Page 50 of Coveted

That can’t be right though. Lucan would have any company he likes, whenever he likes. Rich and powerful men always do, don’t they?

Cormac comes around, holding the door while I step out.

“Thank you,” I say, swallowing my nerves.

Being alone with Lucan is scary enough, but being alone with him in this secluded, enormous manor? Panic-inducing.

“My pleasure,” says Cormac. “I’ll take you back to campus when you’re ready.” He gestures at the wide stairs. “I’ll escort you in, if you like.”

My grip on my bag loosens. “I would like that.”

Cormac lets me into what looks and feels like a grand museum. The kind where guards yell at you for daring to breathe too loudly.

The foyer is high and echoey, full of intertwining light and shadow.

Lucan’s relatives gaze down at me from oil paintings. I know they’re his family because they all share the same intimidating energy. Many have his piercing blue eyes.

“You’re welcome to sit.” Cormac points to a lounge under an angel statue. “The house staff will show you through. Or Mr. Hale will be along soon.”

“Thanks, Cormac,” I say.

I can manage sitting. That’s not so scary.

The front door shuts as the driver leaves, and the house falls eerily silent.

Settling on the lounge, I wonder if I should text Lucan now that I’m inside.

Zero household staff come along. No one does.

As the minutes tick by, I consider finding him myself. My indecision is interrupted by a clanking sound deep in the mansion.

I freeze, my knuckles white on my phone.

There’s another clank, followed by a muffled groan. Wishing I already had that pepper spray, I get to my feet.

Should I run outside? Look for Cormac or another staff member?

What if the killer came for Lucan? His cousins were already murdered for unknown reasons. He might be a target too.

A dull thud echoes through the high ceilings, forcing me to make up my mind.

Lucan’s a jerk with off-the-charts audacity, but I can’t listen to someone possibly being murdered and do nothing.

My body tingling, I follow the sounds along a hallway. The runner rug swallows my footsteps, allowing me to move quickly.

The metallic clanks grow louder, as do the pained groans.

Turning into another corridor, I feel like I should’ve left breadcrumbs to find my way out. This place is a maze.

Slowing my pace, I get ready to call the police. My thumb hovers over my phone as I inch through an open doorway.

Confusion hits me, because the room I’ve entered is nothing like the rest of the house.

Rubber flooring replaces marble. One wall is mirrored, and another is lined with racks of weights. High windows spill golden afternoon sunlight across the space.

At the center of the gym, Lucan’s working out.

He wears headphones, basketball shorts, sneakers, and nothing else except for sweat and his pumped, rippling muscles.