3. Lane #3
Realizing his crush on Rowan had been obvious was mortifying, but Lane’s feelings weren’t the reason he believed Rowan. Everything happening at the Bite Night party was consensual. He’d seen all the safety nets in place first-hand. He never would have made a move on Rowan otherwise.
Admittedly, he’d gotten carried away, riding the high of his relief. He could still picture Rowan lounging shirtless, his long hair falling loose around golden-brown shoulders. Beautiful. At ease. And ultimately uninterested in him.
Rowan’s refusal had been courteous, and Lane’s disappointment bearable.
He’d believed everything would work out when he’d gone to his father the next day and demanded they back out of the agreement with the Sherwood Coven.
Then his father had refused, their betrayal was discovered, and Rowan had assumed Lane had tried to fuck his way into learning his secrets.
It had been demoralizing.
Lane wanted nothing more than to explain, but how could he when Rowan saw history repeating itself?
Not the honey trapping precisely, but the deceit.
He’d never believe a word Lane said, but for some dumb reason, Lane still cared about Rowan’s opinion, and knowing Rowan thought ill of him filled him with shame.
“Where is your father at the moment?” Rowan asked, his cold tone jolting Lane from his memories.
“Oregon. Like I said, I wasn’t planning to enter your territory. My father has no idea I’m here.”
“Right. When does he expect you to return from the trip he didn’t send you on?”
“Don’t say it like that. Fuck. I can think for myself. He isn’t expecting me back. We fell out.” Lane’s throat burned, and he looked away.
“Over what?” Rowan betrayed no emotion, and it made Lane want to scream.
“Over the Hillmans. Father won’t listen. He demanded I show my loyalty to the Blackburn Coven, so I left.”
“What do you mean left?” Rowan sounded satisfyingly shocked.
“I don’t want to be part of another bullshit scheme.” Lane wasn’t saying more. The circumstances surrounding his departure hurt enough on their own without adding Rowan’s unforgiving opinions.
“So you aren’t returning to your father?”
Lane hated how skeptical he sounded. “I’ll go back even if he isn’t expecting me, but first I need proof that the Hillmans are lying. And I had it. Their aim to take you down is exactly what I need to expose their lies to my father. That’s why they tried to kill me.”
“Your father’s allegiance means that much?” Rowan’s brow raised. He sounded highly unconvinced.
“Screw you. The Blackburns aren’t nobodies.”
“Fine, but the Hillmans are nobodies; otherwise, I’d have heard of them.” Rowan drummed his fingers on the desk. “How did you even escape after they cursed you?”
“I didn’t. They dumped me in the river and drove off.”
Rowan scowled. “Leaving you in my territory could suggest they weren’t concerned you’d survive to warn me, which, according to you, they wouldn’t be, since you’ve claimed I didn’t factor into their motivations…
Your story seems to add up. Unless the Hillmans left you on my doorstep precisely so you had enough time to find me. ”
Lane’s blood boiled. “To pass on the curse, you mean?”
Rowan shrugged carelessly. Why the hell did that hurt so much?
Lane wanted to rip the infuriatingly calm look off his pretty face. “You think someone went through all this trouble to give you a curse that can’t even kill you?” All about him, wasn’t it? Lane was no one. A disposable tool to get to the man who mattered. Trash dumped in the river.
Lane fucking hated Rowan for believing it.
“Going through all this trouble lends your story credibility. And gaining my trust gives you a chance to do whatever you’re actually planning.”
Credibility? What he was actually planning?
Lane’s fist clenched, nails digging into his palm.
“Okay, say there’s a plan. There isn’t. But let’s pretend.
In your mind, someone cursed me near to death on the off chance you’d initiate a blood exchange to save me?
After I dragged my ass across an entire neighborhood to find you?
Seems like a shitty bet. If that were the plan, the curse would have been built for it.
Built to spread and hurt you, or built to put me in danger, but not kill me if infiltration was the aim.
Which it isn’t. I’d have left by now if I could! ”
Rowan didn’t reply. Fine. Lane had had enough. Nothing would change Rowan’s mind, and his opinion didn’t have to matter. Once Nicole worked out a counter curse, Lane would leave and never look back.
“I’m exhausted.” He turned away and lay on the couch, curling in on himself.
If Rowan wanted to sit at his desk until the wee hours of the morning, concocting stories about treachery, then he was welcome to. What did Lane care? Rowan obviously wasn’t concerned with anyone but himself.
Lane’s throat burned. He was overcome with the sudden urge to cry, but swallowed it. He’d nearly died twice and had no one in the world who cared. He was utterly alone.