Page 12 of His Eternal Temptation

Lane fucking hated Rowan for believing it.

“Going through all this trouble lends your story credibility. And gaining my trust gives you a chance to do whatever you’re actually planning.”

Credibility? What he was actually planning?

Lane’s fist clenched, nails digging into his palm. “Okay, say there’s a plan. There isn’t. But let’s pretend. In your mind, someone cursed me near to death on the off chance you’d initiate a blood exchange to save me? After I dragged my ass across an entire neighborhood to find you? Seems like a shitty bet. If that were the plan, the curse would have been built for it. Built to spread and hurt you, or built to put me in danger, but not kill me if infiltration was the aim. Which it isn’t. I’d have left by now if I could!”

Rowan didn’t reply. Fine. Lane had had enough. Nothing would change Rowan’s mind, and his opinion didn’t have to matter. Once Nicole worked out a counter curse, Lane would leave and never look back.

“I’m exhausted.” He turned away and lay on the couch, curling in on himself.

If Rowan wanted to sit at his desk until the wee hours of the morning, concocting stories about treachery, then he was welcome to. What did Lane care? Rowan obviously wasn’t concerned with anyone but himself.

Lane’s throat burned. He was overcome with the sudden urge to cry, but swallowed it. He’d nearly died twice and had no one in the world who cared. He was utterly alone.

FOUR

ROWAN

Rowan stared at Lane’s huddled form. He was too bulky to sleep on the narrow couch, his legs too long to stretch out. Rowan was an ass for treating him this way after he nearly died.

But he didn’t know what to make of the night. Lane wasn’t trustworthy. Did that mean his appearance was a precisely executed plan? Or a plan at all?

No. Rowan could admit to himself that Lane had a point.

If Rowan were the real target and the curse a ruse, the spell would have been constructed differently, and if Rowan wasn’t the target, it was plausible Lane had spied on the Hillmans for exactly the reasons he claimed, and their plot against Rowan had come as a surprise.

Just because Lane was a habitual spy didn’t mean he was spying on Rowan again, and being a liar didn’t mean everything he said was untrue.

Still, it was best to confirm his story. Rowan shot off a series of texts to Cecile, detailing the situation and requesting she corroborate as many of Lane’s claims as possible. With the vast network Cecile maintained throughout the city and beyond, there wasn’t much she couldn’t find out.

If tonight was nothing more than Lane claimed, there would be no harm done once Nicole countered the curse, and he went on his way. After Lane left, Rowan could deal with the Hillmans and keep an eye on the Blackburns, in case Marshall wasn’t as shocked by his ally’s supposed hidden plans as Lane hoped.

And if things weren’t as Lane claimed, Rowan had to be on his guard.

He didn’t want to think deeply about his desire for Lane to be telling the truth. It was practical and pointed to the smoothest outcome, that was all there was to it.

But if Lane wasn’t lying about the events that brought him here, why throw in the lie denying he’d been a seducing little spy? Was it nothing but a bruised ego? There couldn’t be an alternate explanation to what happened at that party, could there? Rowan was a fool to hope so, just as he was a fool to hope for an apology if Lane were ashamed of previous behavior.

Too bad Rowan’s foolishness was nothing new tonight.

His feelings for Lane were as ill-advised as ever, and yet a hot seed of shame festered in his gut as he listened to Lane’s careful, choked breaths, his broad shoulders shaking slightly as if he were doing his best not to break down into sobs.

Dammit, why did Rowan have to care?

He went over to the couch. “Get up. You need rest and can’t sleep like that. I don’t expect Nicole to have anything for us in short order, so you might as well get comfortable.”

Lane twisted around. There were dark circles under his eyes that Rowan hadn’t noticed before. “Why’d we come here if you don’t want me lying on your couch?”

“I needed to check something,” Rowan lied. “Now I’ve finished, and there are proper places to sleep on this floor, not involving my nice leather furniture.”

A few coven members lived on site, and there was usually a vacant room or two available for members to use on short notice. Rowan didn’t like the idea of being closed in one of those small rooms with Lane. He probably wouldn’t like it either, but at least he could stretch his legs.

Lane got stiffly to his feet. Damn, he looked terrible. He wasn’t even wearing a jacket, and the night had been too cold for a mortal to go without.

“Where’s your coat?”

Lane’s brow furrowed. “It got torn off in the struggle. Lost my phone too. It had the recording I needed to prove to my father that the Hillmans were lying.”