Crown of Thorns

Phoenix surveys the crowd beneath him, daring someone, anyone, to challenge his rule. Our eyes clash, and I realize I was totally wrong about the color of his. They’re not just green, but brilliant and flashing and wicked. He shoots up an eyebrow, as if to ask who I am and what I did to deserve his presence, before fixating on something another boy with dark hair is saying.

Based on Reina’s grumbling, I discover he’s Phoenix’s younger brother, Gideon. I’ve heard his name, too. Whatever it is that he says makes his big brother laugh, a sound that’s both outrageously sensual and completely u

erving. Almost like it’s literally crawling beneath my skin to sift through all my secrets and worries and doubts.

Then, Phoenix turns back to his crowd, tips the bottle of Belvedere he’s holding to the floor and drawls, “To Saint Angelle. May that motherfucker burn in hell, right where he belongs.”