Page 7 of Burned
The voices stop.
Every hair on the back of my neck rises.
For one wild second, I consider bolting into the trees like an absolute moron.
Then I remember there are armed men in those trees, and I am not in the mood to be tackled by one of Bayne’s mountain assassins before breakfast.
“Erin.”
Lucian’s voice.
Not loud.
Doesn’t need to be.
My stomach drops.
I step back from the wall, clutching my coat as if he has caught me naked instead of eavesdropping. Around the corner, four men turn toward me.
Blaze’s expression tightens.
Rafe’s face goes blank.
Bayne looks mildly entertained, which feels offensive under the circumstances.
Lucian does not move.
He stands near the porch steps in a black wool coat, hair pushed back, eyes flashing. He looks like a man carved from winter itself.
Then his gaze drops to my boots.
To where I’m standing.
Beyond the woodpile.
Barely.
But beyond.
His jaw flexes.
Oh, brilliant.
I’ve been caught crossing the border of Lucianland while spying on his dead woman convo.
Wonderful morning so far.
“I was getting kindling,” I say.
No one speaks.
The basket is clearly several feet behind me and almost empty.
Even Ryan wouldn’t buy that lie, and he once believed Cass when she told him green beans were green French fries.
Lucian’s gaze lifts to mine.
Dark. Controlled. Too controlled.
