Wicked Love - Michelle Dare Page 0,84

in dried leaves and dirt.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” My words are venom, but Creed doesn’t look poisoned at all. Instead, he looks like he’s about to sit down for dinner. Smart, calm, and happy.

The crunch of leaves sound from behind me when the other two Haven men saunter up with what looks like plastic bags. They’re dressed in their costumes, but since they’re all in black, the blood won’t stain as obviously as my now ruined dress.

“Perhaps you should get up,” Brody says to me. “Or you’ll only end up being caked in mud worse than you already are.” He settles the large tarps I now realize he was holding, and I’m dragged to my feet. My knees weaken the moment I’m standing, but Creed’s arms hold me up.

“Let’s go, little mouse,” he whispers, leading me toward the house, but we don’t go to where the party is still in full swing. We take a path around the house, and we enter through a kitchen door.

“Why . . . What . . . I don’t—”

“You’re safe.” His words should have a calming effect on me, but they have the complete opposite. I dig my heels in, causing him to halt his steps. Creed sighs, realizing we’re not going to move until he speaks.

“You have to tell me what the fuck that was.” I point to the back door, to where we’ve just come from. Everything feels surreal. My head is spinning with how Devon and Creed knew each other. And how Creed just killed someone in front of me. He just stabbed Devon, in the jugular, and didn’t bat a fucking eyelid.

“I didn’t think you were a stranger to violence,” he tells me, as if he knows me. “Surely you’ve seen much worse.” This time, Creed’s dark eyes regard me with curiosity.

My mouth falls open, but I shut it seconds later. I can’t find the words to offer him in response. He does know who I am.

“You just stabbed someone.”

“And he deserved it,” Creed informs me with a shrug.

My throat burns when I retort, “That doesn’t make it okay!”

His hands grip my shoulders, holding me still, but my hands are shaking. “If you continue screaming, I will gag you and lock you in my bedroom until you calm the fuck down.” There’s no discussion. He’s not joking, and after what I’ve seen him do, I believe he really would lock me up.

“This is not okay.”

Creed nods. “I know. But your father wanted you safe while you finished your studies in Thorne Haven. I agreed to do him a favor.”

“My father?”

“Micaela.” My name in the familiar Irish accent comes from the doorway. My father, a tall, redheaded Irishman, who is feared by many and worshipped by his followers, stands on the threshold of the kitchen. The garden behind him, black as night, with him looking like a warrior.

10

Micaela

“I’ll leave you both to talk,” Creed says, but my father shakes his head.

He meets the eyes of the man who just killed Devon. “No. You stay here.” The order is clear, and Creed offers him a nod. Then my father’s green eyes, that match mine, are on me. “Sit.” He points at the table. I can’t argue because my father is not a man who enjoys negotiations.

I slip onto the bench seat that overlooks the backyard. From here, I can see everyone drinking, dancing, chatting with friends. And yet, I’m here caked in blood, while my father doesn’t even flinch when I pierce him with an angry glare.

He moves toward the table, settling in a chair that faces me. “Creed has done our family a service.”

“I don’t understand,” I tell my dad, my voice wavering between sadness and exhaustion.

“I’ve known the Havens for a long time. Octavius is one of my oldest friends, but he’s nothing like me. He has always run his business aboveboard. I knew sending you to Thorne Haven would be safe. That you’d be watched over by him, but I didn’t realize his son would take such an interest in you,” my father explains, causing my eyes to flit to the man who saved me tonight.

His angular jawbone with those sharp features make him seem like a prince rather than a rogue. His dark eyes and hair, a stark contrast to his smooth, fair skin. Full lips tilt into a smile and his strong, broad shoulders square, as if he’s proud of the act he’s done for my father.

He is handsome.

His grin, stupidly, makes my stomach