Chapter 20
Sadie
Clara addresses me over the gala’s classical music. “Would you actually date Lucan?”
“It’s not like he’s asked,” I say. “He seems to want to control my every movement, not date me.”
“How romantic.” Juliette toasts with her flute. “Don’t forget he smeared his blood on your face too.”
“Only the second wildest thing he did to her that night,” says Clara.
Wild is one word for what happened on the rooftop. The experience of going down on Lucan feels like a dream to me now. A vivid, filthy, mortifying dream.
What disturbs me the most is how turned on he made me. Ever since, I lie awake at night, plagued by it. His fingers tangled in my hair, the glide of his shaft against my tongue, the hot propulsion of his cum down my throat.
I drink more champagne. “I shouldn’t have told you guys.”
“I’m afraid it was obvious what the two of you were doing.” Juliette pats my arm. “We knew as soon as we opened the door.”
I groan. “Great. So I really did look as bad as I thought.”
“Not bad,” says Clara kindly. “Unkempt, in a very specific sort of way.”
Lucan stands alone in the gala crowd, glowering at us.
Does he know what we’re discussing? God, I hope he can’t lip-read.
“Whatever you want to do, we support you,” says Juliette.
The trouble is, I don’t know what I want.
In the heat of the moment, I felt lust for Lucan. There’s no way I can deny it.
But succumbing to an attraction to a man like him is a recipe for disaster. Once I’m caught in his web, I can’t imagine escaping unscathed.
“It’s his sense of entitlement that bothers me so much,” I say. “Why does he assume he’s in charge?”
“Because he is.” Clara shrugs. “His family is. It’s all he’s ever known.”
Champagne tingles through my bloodstream, dampening my inhibitions just enough to make bad ideas appealing.
“Maybe I need to teach him a lesson,” I say, swigging more champagne.
My friends exchange glances.
“As long as you understand that the lesson he learns will probably be that he needs better control over you,” says Juliette. “You’re fighting the effects of a lifetime of people blindly obeying him.”
I place my drained champagne flute on a tray. “I’m game.”
Juliette nibbles her lip. “Is it bad that I want her to succeed?”
“Yeah, I do too,” says Clara. “I’ve never seen anybody get one over on him.”
“That’s all the encouragement I need,” I say.
I have to rid myself of this helpless, frustrated feeling. He must learn that he can’t control everything I do.
“Godspeed,” says Juliette. “And be careful.”
Before I chicken out, I weave around the room to find a suitable target.
My plan is simple. I’ll flirt with another man in front of Lucan and the gala guests. He’ll see I don’t belong to him, and there’ll be nothing he can do about it without publicly shattering his highly controlled, all-powerful facade.
As I pass through the wafts of expensive perfume and melodic conversations, I don’t look in Lucan’s direction, because that would defeat the point.
I relax my features like I don’t feel the weight of his attention dragging across my skin.
Like I don’t know exactly where he’s standing without checking.
Okay, focus. Find a hot, age-appropriate guy to flirt with.
I don’t want to accidentally hit on a classmate’s dad or a university faculty member.
As if summoned by the thought, the Darkbloom student advisor steps in my path.
Chuck Fairchild looks right at home among the elite of Ember Falls, with his white-tie tuxedo and wholesome good looks.
“Miss Marlowe,” he says. “How wonderful to cross paths with you.”
“Thank you,” I say, flexing my fingers nervously. “And you. The gala’s fantastic, isn’t it?”
Please get out of the way, Chuck. I have a controlling heir to enrage.
Chuck raises his palms to the glimmering ceiling. “Darkbloom is heavily involved with the Heritage Foundation and the gala. We’ve been helping with preparations here at the museum.”
“Well, it’s lovely,” I say. “Very pretty.”
His expression turns serious, the friendly smile replaced by a pinched brow. “How are you doing? First you found poor Parker’s body, and I heard you were attacked in Ember Falls?”
“Yeah.” I wave a hand. “It’s fine. I mean, not fine, obviously. But I’m okay.”
“I pray so.” His eyes scan my face. “You know, students sometimes find themselves in troubled waters they can’t navigate alone. I can only help them if they let me in. I do wish you would.”
“I appreciate that,” I say, my mind firmly on Lucan.
Chuck lowers his voice. “Do you have any idea who’s behind these attacks? Any leads?”
“The police know everything I do,” I say, shrugging. “Please excuse me.”
Running my eyes over the guests, I realize there’s no shortage of candidates for my scheme. The hall brims with polished, well-dressed, indecently handsome men.
A guy with auburn hair and an easy smile ends a conversation with an older couple. As he turns away from them, I continue forward, so it almost looks like we run into each other by chance. My hands collide with his torso and I nearly step on his foot.
“Sorry!” I say. “My fault.”
His smile widens when he realizes I’m holding his gaze. “Not at all.”
“Hi,” I say.
We exchange names, polite words regarding majors, mildly intriguing facts about the event.
He seems like a perfectly great guy who would never order me to my knees and command that I swallow his cum.
I should like him for that.
As if by accident, I let my hand brush his sleeve. I laugh at something that isn’t funny. While other guests move around us, I lean in closer than necessary.
I shouldn’t be thinking about Lucan. Not when I’m trying to prove how insignificant he really is. Yet there’s a pull at the back of my awareness, forceful and insistent, in the shape of him.
He’s watching me. I can feel it as surely as I feel the fabric of the dress on my skin.
“Would you like to dance?” asks the guy.
“Sure,” I say.
