CHAPTER 8 LYRA
LYRA
A fter a lengthy, ocean-side chicken fight—during which, remarkably, no one got wet or injured—came the lighting of the bonfire.
By that point, Grayson and Jameson were nowhere to be seen, and Lyra was starting to suspect that there was no challenge forthcoming on this beach tonight, no hint to be won for the game to come.
This was just a part of the experience, a memory in the making.
As the first flames began to catch, Savannah took up position beside Lyra. The resemblance between Grayson and his half sister really was remarkable, and as the bonfire surged, Savannah spoke in her brother’s even tone. “He won’t choose you.”
“Excuse me?” Lyra said.
“Grayson,” Savannah replied, her voice high and clear and utterly certain.
“Part of you is already falling into the Hawthorne trap, believing in all of this, thinking about what it would be like to be a part of it, to be one of them.” Savannah paused, giving Lyra a chance to deny that—though not much of one.
“But you need to know, when all is said and done, when it matters most, Grayson won’t choose you. ”
“I’m not asking him to,” Lyra retorted.
“Yet. You’re not asking him to choose you yet .” Savannah stared through the flames at Avery, who was laughing with Xander and Nash. “You’ll save yourself some heartache if you realize going in that he’ll choose them every time. He’ll choose her .”
Avery. Lyra thought about the heiress telling her not to hurt Grayson.
“She’s not what you think,” Savannah warned, and without waiting for a response, without so much as allowing for one, she turned and walked away.
Lyra just stood there blinking for a moment. What the hell was that?
“I’d watch out for Savannah, if I were you.”
Lyra turned toward the owner of that voice—Brady. His locs were tied back, and his thick-rimmed glasses might have made him look unassuming had it not been for the way his armor accented his strong, muscular build.
“It’s a competition,” Lyra replied. “Pretty sure that means I should be watching out for everyone.” Fun and games aside— bonfires and chicken fights and sunsets aside—they were all here to win. She cut to the chase. “I’m Lyra. You’re Brady. We haven’t technically met.”
“Lyra.” Brady said her name wrong, the way Lyra’s stranger of a father had during their one and only meeting.
Lie-ra. “It’s a constellation, you know.
” Brady studied her like he was reading some kind of esoteric book.
“The constellation Lyra contains one of the brightest stars ever visible to those of us on Earth—southern hemisphere, northern sky.”
Southern hemisphere. Lyra knew next to nothing about her biological father, but she knew he’d claimed whatever heritage suited him, many of them South American.
“My name is Lyra,” she told Brady flatly. Leer-a.
“It’s possible I know too much about constellations,” Brady admitted. He inclined his head toward the night sky, and Lyra found herself doing the same. “I know a lot about a lot of things,” he continued. “I could be a useful ally to you in phase two.”
“Careful with that one, Ms. Kane.” Rohan appeared out of nowhere. “He left Gigi Grayson bleeding on the rocks. Anything in the name of the win, isn’t that right, Mr. Daniels?”
“Divide and conquer.” Brady met Rohan’s gaze. “An expected strategy.” With one last glance at Lyra, he made his way to the other side of the fire.
Lyra preempted Rohan before he could even try to get inside her head: “Don’t.”
“Wasn’t planning to.” Rohan had a charmer’s smile. “You might ask yourself, though: Where is your Mr. Hawthorne?”