Chapter 12
Sadie
Twenty minutes later, a gilded gate looms at the entrance to Lucan’s family estate.
My nerves flare through my body. I seriously consider asking Cormac to turn the car around and drive me back to Darkbloom.
Cameras watch from stone pillars like modern-day gargoyles, swiveling as the car approaches. The Hale residence is well-guarded. No surprise there.
The gate swings open before Cormac even slows down.
I shuffle to the window for a better view, only to find the house isn’t visible yet. The driveway winds through acres of mature trees and manicured lawns. Crimson leaves glow like gems on the tree branches as autumn takes hold.
We encounter no other cars or people as we drive. Only a fox slinks through the long purple shadows.
Suddenly, a segment of neat evergreens seems to bend in a gale. Through the thick car windows, I hear whirring rotors.
A helicopter rises from the treetops like a bird taking flight, passing right over us and scattering leaves across the driveway.
It makes total sense that Lucan’s family has a helicopter.
As for me, I’ve never even been on a plane. My mom hadn’t either. When I was a kid, some of the earliest stories I wrote involved us flying away on wild adventures that we would never get to actually take.
The house appears in glimpses of pale stone, terraces, and tall windows. Then the trees fall away, revealing the entire mansion.
The marble columns, slate roof, and expansive wings spread across the perfectly green hill. The estate is so large it feels more like a private kingdom than a home.
Cormac glides the car into a circular driveway in front of the house.
“We made good time,” he says, glancing in the rearview mirror. “You’re earlier than expected.”
I peer at the mansion. “Should I wait?”
If I were early to anyone else’s home, I would text or call. Maybe knock on the door like a regular human.
But this palatial building feels as unapproachable as Lucan himself. Normal rules don’t seem to apply.
“You should go in, Miss Sadie,” says Cormac. “Never mind being early. It’ll do Mr. Hale good to have the company of the fair likes of you. But don’t tell him I said so.”
“You’re sweet,” I say, fumbling with my buckle.
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.
For a moment, my brain stops working. I just stand and look.
He’s utterly focused on lifting weights, his jaw firm and eyes cast downward. His bare, tanned shoulders are slick, and his dark hair is damp at the temples. Veins pop against his bulging biceps and forearms.
A bead of sweat trickles from between his pectorals and runs over his abs like water on a washboard. A very tanned washboard ending in a taut V-cut. His thighs and calves are well-built and defined.
Squaring up to the rack, Lucan rests a loaded barbell across his shoulders. Chalk dusts his palms where he grips the bar. He flexes his fingers against the steel and my stomach does an involuntary backflip.
God. God.
Stalkers shouldn’t be allowed to look this good. It’s an unfair predatory advantage.
As he lowers into a squat with controlled precision, the muscles in his back shift under his skin. He has muscle groups I never knew existed.
The amount of weight he lifts seems impossible. But he pushes up anyway, raising the bar with one smooth motion. Metal plates rattle softly as he locks the lift, before stepping forward to rack it.
Only then does he notice me in the darkened doorway, his focused eyes snapping to me.
For a split second, neither of us moves. I’m suddenly sharply aware that I’ve walked uninvited into his private space.
He acts first, pulling off the headphones. “You’re early.”
How can he be so cool all the time? Nothing about this situation seems to unsettle him.
Does he ever feel uncertain or uncomfortable about anything? Doesn’t seem like it. Is that a money thing or just a Lucan thing?
He grabs a towel to wipe his torso, while I force my gaze away. I don’t want him getting the wrong idea. His body may be conventionally perfect, but he’s still a huge creep.
He walks over, raising a brow. “See something you like, Sadie?”
My voice comes out too high. “No.”
“No?” Amusement darkens his eyes, as if nothing’s funnier to him than my clear discomfort. “You don’t like my body?”
“I wasn’t looking.”
He flicks the towel around his neck, holding both ends. “Maybe I need to get closer.”
“What you need is a shower and to put a shirt on.”
Lucan Hale can’t make me flustered just by existing. I refuse it.
“There’s a shower right here.” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “Want to join me?”
My cheeks burn. “You’re gross.”
“Yet you came to my house.”
“For a different reason.”
“Yeah, I know.” He rolls his eyes. “To get your hands on my weapons. I’ll deliver, don’t worry.”
I fold my arms. “I’m not worried.”
“Really?” He walks away. “Because you look mighty worked up about something. Can’t be me though.”
“You wish.”
When he disappears into the shower room, I rub my face like I’m trying to erase myself.
Why did I come here? Being alone with Lucan in his territory is a bad idea. It was a bad idea at Altar and it’s a bad idea now.
The trouble is, everywhere seems to be his territory.
Water rushes from inside the bathroom, steam billowing from the doorway like graveyard fog.
I wish I had stayed in the foyer. Of course he wasn’t being murdered. This place is a compound, and Lucan’s built like a superhero.
Too bad he’s got all the makings of a supervillain.
Within minutes, Lucan emerges damp from the shower. His onyx hair is slicked back and his black shirt clings to his muscles.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking anywhere except at his face.
“Ready for the armory?” he asks, strutting past me with almost disdainful confidence.
“I suppose,” I say, the hesitation in my voice revealing my nerves.
He leads me deeper into the house.
“I tried to delete the tracking app you put on my phone,” I say.
“Yeah?” he asks without turning around. “How did that go?”
I hear the smirk in his voice.
“I think you know,” I say, rolling my eyes at his back.
“I don’t feel guilty for guarding your life.”
“Lucan Hale doesn’t feel guilty. Least surprising thing ever.”
“Sadie Marlowe acting like she knows it all. Even less surprising.”
As he takes me down a set of concrete stairs, the walls seem to press in. I cling to the strap of my bag as if it might protect me.
Should I trust Lucan enough to let him bring me underground?
Definitely not.
But dangerous times call for dangerous measures.
At the bottom of the stairs, a cold-white bulb hums over Lucan’s head. The light transforms his chiseled features into severe angles.
I stay on the step above him and he’s still taller than me. The space feels so small and confined. There’s no escaping him.
His voice is barely above a murmur. “Last chance to back out.”
When I’ve come this far?
“I’m not backing out,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “So this is the armory?”
“This is the armory.”
A hint of what might be pride threads his voice. Or maybe it’s just sociopathy.
He presses his palm to a black rectangle next to the door, making the pad glow green. Metal spins and lurches inside the doorframe, rearranging to let us in. The door releases with a hiss.
I jump slightly when Lucan puts his hand on my back to coax me inside.