Even as I accept, I know it’s probably a mistake. This guy doesn’t deserve to be on Lucan’s radar just because I want to prove a point.
But I’m in too deep now.
So even though I feel a creeping dread as the guy takes my hand and guides me to where the music is louder and the lights are lower, I go with him.
We barely make it two steps when the guy falters. Since I’m looking down, I gently shunt into his back.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping next to him.
His grip on my hand loosens. “Nothing, I just—”
But whatever he sees makes him change his mind about dancing with me, fast.
Lucan stands directly in the guy’s way, giving him a dead-eyed glare.
The guy’s smile becomes fixed, and he quickly sidesteps me.
“Actually,” he says, “I just remembered I, um, promised someone I’d—”
“Dance?” I ask.
His laughter is thin and forced. “Yeah. Sorry.”
And like that, he’s gone, as insubstantial as a memory.
Renewed frustration kills my champagne glow. That’s all Lucan has to do? Shoot a single glance? I didn’t think it’d be that simple for him.
My friends were right. All I did was reinforce his belief that he controls everything.
I give Lucan a dirty look and a middle finger.
Although his grim expression remains unaltered, something changes in his eyes. A knowingness, as if reminding me that I started this.
He moves through the guests toward me, and I hold my ground, not stepping back or looking away.
“Why were you speaking to that sock puppet?” asks Lucan with a snarl, like he’s been chewing on the words since I locked eyes with the guy.
“Because I felt like it. And he’s not a sock puppet. He’s a grad student of, um, something very impressive,” I finish pathetically.
Lucan thrusts his finger at my doomed flirting partner. “He could be my cousins’ murderer, for all you know. You should watch who you talk to.”
“And you should watch how you talk to me,” I say. “You don’t get to decide what’s best, where I’m concerned.”
“Maybe not, but I do get to decide who gets close to you.”
“Let me guess.” My voice drips with condescension. “Nobody’s allowed.”
“Not without my approval and a thorough background check. I thought we established that.”
I shake my head. “Right, and that’s definitely just for my safety. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that you’re a controlling psychopath.”
Lucan runs both hands through his midnight hair, like he’s having to work harder than usual to contain himself.
I hate how the gesture makes me think about him threading my hair with his fingers as he pushed into my throat.
“You can rebel against me all you want,” he says. “I promised to protect you and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
I tilt my head. “Whether I like it or not?”
“You’re finally getting it,” he says.
“You missed my sarcasm.”
Lucan leans down. “I don’t miss a fucking thing. Keep that in mind the next time you’re fake-giggling with some lesser version of me.”
“Lesser version of you?” My mouth drops open in disbelief. “Your confidence truly knows no limits.”
“Why wouldn’t I be confident?” He shrugs at the crowd. “None of them have done what I’ve done.” His eyes fall to my mouth. “Or been where I’ve been.”
Shame seethes deep in my gut. I swear, making me squirm with discomfort is a sport to him.
“What makes you think my laughter was fake?” I ask, changing the subject.
A smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth. “You have a tell.”
“What is it?” I demand.
The thought of Lucan having that kind of knowledge about me is worrying. Fake laughter is harmless enough, but I have other, bigger secrets to keep. What if he figures them out? I’m screwed.
“I’ll take that information to my grave,” he says.
“Don’t tempt me into putting you there,” I say.
“As if you could.”
Before he sends me over the edge and I hit him or kiss him or some horrible combination of the two, I slip alone through the knots of people.
I need to get away from him, I need to breathe. It’s so hot in here.
Passing security personnel at a velvet rope, I enter the labyrinthine corridors of the museum. Within a few corners, I’m engulfed by sweet silence. I walk as far and fast as possible, while cool air ripples the silky fabric of my gown and skims my legs.
I purchased the dress shortly after I started my brief stint at community college, despite money being incredibly tight.
Mom talked me into it because I never bought anything for myself except notebooks and pens.
I hoped the dress would make me feel like a normal young woman with a life, but I’m beginning to realize no piece of clothing can do that.
And normal is overrated anyway. Lucan’s right about that, I guess.
My heels click over the stone floors, and lanterns cast pools of shivering amber light. An autumn chill presses at the windows, clouding the corners of the glass panes. Since the calendar clicked over into October during the weekend, every night has become distinctly colder than the last.
The more distance I put between Lucan and me, the slower my heart beats. All I need is a minute where he’s not looking at me like he knows everything about me.
He’s like a virus. A tall, menacing, fever-inducing contagion that enters your bloodstream and tries to take you over.
Deep in the museum, I find a gallery where a traveling exhibition lies quiet and dark for the night.
I feel like a rule-breaker when I go inside, even though I’m just looking at medieval statues and suits of armor.
Metal from the armor catches the filtered moonlight, throwing it over the shadowed room in dull, fractured glints.
“You don’t come alive at night, do you?” I ask a spear-bearing stone warrior as I pass.
Placing my beaded bag on the edge of a display case, I inspect my reflection in the shiny black glass of an exhibit piece.
My cheeks are flushed, my eyes are too bright, and a lock of hair has come loose.
“Pull it together,” I mutter to myself.
I came tonight knowing Lucan would be here. If I’m going to survive him, I need to find a way not to let him throw me off-kilter with his every look and action. By provoking him just now, I played into his desire to bring me close.
Drawing a steadying breath, I press my cool palms to my face and shut my eyes briefly.
When I open them, a figure lurks behind me in the black glass, and it wasn’t there a few seconds ago.