The Summer King Bundle 3 Stories - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,80

as his gaze sharpened on me. An almost predatory glint filled his eyes, making them luminous.

“I wanted to get so familiar with them that we were on a first-name basis,” I continued, keeping my hand up. “But that was before. Not anymore. Now, I’d rather cut them off.”

“You sure about that, sunshine?”

“Don’t call me that. And, yes, I’m a hundred percent positive. A hundred and twenty-five percent, to be exact.”

“A hundred and twenty-five percent?” he murmured. “Interesting. Then why haven’t you engaged your blade with me?”

With a frown, I glanced down at my wrist. He was right. I hadn’t triggered the blade from the cuff.

Damn it.

Damn it all to hell.

Chapter 3

Why do you view yourself so poorly?

The King’s words haunted me throughout the evening and all night long. Was that what he thought? That I had no self-esteem or sense of self-worth? Just because I couldn’t understand why he’d pursued me and then wanted nothing to do with me.

Stewing over what he’d said, what it could have possibly meant, had kept me up for hours. But what woke me a few hours before dawn on Sunday morning, was the little voice that kept whispering that there might be some truth to his question.

After all, why did I think that he’d said all those wonderful things about me? Why had he kissed me and brought me such mind-numbing pleasure? Was it because he felt that he owed me for getting his brother back to Hotel Good Fae when he’d been hurt? Or because I had allowed him to feed on me when he was gravely injured with wounds that wouldn’t have been so serious if he’d been feeding in the first place? He’d been shot the night I’d found Elliot, one of the missing fae younglings that had turned evil, presumably due to the tainted nightshade.

Not once did I think to myself that he’d simply been attracted to me, despite the fact that I was human, and he was surrounded by stunning, ethereal fae.

And there was a good chance that he was still attracted to me despite cutting things off. It seemed like he’d been about to kiss me on Saturday night. Hell, his lips had touched mine. Barely, but still. And what if he had kissed me? Would I have allowed that? I couldn’t seriously be questioning that. I knew that I would’ve, and likely would have been pissed off at myself afterward.

I needed to get my life right.

Starting with finding and killing Aric and not allowing myself to be wooed by the King. Both, at this point, seemed of equal importance. None of this stuff with the King mattered, and neither did my possible lack of self-esteem. If I survived my showdown with Aric, I’d work on that with self-help books or something.

Sighing, I watched the early morning sunlight creep across the floor toward the edge of the bed where Dixon lay curled in a tight ball. He hadn’t been there when I fell asleep.

The sudden creak of a footstep landing on the loose board I kept planning to fix stirred the cat awake. Dixon’s furry head lifted toward the door I knew he’d managed to nudge open at some point during the night.

He started purring, sounding like a mini-engine.

Figuring it was Tink, who was probably about five seconds from dive-bombing the bed, I rolled onto my back and looked toward the door—

My heart stopped in my chest.

That was how it felt, like it came to an unexpected, jarring halt. My lips parted as my brain tried to process who I saw standing there. It wasn’t Tink.

It was him.

The King.

He stood in the doorway of my bedroom like he belonged there, as if he’d been invited. And he most definitely had not been invited, nor did he belong in my house.

At all.

But it was him, his golden hair free and brushing the full breadth of his shoulders, his plain black shirt following the lines and curves of his muscles.

All I could do was stare at him.

One side of his lips curved upward. “Good morning.”

I sat up so fast I startled Dixon. The cat stood, shooting me a baleful glare before hopping off the bed. “What are you doing in here?”

“Tink let me in.” He glanced down as Dixon brushed against his leg, the cat’s tail high. “You know, most people usually respond with ‘good morning’ when they are given that greeting.”

“I don’t care what most people do,” I exclaimed, promising myself that I would straight-up murder Tink. Which was