isn’t like Perry,” I assure Rakel. “I met him once in Monaco. He’s more like my father. And Perry’s mom was a famous equestrienne.”
“That explains a lot.” Rakel nods. “Perry has major horse-girl energy.”
Since Rakel is descended from Vikings, I’m sure pursuits short of pillaging seem rather tame to her.
Rakel’s parents run an underground gambling ring in Reykjavik. Once Rakel graduates, she hopes to expand their operations to include online poker and sports betting.
“We’ll need the money,” she tells me. “My older brother Gunnar thinks he’s the emperor of Iceland and he spends like it, too. He’s crashed three cars this year.”
“Maybe the next one will kill him,” I joke, already knowing how much Rakel loathes him.
“We can only hope,” she sighs.
I have to part ways with her to hurry up to the dining hall so Dean doesn’t give me shit. I just know he’s getting bored with the relatively minor torments of making me his Sherpa and busboy. He’ll be looking for a reason to punish me.
Indeed, his eyes lock on mine the second I step through the doorway. He snaps his fingers and points at the empty chair he’s saved at his side.
I haven’t even had a chance to get my food yet.
I stomp over to him, sitting down, but immediately saying, “I have to get my lunch.”
“No,” Dean says coldly, “You have to get here on time if you want to eat.”
“I’m starving,” I hiss.
“Not as hungry as you’re going to be if you keep whining.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means I’ll tie you up in the ice house and leave you there for a week if you annoy me.”
I want to scream with frustration. I am so fucking sick of Dean’s petty tyranny.
Not to mention, his chicken and peas smell delicious. Almost all the food we eat at Kingmakers comes from the greenhouses or the farms on the island. It’s always fresh and expertly prepared by the kitchen staff.
Dean has two rolls on his plate. I reach out to take one. He slaps the back of my hand, quicker than I can blink.
“I’m hungry!” I complain even louder.
“I’ve got something you can swallow,” Valon sneers.
I start to retort, but Dean is too quick.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” he barks at Valon.
“What the hell?” Valon says, glowering. “I was just joking.”
“Your jokes are stupid.”
Dean stares Valon down, daring him to respond.
Valon shifts in his seat but keeps quiet.
“It’s tedious bringing your little pet over here if you’re not going to share,” Bram drawls, leaning back in his chair. He lets his wolfish eyes roam over me, not caring that Dean’s face is getting darker by the moment.
“She belongs to me, not you,” Dean says. His voice is all the more deadly for how soft it’s become.
I sit silent and mutinous next to Dean, feeling like a pressure cooker reaching its boiling point. I know what he’s trying to do. He’s seeing how far he can push me—escalating from telling me when and what I can eat to not letting me eat at all.
You would think I’d get used to Dean, with all this time spent glued to his side, but you don’t get used to him—not at all. He doesn’t become less intimidating, or less striking. In fact, every day I notice more of his strange beauty—the soft curve of his lips above the broad, rigid lines of his jaw. The carved muscle of his forearms, and his fists like white marble. The swoop of pale blond hair that hangs over his left eyebrow, and then the soft, velvety texture at the nape of his neck where the glittering silver hair is shaved short.
And then, most insidious of all, his scent . . .
Every time Dean shifts in his chair, I smell the subtle amalgam of his signature. Dean’s scent is clean and warm like rain-washed earth, with a mild sweetness like vanilla, and then something sharp and enticing, an intense thread of testosterone and aggression that stings in my throat.
It takes me over every time I’m within his sphere of personal space. It makes my head swim. And sometimes later, when I’m down in my room in the Undercroft, I’ll catch the scent of Dean lingering on my clothes and my heart begins to race.
I might be noticing it more today because of my hunger.
Jasper Webb has finished loading his tray with food. He’s walking toward his usual table that once held Rocco Prince, Wade Dyer, and a dozen other friends.