Road To Fire (Broken Crown Trilogy #1) - Maria Luis Page 0,138

thrust into, alone. My head falls back, my lids slam shut. Emotion assaults me from every angle: joy that she’s alive and safe; relief that my brother is still the honorable man I’ve always known him to be; greed because I need years more with Isla Quinn and I’m selfish enough to demand that she spend each one with me.

Swallowing, roughly, I jerk my head in a short nod. “Is she there now? At the Palace?”

Is she waiting for me?

Guy tugs his arm back, then drives us down the narrow one-lane road that leads directly to Holyrood’s main compound. “She is, yes.”

Thank fuck.

I’m going to devour her where she stands. Throw her over my damn shoulder, the way I did that first day, and carry her to the first flat surface that we find. The floor will do, too. So long as she’s in my arms, I won’t be—

“She made a deal.”

Stiffening, my gaze cuts to Guy, just as he pulls the car into the car park to the left of the manor house. “What the hell do you mean, she made a deal?”

Without giving an immediate answer, he throws open his door and slides out. I follow suit, tagging his heels as we wind through the small courtyard before stepping through a set of trees that brackets the entrance to the Palace itself.

I wrap a hand around Guy’s forearm. “What deal?”

“She chose you,” he says, meeting my stare, “and sacrificed herself in the process. If only our forebears knew that one day, the woman who killed a king would take the oath for Holyrood.”

My feet come to an abrupt halt, my mouth parting and closing. “I’m sorry, I thought you said that—”

“Holyrood owns her now.” Guy’s smile is nothing short of humorless. Before I can even react, he claps me on the shoulder and brings me in for a hug. By my ear, he murmurs, “Her contract is in the vault in your office. Signed on the dotted line. Yours to do with as you wish.”

Chin snapping back, I stare at him. “Why would you—”

“Let her go?” He shrugs one shoulder, casually, then steps away. “Because I’m not a total heartless bastard.” Another step, this one accompanied with a mirthless grin. “And because I prefer to keep my enemies close, brother. As you well know.”

Then he turns, hands stuffed inside the pockets of his trousers, and ambles away.

I follow at a more sedate pace, my eyes scouring the estate for a head of strawberry-blond waves. I find her, ten minutes later, by the stream and the stone bridge. With her shoes kicked off to the side, and her feet splashing in the water, she stares up at the early morning sky.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

Mine.

I kick my shoes off as I approach her. Pull off my shirt, leaving it to flutter away in the breeze as I let the fabric go. And then I destroy what’s left of the space between us, and say the only words rattling around in my chest: “Holyrood will never own you.”

46

Isla

I feel him before I see him.

Feel the way his gaze hungrily roams my body. Feel the way he’d strip me naked, if he could, and take me until I come screaming his name, to hell with whoever might stumble upon us here. Feel his heat and the raw strength of his power, both of which leave me desperate to fold myself into his arms where I belong.

My first and only.

The same goes for me, too.

Saxon Godwin is my destiny, and there is nothing that—

“Holyrood will never own you.”

Heat scrapes through my lungs as I turn, too fast, and see him coming toward me with smooth, long strides. His shirt is gone, leaving him bare-chested in the brisk morning chill. But true to form, Saxon is like some ancient god, untouched by human weaknesses. The first sweep of the sun glances off his golden skin, turning his already pale eyes nearly yellow. Tawny, in its truest hue. His muscles contract with each step, as do the scars that litter his chest and abdomen and arms.

He’s a portrait of pain and bravery and . . . And then his declaration sinks in.

My mouth goes dry. “Saxon, I—”

“You aren’t a woman meant to be owned,” he says, eclipsing the final distance between us. He sinks to his knees before me in the dewy grass, his thighs slightly spread apart, his big, calloused hands reaching for me, as if he can’t bear the thought of us being so close and