Road To Fire (Broken Crown Trilogy #1) - Maria Luis Page 0,99

my skin, turning the tiny hairs on my arm on end. “What do you know that I don’t?”

“I know that you can’t stay in this house forever.” Guy slants a critical look toward the curtained window. “At some point, you’ll need to leave. You and your siblings, and Saxon—why don’t you tell her what you told me?”

Shoulders rounded with one hand planted on the wall, Saxon’s back expands with a heavy breath. Slowly, that open palm drags into an angry fist, and I swear I can feel the scrape of his roughened fingertips over my skin. His gaze catches on my face, his eyes clear and calm and collected.

Like ice.

“We have a house in Kent.”

I pause. Another house? The retort sits on my tongue, ready to spring. At the last second, I ditch it in hopes of getting answers they might actually deliver. “So, you want to shuffle us from one spot to the next.”

“I want to keep you safe.”

Dammit, Saxon.

Joy sparks heat and, despite everything that’s happened, I struggle with biting back a smile. Destiny. There’s no other reasoning for why one comment like that from him has the black clouds hanging over my head dissipating within seconds.

“You have a heart,” I tell him.

He holds my stare. “Only for you.”

33

Isla

“Get in.”

I ignore Saxon’s order to slip into the car and quickly survey Lyme Street instead. It’s eerily quiet, just as it’s been since we arrived on Monday night. No signs of life. No movement of any kind. Even the array of cars parked along the curb seem frozen in time. Three days of me watching the outside world—this small strip of it, at least—and there’s nothing to indicate that these homes are actually in use.

“Do you own it all?” I ask quietly, aware of Peter and Josie, who have already made themselves at home in the back of Saxon’s sleek car with our single duffel. Our entire lives—all three of ours—shoved into one bag of poorly sewn polyester. “The street, I mean. Do you own all these houses?”

His hand finds the small of my back, beneath the fabric of my shirt. “Yes.”

Startled by his unexpected honesty, my gaze lifts to meet his. “All of them?”

“All of them on this block.”

Camden might not be Notting Hill or Mayfair, even, but it’s not dirt cheap either. There must be at least ten properties on this block. Maybe even more. Questions fly at me from every angle, my curiosity begging to be satiated, but only one seems important enough to ask: “Do you live on this street?”

Though his face remains expressionless, his fingers give him away.

They flex against my skin, the roughened pads of each digit digging into my spine. He’s not pushing me into the car, no matter how he might be tempted to do so, but it feels like an involuntary response. One that segues into uncomfortable silence before a slamming door steals my attention.

“Avoid the tolls,” Guy calls out as he pounds down the front steps and strides across the narrow street. He throws a set of keys in the air, then snatches them mid-flight as they fall victim to gravity. “We can’t risk anyone taking a good peek.”

Like a naughty schoolboy caught doing something he shouldn’t, Saxon drops his hand away from me. “We’ll see you there.”

“Don’t be late.”

With that, the eldest Priest brother climbs into an equally sleek, two-seater vehicle. The hum of the engine sounds impossibly loud against the otherwise quiet street. Not two seconds later, he’s ripping down the road and disappearing around the next block.

Saxon clears his throat. “Get in the car, Isla.”

I stand my ground. “Answer the question and I will.”

“You touched my scars in my bedroom,” he mutters, his voice low and painted with exasperation, “and I made you come on my sofa.” Jaw tight, his impatient green eyes flit over my face. “Will that suffice?”

“I—”

My mouth clamps shut as the words sink in. Really sink in.

He took us into his home, no questions asked. He fed us, let us sleep in his guest rooms, and never did he ask for anything in return. And, if I hadn’t pressed just now, I have no doubt that he would have been content to let this information go unsaid—forever.

Temptation sweeps through me, demanding that I stand on my toes and press a kiss to his mouth. A thank you kiss. An I see you for who you really are kiss. A kiss that reflects trust and loyalty and, bollocks, I can’t find the inner