Two games. And I’m the piece being played… except I’m not on the board. Iamthe board.

Rafael turns to me then, just slightly. And he leans in. His breath is warm against my ear, his voice low enough that Leo won’t hear a word of it.

“You’ll meet me at the estate. Directions will come soon.”

His tone isn’t a suggestion. It’s a summons. Commanding. Quiet. Andintimate.

He steps back before I can answer, his expression unreadable as he turns and walks away—just like that. Like he knows I’ll follow.

And that knowledge?

It burns hotter than any glare Leo could’ve given.

I exhale once through my nose. Slow. Collected. “Excuse me,” I say softly to Leo, offering a slight smile. “Duty calls.”

“Of course it does.”

He doesn’t stop me. He just watches as I walk away. Like I confirmed something for him. Something dangerous.

The hallway is cooler, quieter. A servant passes me but doesn’t look up. I press two fingers lightly to my earpiece. “Kellan.”

“Here.”

“Pull the car around. I’m coming out now.”

“Copy that.”

I move through the entryway, out past the towering doors and into the night air. The hum of tension still clings to my skin like perfume. And Rafael’s voice—low, cold, possessive—echoes in my ear.

You’ll meet me at the estate.

I will.

But not because he said so, but because I’ve already planned exactly how I’ll use that meeting.

The cold air kisses my skin the moment I step outside. It’s sharp, but I don’t flinch. I breathe it in instead, letting it sweep away the taste of champagne and stale cologne and a room too thick with ambition to let anyone breathe.

The weight of the mansion behind me fades with each step I take across the stone path, the night swallowing the noise as I move closer to the curb.