One hard and condescending.
The other soft. The poetry of his heart.
“Is there a reason you’re acting this way? You already belong to me, no?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Hatred squeezed Logan’s chest in a fist.
Keeping himself concealed, he peered over a hedge of shrubs.
Jarek Urso had Aster backed into a corner where she’d been following along the trail she’d taken from the house.
A riot of fury burst in every cell of his body.
A thirst to destroy.
To defend.
To fight for the one who he’d offer everything.
Jarek laughed a disgusting sound that rippled through the fading light. Arrogant and vile. The asshole was dressed in slacks and a button-down, his hair black, shaved on the sides and curly on top. He was only a couple of years older than the two of them, though his overinflated ego made the prick think he was the ruler of this world.
The problem was, if this wedding happened, one day he would be.
“I think we both know you have absolutely nothing to say about it.”
Jarek grabbed Aster’s hand.
Jerking it free, she tried to back farther away. “Don’t touch me.”
Revulsion and terror twisted through her features.
Logan knew she was doing her best to remain brave. To stand her ground when some asshole thought he could have his way.
“You’d do well to learn from the start not to fight me.”
“I’ll die before I ever let you touch me.”
Low laughter rolled from Jarek. “We’ll see about that.”
Without warning, Jarek flew forward, fisted a hand in her hair, and yanked her head to the side.
Aster shrieked in surprise.
In pain.
In fear.
Logan was on him before the bastard knew what hit him. He grabbed him by the shirt, spun him around, and slammed a fist into his pompous face.
In the back of his mind, Logan realized he’d likely sealed his fate.
Death’s signature scrawled on the dotted line.
He didn’t fucking care if it meant this girl might have the life she deserved.
Jarek’s head snapped back, and blood spurted from his nose.