Page 9 of Burned

I look up at him.

Big mistake.

His eyes are not cold now. They are wild beneath the surface. Not with anger.

Fear.

Real fear.

The sight of it knocks the fight out of me for half a second.

Then I remember the name.

Isobel.

“Why?” I whisper. “Afraid I’ll vanish too? Or is there something you’d like to fill me in on?”

His grip tightens.

Behind him, someone swears softly.

Lucian leans closer, his mouth near my ear, heat and velvet. “You’re playing with fire.”

My throat closes.

For one dangerous moment, I almost let him pull me inside without bringing me into the fold.

But I am tired of being on the outside of my own life.

I am tired of secrets.

I am tired of rooms where men speak softly about the dangers that decide my future while I stand outside gathering sticks like some sheltered little fool in a fairy tale.

So, I lift my chin.

“Then tell me who she is.”

Lucian’s eyes search mine.

A muscle tightens in his cheek.

“Inside,” he says again.

The word is quieter this time.

Worse.

Because this time it is not only an order.

It’s a warning.

I glance past him at the cabin, then at the men watching us, then at the woods beyond.

The invisible line.

The one I crossed by inches and somehow turned into a cliff.

Fine.