Page 35 of Heartless Sinner

We both had agendas tonight, and I was going through with mine, even if it meant dancing with a grade-A asshole. I let him suffer for a few seconds before interlacing our fingers, and he walked us to the dance floor.

The band shifted into the Undertow, one of the traditional Caliran dances. It was the more intimate one. Just before we reached the dance floor, someone stepped into our path.

Cory walked straight into the man’s chest. Still holding my hand, he tried to step around the stranger.

That was when I noticed the man wasn’t a stranger. He wore a mask instead of face paint. A black suit covered his broad frame, making him stand out against the blue and gold around us.

I retreated a step.

He didn’t move or speak. Just stood there, blocking our path like a bad omen. I took in his mask as chills spread over my skin. The skeletal grin stretched across the lower half. Hollowed black cheekbones and carved white lines made it look too lifelike. It was unmistakably a Night Son mask.

I didn’t need to see his face to know exactly who was behind that mask.

The cinnamon gave him away first.

Then the way he stood—shoulders squared, body perfectly still, as if moving even an inch might unleash whatever violence he was holding back.

“Hands off my princess,” Brooks told Cory in a flat tone.

When neither Cory nor I moved, Brooks hooked two fingers under his mask and dragged it up.

“Shit,” Cory grumbled, just now realizing it was Brooks.

Cory not recognizing him surprised me. He needed to get smart and catalog the traits of his enemies. I’d been doing it with Brooks for years. I mean, the guy had recently attempted to poison him.

Brooks reached between us and pried Cory’s hand from mine, one finger at a time.

People around us stopped to stare.

Jesus. Of course he was making a scene.

It seemed I couldn’t go one Tide Ball without trouble finding me.

One thing was certain. Before the night ended, one of two men would probably kill me: my grandfather … or my best friend’s psychotic brother.

Brooks turned that murderous stare on me, and the vein in his neck pulsed.

My money was on Brooks.

Seven

Brooks

Aplus about Calira was that paparazzi and unauthorized recording were illegal here.

Recording anyone without their approval, especially a royal, carried a six-month jail sentence and fines.

Which meant I could make the biggest scene I wanted without worrying about it going viral.

Seeing Cory touch Daphne made me want to rip every finger off his hand, then force-feed them back to him for the next fucking week.

He was making a habit of touching what was mine.

I was about to make a habit of fucking up his life.

Ignoring the eyes on us, I stepped onto his shoes and got in his face.

“Go,” I hissed.