Black Knight (Royal Elite #4) by Rina Kent

Her.

The one I can’t have.

The only one I can’t fucking have, but I still find myself roaming around and watching anyway.

Her dress falls to her knees but is tight at the waist, showing off the lines of her soft curves.

She’s there, up for the taking, and for whatever scenarios my mind is conjuring at a supersonic speed.

I should go, leave, never return.

But I take a step towards her instead.

I can’t have her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t play with her.

Love is impossible, but hate is an open game.





10





Kimberly





My eyes are closed as I let the music take me away from my physical shackles.

Magic by Coldplay drums in my ears and it’s almost like that – magic. The lyrics speak so much to me and to the person I’ve been. It becomes a bit painful to listen, to be that fool who still believes in magic.

Music is the only thing that keeps my head afloat and somehow manages to keep the fog at bay.

Ever since I walked into the party and saw Summer rubbing herself all over Xander, I’ve been having these small bursts of nothingness.

I know I came to confront him, and I’ll do that, but I need to calm the hell down first.

The shot of tequila didn’t work, being with Elsa didn’t, and Ronan, my own tailored distraction, is nowhere to be found, so music is my only reprieve.

I let it float me away as the melody fills my ears and my senses. My body moves of its own accord as I take refuge in the darkness and the cold, knowing no one will come out here in the middle of this wind.

As soon as this song ends, I’ll walk back in there and tell Summer off. If she doesn’t leave, I’ll punch her like I did her friend – or not. I really don’t want to witness that same expression on Mum’s face again.

It’s enough for one day.

Anyway, I’ll just push Summer away and demand he explain whatever the hell he sent me in texts.

In and out. It’ll be in a place full of people and I’ll be able to disappear in no time.

I nod to myself and pluck out my earbuds as I turn around, determination bubbling in my veins.

My feet halt automatically when my eyes meet those ocean-deep ones. The ones filled with magic that I can’t stop believing in.

With arms and ankles crossed, he’s leaning against the tree right behind me, as if he’s been watching the entire show.

Wait. He was?

The light coming from the huge mansion casts shadows over his features. I swallow, still trying to get over the fact he’s been there all along.

The hell? Since when did he become such a creep?

And why are you secretly happy about it?

If he’s a creep and I like it, what does that make me?

“Don’t stop on my account.” He twirls his finger. “How do you do that thing with your hips?”

I blush, and I’m so glad he won’t be able to see it due to the lack of lighting.

“It’s like a belly dancer. Is that what you practice late at night?”

My head snaps up. “How do you know that?”

He can’t possibly be watching me, because his room always has its dark curtains pulled down.

“I think we’ve established that I know a lot of shit about you.” He pushes off the tree, and my body instinctively tightens.

The way he stalks towards me is nothing short of a predator. Someone with the need to hurt and destroy. Someone who’s after me, not anything else, just me.

Still, I speak in the most neutral tone I can afford. “Why?”

“Why?” he repeats, lifting one of his brows.

“Why do you know a lot of shit about me?”

“That’s the question of the century, isn’t it? Why?” He stops when his chest nearly brushes against mine.

This close, I can breathe the stench of vodka on him, strong and unyielding like everything else about him.

He’s drunk. No, he’s wasted. I’m surprised he was able to walk that small distance from the tree to here or even sound relatively normal.

Usually, if someone were to stare at me the way Xander is right now for more than five seconds, I would be compelled to run away. It’s sinister and filled with so much anger, it’s physically wounding. But I can’t run away from him. I did it before and it ruined us for fucking good.

“Why green?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“You heard me. Why is it fucking green?”

“My favourite colour?”

“I hate your favourite fucking colour. I hate you, Kimberly.”

Ouch.

I try to think that I already know that bit of information, that he’s always made his feelings crystal clear, but hearing him say the words is equal to inhaling black smoke straight to my suffocating lungs.

I couldn’t breathe if I wanted to.

“I hate your eyes and your fucking hair.” He clutches a strand and strokes it between his thumb and forefinger as if he’s memorising it – or thinking about burning it. I can never tell with him.

He’s that dark well that’s been abandoned for years. You never know if you’ll find a treasure or vengeful ghosts in it.

“Then stop touching me,” I breathe out. “Stop getting in my way, stop invading my life and knowing so much shit about me.”