“Arrest me? You think you can arrest me?”
Rocky’s voice was a low growl, venom dripping from every syllable. Blood trickled down his neck, mingling with the sweat on his skin. His eyes burned with murderous intensity as he glared at Liliette—the same look he had given the soldiers moments before. It was clear he was on the edge of violence.
“You would really arrest your own brother? Your own flesh and blood, who shares the Isles name with you?”
“I am a de Winter, Rocky,” Liliette spat as though expelling something dark and corrosive lodged deep within her.
Rocky’s lip twitched. Fear and doubt were emotions he rarely experienced, but her words struck like a whip. How had he walked into this accursed land—the infamous domain of the demon Duke—with such brazen confidence? Because he had believed, utterly and unshakably, that his naïve sister would never cast aside her family. That belief had proved to be only half true.
