Page 74 of Coveted

“No,” I say.

“See? We’re more alike than you think.” His eyes drag over my lips, making my pulse jump. “We both only want one thing.”

My sensible side knows I should go and find my friends. They might be worried about me. Since we have no phones, I should’ve told them where I was going.

But something keeps the soles of my shoes glued to the roof.

Lucan has tethered me to him invisibly, somewhere behind my ribcage. I should cut the tether, and I will.

Soon.

Right now, every molecule of space between us buzzes.

I notice how his large hands look gripping the railing. He flexes his fingers, as if he’s thinking about wrapping them around my neck.

Everything about this is wrong. I’m a toy to him. A means to fulfill his lust for power, and to catch his cousins’ killer. I need to break the tension simmering between us before it breaks me.

Clearing my throat, I latch onto an unsexy topic. “You know, there’s a bar in Briarvale. The owner does these open-mic nights at the bar. Poetry, music, stories, all that. She asked me to take a slot. It took me months to work up the courage. I was shaking like a leaf when I stepped out.”

As I talk, Lucan leans in. I swear he doesn’t blink once. He just absorbs everything, like my words are nutrients to him.

It’s off-putting to be listened to so intently.

It shouldn’t be—it should feel good.

But dark cogs move behind Lucan’s eyes while I speak. I can see them.

What on earth is he thinking?

Whatever it is, I have the distinct impression his thoughts would either scare or humiliate me.

His jet-black brows raise. “Go on.”

I blow out a breath. “My performance was horrible. I read a sonnet, of all things. I don’t know what possessed me. There was this guy sitting near the front, drinking with his friends. He wore a fedora. I’ll always remember that. He heckled me the whole time. Wouldn’t let up.”

Lucan smiles like the devil. “Give me his name and I’ll take my sniper rifle out for a walk.”

“Ha-ha, not funny.” I slap his hard bicep and immediately regret it, because his grin only widens. “Even if I knew his name, I wouldn’t tell you.” I shrug. “No need for vengeance anyway. The guy was mugged in an alleyway after the show. He lost several teeth. Blood everywhere.”

“A happy ending then.”

“Only if you’re a sicko,” I say.

“So I’m a sicko,” says Lucan.

“You said it, not me.”

“Fuck that guy. Do what makes you happy.”

“I’m trying. Does your career path make you happy?”

“Career path.” He snickers. “Okay, Miss Student Advisor. You sound like Chuck Fairchild.”

“I’m trying to keep the conversation G-rated.”

“Now why would you want to do that?” he asks.

“Because you scare me. Remember?”