Page 20 of His Eternal Temptation

“Why not join the coven?”

Hunter pulled away, turning to tidy away the blood samples. “It’s complicated, and not a Rowan problem.”

“Fair enough. Sorry for prying.”

“Don’t worry about it. The whole ‘who’s in whose coven’ is noise I don’t need. Lone witches have it figured out, if you ask me.”

“Maybe.”

Lane was technically a lone witch after his father’s ultimatum. He hadn’t left his coven so much as he’d been exiled.

If Rowan found out, would he see this as another of Lane’s lies? Deception hadn’t been his aim. It had simply been too painful to admit. This separation from his coven wasn’t like the years they’d lived harmoniously apart. Lane wasn’t a Blackburn anymore, and for the first time, he wondered if he wanted to be.

SIX

ROWAN

Rowan listened to Lane and Hunter chatter from the other side of the clinic door. Who was the spy now?

He ran a hand through his hair, antsy when stillness usually came naturally. One sleepless night shouldn’t have affected him. Vampires could go days before lack of rest caught up to them, and yet, he felt worn out. Perhaps it was mental exhaustion. Lane was spreading lies about the past again, and Rowan was tired of it. Especially after he’d seemed so open over breakfast.

Lane must want Hunter as a friend, an ally, and was guarding his image. Hunter was a smart choice now that Lane knew he wasn’t a Valero. Not that devious indeed. Unless Lane was merely frightened and scrambling? Desperate for someone to see him in a positive light because it was the only way he believed he’d survive?

Rowan groaned.

Yes, this endless second-guessing was why he was exhausted. How long could he put up with it? Standing on opposite sides of a door was as much privacy as he’d get until Nicole broke the curse.

He was trapped, and there was nothing he could do. His chest tightened. Lane was poised to see too much. Hear things he shouldn’t. Even if he hadn’t arrived intending to spy, he’d gained access to things Rowan would never share with a Blackburn.

The tightness in his chest grew until something tugged deep within, a feeling he hadn’t had in a century.

Rowan went deathly still. No. It couldn’t be. But the tug persisted, his sire’s dark presence looming. How? He was dead. Rowan clenched his fist, and his knuckles cracked.

The feeling vanished. Of course it did. Cris was nothing but a memory.

But why was Rowan feeling the echo of his long-dead presence now?

He glared over his shoulder as if he could see through the wall. Damn Lane for mentioning his sire and pushing his mind down this path.

The scent of smoke tinged the air. Now Rowan was sure he was dreaming. Reminiscing. Having a flashback. Whatever you wanted to call it. Memories Rowan did his best to avoid swam to the surface: burning Cris to ash, the pain of going against his sire-bond, the fear.

“Thanks, Hunter.” Lane emerged from the clinic and frowned at Rowan. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing. Are you finished?”

“Yeah, all good, other than the curse. Hey, I was thinking I could help Nicole. I’m probably no match for her in counterspells, but it can’t hurt to try.”

“It can if I’m stuck in the witch room all day.”

Lane’s face closed off, and Rowan belatedly noted hope there. Hope he’d crushed like a bug.

“Rowan, there you are.” Felix strode toward them, scowling. “We’ve had another one.”

Lane crossed his arms and turned his back. To give the illusion of privacy, or was he mad?

Rowan tore his attention away. It didn’t matter. “What are you talking about, Felix?”

“Another feral vampire tore through an apartment building in the Arts District last night.”