Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,89
dangerous enough, apparently, because you still came to meet me in the middle of the night.” I glance over my shoulder at the darkened frame picking its way through the rubble, and feel a twist of relief to see him after all these weeks. “Where’s your other half?”
Moonlight splices across Saxon’s harsh face, revealing the snarled upper lip and those eerie green eyes that he inherited from Pa. Dressed in his customary black-on-black, he carries a duffel bag in one hand, which he tosses at my feet when he steps in close.
He jerks his chin toward the fag. “Put it out.”
Fighting the urge to take another drag, just to mess with him, I drop it to the ground and stub out the cherry with my boot. “Happy—”
The rest of my sentence is bludgeoned to death by my older brother’s massive arms coming around me.
A hug.
He’s hugging me.
My hands stay suspended mid-air. “What”—I clear my throat, frantically searching the pub beyond his right ear—“are you doing? Has Isla addled your brain? Swapped you out for a different model or—”
One of those big fists leaves my back to grab a handful of my vest and—crack! Teeth rattling, my chin snaps to the left.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Staggering backward, I flex my lower jaw. Press two fingers to the sore flesh and come away wincing. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Saxon only stands there, the lower half of his face concealed in shadow. “The hug is because Matthews told me how you almost died up on the roof. You were reckless, Damien. Absolutely goddamn reckless.”
“And the punch?”
“That’s for sending me the queen. And Guy. And Paul, you sadistic bastard.”
“At least you don’t have Benji,” I mutter, letting my hand drop after prodding my aching jaw one last time. “He’s currently locked away with Alfie Barker in Holly Village’s loft. I hear they’re mates but couldn’t tell you if it’s true.”
“You haven’t gotten him out yet?”
“Benji? No. I figure he can do with a bit of penance after attacking you in the woods. Justice by Damien Priest—he should be glad that I didn’t have any of my toys.” Angling my chin toward the duffel, I say, “I’m assuming you brought everything I asked for?”
“You’re lucky I had most of it on hand.”
Luck has nothing to do with it. When I rang Saxon this afternoon, after meeting with Matthews, I figured he’d have everything that I needed and more. A man doesn’t leave Holyrood without being prepared for the moment when Holyrood decides to bring you back. There’s only ever been one agent to retire: Robert Guthram, who once stood side-by-side with Pa. But the old man has been shut away in an asylum for the last ten years, and I doubt he’s enjoying his days post-Holyrood.
Especially not with a son like Marcus Guthram.
Shoving a hand into my kit for the cigarette pack, I fish another fag free from the carton. “Have Isla and the queen . . .”
“Interacted?” Saxon gives a rough chuckle that carries on the breeze. “Currently, the queen thinks Isla is the sweetest woman she’s ever met. They’ve had tea.”
Fucking hell.
After lighting the cherry, I take a slow drag. Then swing my gaze over to Saxon’s inscrutable face. Spontaneous hugs aside, my older brother has always been the one person who I’ve never been able to read. He plays his emotions close to his vest—whatever he has of them, at any rate—and rarely reveals anything. Still. The thought of the king killer sitting down for tea with the queen of England, of all people, sounds so farfetched I’m almost positive that he’s taking the piss.
“And what does Isla think of her . . . newfound friendship?”
“She finds it problematic that the queen isn’t half-bad, especially since Margaret spends most of her time sniping at Guy. They share a common enemy.”
Laughter kicks free from my chest. “If we’ve nothing else going for us, at least we don’t have to worry about the king killer making her debut as the queen killer—doesn’t really have the same ring.”
Saxon’s mouth barely tips up in a smile. On him, though, it’s as close to a full-blown smirk as I’ve ever seen.
Turning his gaze from mine, he sweeps a hard glance over the ruined pub. “You really think Carrigan did this?” he asks. “There’s nothing for him to gain by torching the place.”
The confession burns within me, as does Guy’s warning that I can’t hide from Saxon forever. I never intended to keep Carrigan’s appearance at Westminster a