Page 97 of Burned

He moves like a man claiming a vow from my body. Each thrust pulls me farther from Caleb’s hallway and deeper into this room, this moment, this choice.

When I come again, I say Lucian’s name like it’s the only word left.

He follows, face buried against my neck, body shaking as he holds me so tightly that I feel the beat of his heart against mine.

For a long time after, we stay tangled on the sofa, sweat cooling on our skin, my cheek pressed to his shoulder.

I smile faintly against his skin. I close my eyes. For a while, there is only us.

Then a knock sounds lightly at the door.

Lucian’s body turns to stone.

I sigh. “Please don’t murder whoever that is.”

He kisses my forehead, then carefully eases away, covers me with the blanket from the back of the sofa, and reaches for his trousers.

“Who is it?” he calls.

Rafe’s voice comes through the door. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Lucian goes to the door and opens it a crack so he can speak with Rafe.

Rafe lowers his voice, but I hear what he says. “Lucian, you can’t put it off any longer.”

Lucian looks at me.

“Aye, Bachman. You need to come. Now.” It’s Bayne’s voice now. “The time has come.”

“Put off what?” I ask, pulling the blanket to my shoulders. “What is it time for?”

Lucian doesn’t answer.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LUCIAN

I don’t goto Isobel immediately.

That is my first victory.

Small, perhaps. Invisible to anyone who does not understand the particular violence inside me. But it matters.

I dress slowly while Erin fixes her sweater, cheeks flushed, eyes still swollen from crying, body wrapped in a blanket like she can hide the fact that I know every inch of her. She sits on the sofa watching me as if waiting for the old version of me to return.

The one who storms out.

I want to find Carlos and carve Caleb’s name into his bones. I want Marina Vale dragged here by her hair. I want every file burned. Every man who looked at Erin’s pain as leverage put in the ground.

Instead, I button my shirt. One button. Then another.

Erin notices. Her mouth softens.

“You’re doing very well,” she says.

I look at her.

She blinks. “What? I’m being supportive.”