Page 3 of Burned

Just tones. Deep. Serious. Controlled.

Lucian.

Even muffled by distance, I know his voice.

It does something to me I hate and crave in equal measure. A tug low in my stomach. A tightening in my chest. A stupid little flicker of relief.

Then I hear another voice.

Rafe, maybe. Or Raphael. I still haven’t decided what to call him. He has the kind of face that looks wrong with anything as casual as a nickname, but everyone else seems to use both.

“…not confirmed,” he says.

The wind steals part of the sentence.

I should not listen.

I tell myself this while tilting my head toward the sound.

After all, this is what I’m really out here for.

Information.

He’s not sharing, so I must steal it.

Which may require me to cross that invisible boundary.

“She matches the photograph,” Bayne says.

My hand tightens around the basket handle.

A photograph?

Lucian says something too low for me to catch.

Then Blaze, unmistakable because he speaks like every word has teeth, snaps, “Dead women don’t just stroll back into the city.”

Every muscle in my body locks.

Dead women.

But they’re only talking about one woman. A beautiful woman from Lucian’s past.

One who left scars all over his chest.

And on his heart.

My pulse gives one hard thud.

The sensible thing to do is to turn around. Go inside. Make tea. Pretend I heard nothing.

I have never had a talent for sensibility.

I set the basket down quietly and move closer to where the men stand, farther from the cabin than I’m supposed to be.

I have to know. Is she out there? Is she coming here?

And if she does, will she want him?