Page 12 of The Sea Witch’s Son (The Villains of Wolf Hollow #1)

Chapter 11

MARLIN

I’m tempted to bite off Freya’s tongue just to get her off my lap.

Instead, I slide my hand higher up her thigh, feeling nothing but the hair she clearly forgot to shave this morning. I am not a picky man, but honestly, if you are going to sit in the lion’s mouth, you may as well look presentable.

Not that I would mind if Melody didn’t shave.

Holding back a sigh, I twist the ring on my middle finger until the skull is pressed against her flesh. Digging in my nails to keep her in place, I flick out the razor hidden beneath the family crest.

Freya breaks the kiss with a yelp.

“Did you know it takes seven minutes for the average person to bleed out from a cut to their femoral artery?” Sliding the razor along her skin, I nudge it deep enough to sting, “I’ve always wondered what that would look like.”

She tries to slip away but I tighten my hold .

“If the cut is deep enough, the injury will exsanguinate in two to four minutes. I think we can beat that record, don’t you?”

“I’m shaking with fear.” Freya rolls her eyes, “Your point has been made. I’ll be on my way.”

I stroke her thigh with my blade, “I am not sure my point has been made. You played with my favourite toy.”

“I was just having a little fun with her.”

“By inviting her to a party and making a point to come sit on my lap?” I shake my head with a sigh, “You haven’t changed one bit over the years.”

“Oh, please. You were the one who instigated the kiss.”

“I can do what I want with my little saint.” I smile, leaning back against the couch, “You, on the other hand, have no business manipulating her. It makes me quite...”

I pause, thinking about the right word.

“Displeased.”

I jam the razor deep into her flesh and Freya screams. Blood starts gushing down my hand and I shove her off my lap before it can stain my dress pants.

“Seven minutes, Clementon. Better make them count.”

I step over her writhing body and grab a napkin from the table. Wiping my hands clean of her blood, I pick up a bottle marked with Gaston’s ridiculous label.

The man is comically vain, but he does have a good taste in wine.

Stealing the bottle and a couple of glasses, I do a quick scan of the room and mark Melody’s absence. Heaving a sigh, I make my way back into the hall, bypassing a couple snorting lines of Dragon Fire off the tusk of an extinct species.

The sharp sound of Calista’s laugh captures my attention. Rounding the staircase, I find her unplugging the phone hooked up to the speaker set.

“I was wondering when Elvis Presley would take over the party.”

Calista grins, her green eyes looking particularly fierce this evening. An impossibly small halter top covers her modest chest while leather pants sit just below the wing of her tattoo.

“The original bad boy and king of rock and roll. Who am I to deny such a devastating voice?”

“You just like his dark hair.”

“Of course I do.” She purses her lips, “Where did all the dark-haired bad boys go? This town is run by too many blondes.”

A snicker echoes from the corner, “Marlin barely qualifies as blonde.”

“Nor would I call myself a bad boy. Such an undignified title.” I grimace, turning to face the third party, “Long time no see, Tahira.”

The daughter of the world's most powerful oil tycoon steps out of the shadows. Her belly button piercing glitters under the crop top she’s wearing, the stud a perfect match for the gemstone in her nose .

“Not long enough. Father still resents your investments in Canadian oil fields.” Dark eyes assess me from beneath heavy layers of kohl.

“I saw a business opportunity and I took it. Surely, Jaafar would understand that.”

“Understand, yes. Forgive... not so likely.” Tahira smiles, walking over to slide a hand around Calista’s waist.

“Some things don’t change.”

“And some things do. I didn’t think you attended informal gatherings.”

I let out a sigh, “There was a situation that required my attention.”

Calista snickers, “He’s found a new hobby. Stalking the latest transplant.”

“Is this one showing some resistance?” Tahira purses her lips, “I hate girls who don’t put up a chase.”

I watch as she teases the edge of Calista’s halter top, stroking the underside of her breast.

Calista purrs, leaning into her touch, “You should see the red hair. Almost as pretty as yours.”

“Maybe we should ask her to join us.”

Red nails rake over brown skin and painted lips brush over pale skin as the two women tease each other in front of me.

The wail of an ambulance sounds in the distance.

“The medics are coming to take care of the last girl who played with my little saint.” My lips split into a smile, “I would hate to add you both to the list. ”

“Men. Always so possessive.”

Calista coos when Tahira kisses her neck. I watch for a few more minutes, feeling nothing but indifference.

The list of personality flaws I’ve been fortunate enough to inherit is long and distinguished, but oftentimes I wonder what it would be like to see the world as others do.

No. Not see the world.

Feel it.

There are many reasons why I’m drawn to the psychology of fear, but the physiological reaction is one of them. Hearing the sharp intake of breath, seeing the panic consume an individual’s mind and body is so painfully mortal that I find it rather stimulating.

“She’s in the ballroom chatting with Gus.” Calista flashes me a grin, “Looks like you have some competition after all.”

Suspicious Minds croons out of the speakers and that’s my cue to leave. Snatching the wine bottle from the banister, I follow the atrocious portraits down the hall and into the ballroom. The unofficial dance floor is full of couples making out and swaying to Calista’s music.

I spy Melody next to the life-size statue of the Cartier family. The prodigy is standing next to her, rambling about himself no doubt, while my little saint stares solemnly at the dance floor.

I watch her observe the couples move clumsily against one another, the notes of Presley filling the air like the soundtrack of a B-list movie .

And like any good movie, her hero comes striding out of the crowd looking rather pathetic in a rumpled white t-shirt and blue jeans.

Good God. Does the man not know the iron was invented for a reason?

Chuckling to myself, I pass the wine bottle off to another couple. Leaning back against the wall, I make myself comfortable and wait for the credits to roll.

And they lived happily ever after... until I showed up.