Page 73 of Coveted

“You’re afraid I fucking see you.” His eyes drill into mine, like he needs me to understand. “You’re afraid of someone knowing who you are. I do, Sadie. I see who you really are.”

My face flames. “No, you don’t.”

It’s true that he makes me feel like he has X-ray vision when he looks at me. And it does scare me, maybe even for the reason he says.

But he doesn’t know me. He might think he does, but he doesn’t.

For a second, I think he’ll push back. His eyes flash with something that could just as easily be malice as passion.

Then his face shutters, like he decided he’s already shown me too much of himself.

His cold armor returns, his eyes like chips of ice. “Are you going to the Heritage Gala next week?”

Feeling whiplash from his abrupt shutdown, I take a moment to answer.

“Maybe,” I say. “Juliette mentioned it. Why?”

“Because if you attend, it’s a security risk.” Lucan raises his brows like it’s obvious. “The gala’s in Ember Falls. That’s where the killer attacked you last time.”

I shrug. “I’ll see how much homework I have. My creative writing professor is kicking our butts.”

His cool gaze turns thoughtful. “You’re really crazy about writing. You’re always scribbling in your notebook, even when you’re done with homework.”

“Creepy that you know that, but yes.”

“Tell me why you like it.” He taps the balcony railing with his knuckle. “I want to know.”

“Why?” I ask, still defensive.

“Because I just do.”

“You tell me. I thought you were the expert on my inner world.”

A brief smile crosses his mouth. “Fuck. Fine. Listen up, smartass. I’ll tell you why you write.”

He points at my chest like he’s making an accusation. “There’s so much stuff in you that it overflows. You need to put your stuff somewhere. You don’t trust people enough to give it to them directly. So you make up stories with the stuff and put it on the page. You give it to people that way. It’s how you connect with your fellow humans.”

The defiant expression slides from my face as I realize how transparent I am.

Lucan watches me in amusement, while I do mental gymnastics to deny what he said. Arguments form and die in my throat.

Eventually, I turn my head in defeat and laugh.

“That was easy,” I say. “Writers are all the same.”

His brows draw together. “You’re lucky to have writing as an escape.”

I nod slowly. “What do you have?”

“Hunting people for sport, apparently.”

I smile. “You’re a business major, right?”

“I’m the heir to Hale Enterprises. What else would I study except business?”

“Have you ever wanted to be anything else?”

“Nope. Have you?”