Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Jules nearly gasped from sheer outrage. A good story? Westcliff wanted to pursue Liam because it would make a good story? What a cynical, manipulative dick of a—
“Don’t tell me you don’t find him attractive,” Terlaine said, sounding stunned.
Westcliff shrugged again, some emotion flickering in his eyes. “He’s beautiful,” he said without any inflection whatsoever. “He’ll do. It’ll be a PR win, a stunt to distract people from the distasteful news that a Xeus will be inheriting the throne. You know the common folk like romanticizing the royals’ courtships and weddings. He’s beautiful enough to be a good distraction from the bad news.”
Distraction? A stunt?
Over my dead body, Jules thought viciously.
He must have made some noise, because Westcliff suddenly looked right in his direction.
Jules froze.
Carefully extinguishing his cigarette with his shiny shoe, Westcliff said, “You can come out now, whoever you are. Don’t make me drag you out of the bushes.”
Jules clenched his hands into fists, considering darting back toward the ballroom. But it would be pointless. He was no match for a Xeus alpha—they were much faster, even in their non-shifted state, than omegas.
Slowly, Jules emerged out of the bushes.
Terlaine made a surprised noise, but Jules didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. He was too busy glaring at the duke.
“And who are you?” Westcliff said, his green eyes flicking over him without much interest. Dismissively.
Jules flushed.
“It’s Liam Blake’s younger brother,” Terlaine said. “James, I think?”
Jules bared his teeth in a smile. “Close enough,” he said, still looking at Westcliff. “You will not use my brother as a pawn in your PR game,” he bit out. “Find someone else. Your Grace.”
Westcliff took a step closer, his eyes finally losing their look of indifference. They were more intent now. Sharper. Calculating.
Jules’s heart beat faster. Something about this alpha put him on edge, causing his fight-or-flight instinct to kick in. It was bizarre, considering that he couldn’t even smell him.
“You misunderstood me,” Westcliff said, his deep voice significantly softer now. “I have no intention of using your brother. My intentions are honorable. The fact that courting him will help me achieve my political goals doesn’t take away from my genuine admiration of him.”
Jules laughed sharply. “You should be an actor, Your Grace. I would have believed you if I didn’t just hear you say that my brother ‘will do.’ Find. Someone. Else. Liam deserves better than a two-faced, manipulative asshole like you.”
Westcliff cocked his head slightly, studying him like one would study a strange creature. There was a diabolical glint in his eyes now. “Don’t you know that you should never tell alphas that they can’t have something? It only spurs us on to prove otherwise. We’re very competitive. It’s our instinct.” His finely-shaped, firm lips curled condescendingly. “But then again, I wouldn’t expect a beta to understand it.”
Jules flushed, his eyes stinging. He had been mistaken for a beta before, but somehow, coming from this ridiculously handsome alpha, it felt doubly humiliating.
“Mr. Blake isn’t a beta, Devlin,” Terlaine cut in.
Jules flinched, having completely forgotten that he was there.
Westcliff raised his eyebrows slightly, still looking at Jules. “My apologies,” he said, his green eyes sweeping over Jules before stopping on his throat.
Jules had to suppress the urge to check that his fading mark was covered by the collar of his shirt. The mark was barely visible now and soon would surely fade completely, but for now he had to wear high-collared shirts that covered his throat.
“Apology accepted,” he said stiffly. Insincerely.
“In my defense, you don’t smell like an omega,” Westcliff said, looking at him with furrowed brows.
Jules bared his teeth. “One would expect a duke to have better manners than to comment on such things,” he said scathingly.
Westcliff smiled, as if Jules had said something amusing. “One would,” he agreed and offered him an arm. “I will accompany you back to the ballroom, James.”
“It’s Julian,” Jules gritted out, pointedly refusing to take the offered arm. “Not that I gave you leave to use my given name. It’s Mr. Blake for you.”
“Allow me to accompany you to your brother, Mr. Blake?”
Jules glared into his amused eyes. The asshole was mocking him!
“No,” he said. “Go to hell, Your Grace. And stay away from my brother.”
He strode away with as much dignity as he could muster.
It wasn’t a lot, because his bond hurt again and all he wanted was to go home and curl up with his kitten.
Chapter 8
Twenty-four years ago
He was fighting again.
Ilona could only watch it through the window, biting her lip hard every time someone managed to land a punch on him. One small, six-year-old boy against seven older boys was hardly a fair fight, but of course no one interfered. No one ever did. Devlin’s position at the court was too precarious for anyone to interfere. He might be the king’s “nephew,” but most of the court strongly suspected that he wasn’t really Princess Lina’s son. It wasn’t hard to guess when the princess herself barely acknowledged the boy and kept him in a separate wing of the palace. Only a select few knew the truth: that Devlin was the king’s bastard, the bastard the king didn’t recognize as his son. And to make things worse, the poor boy’s designation only made him a larger target. Being a Xeus was difficult for adults too, but children could be so very cruel, and privileged children were more cruel than most. Devlin’s explosive temper certainly didn’t help matters.