34. Lucian #2
All the dangerous stuff.
She’s not the only one scared by the extent of her emotions.
All of us come with our damage. Ronan, with his insecurity about whether he’s wanted for who he is or for his money, status, or last name.
Silas with never having a home or a place he has ever truly felt like he belonged.
And me with my truckload of emotional damage, never letting anyone get close… until her.
“Sweetheart,” Ronan begins, waiting until she faces him.
When she stares up at him, with those soft, doe-eyes, he offers her a small smile.
I can see the affection he feels for her even from the other side of the limo.
“Unless you ask us for space, you are done doing anything alone.” He glances my and Silas’s way before focusing back on our girl.
“None of us are sitting in this limo because we’re killing time until graduation.
” His thumb brushes over her knuckles. “We’re here because we chose you. ”
Silence settles over the limo.
Wren stares at him. At all of us. Like she’s trying to figure out whether we’re serious. Whether she can trust what she’s hearing.
Ronan’s expression doesn’t waver.
Neither does mine.
Beside her, Silas flips to a fresh page.
We’re not going anywhere.
Her breath catches, and for the first time since she climbed into the limo, some of the tension leaves her shoulders.
Good.
I am officially done with seeing that look in our girl’s eyes. The one that says she’s waiting for the floor to disappear beneath her. Waiting for the catch. The other shoe to drop.
A tightness spreads across my chest because I know exactly what that feels like. I’ve spent most of my life waiting for the catch. Unable to trust when life is going well. Questioning every act of kindness. Never letting anyone close enough to wreck me.
Then Wren happened.
Somewhere between late-night conversations, hockey games, paint-covered apartments, and watching her slowly start to believe in herself again…
…I fell in love with Gwendolyn Winslow, and for the first time in my life, leaving isn’t what I want.
The realization hits harder than it should.
Ours.
Mine too, but not only mine. Ours.
And maybe the thought of sharing her should bother me, but it doesn’t. It just makes me want to see her surrounded by us. Protected by us. Wanted by us so thoroughly that no one in that room can mistake what she means.
Wren swallows. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re planning something.”
I grin slowly. “I’m always planning something.”
Ronan mutters something, but I ignore him. “Right now, I’m thinking how to show you exactly what you mean to us without ruining your makeup or destroying your dress.”
Her lips part in shock, but I don’t miss the way her eyes darken with need.
Fuck, that’s hot. And totally the wrong thing to say, based on the sudden tightness at the front of my pants.
…Or maybe it was precisely the right thing to say.
Flicking a glance toward Silas and Ronan, I see the same need rolling off them.
My blood heats.
I lean forward and hold out my hand. “Come here.”
Slipping her hand into mine, I tug her across the narrow space until she’s between my knees, one hand braced on my shoulder for balance as the limo glides through the dark.
I look up at her.
She looks down at me.
Neither of us says anything.
I slide my hands carefully over her hips, feeling the fine fabric beneath my palms. “This dress is going to be a problem tonight.”
I lean in, pressing my mouth against the curve of her waist through the dress. Her fingers tighten on my shoulder.
“Lucian,” she whispers.
There it is. That tiny warning in my name. The one that never actually means stop.
I drag my mouth higher, stopping just beneath her ribs. “Tell me not to.”
She doesn’t.
Ronan exhales slowly behind her. Silas watches with his jaw tight, eyes dark and fixed on the way Wren’s body softens beneath my touch.
I press one last kiss to her stomach before looking up at her. “This is me behaving.”
Her laugh comes out breathless. “God help us all.”
I grin and tug her down carefully onto my lap, mindful of the dress, even though every instinct I have wants to ruin it.
She settles over me, knees on either side of my thighs. The sound Ronan makes in response is barely audible, but I hear it. So does she.
Her eyes flick toward him. Then Silas.
The flush on her cheeks deepens.
“You like that?” I murmur close to her ear. “Knowing they’re watching?”
Her breathing changes, growing deeper and heavier.
“Lucian,” Ronan warns.
I brush my lips along Wren’s jaw. “Relax, Captain. I’m not messing up her dress before the main event.”
Wren’s hands slide into my hair, and she smirks down at me. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet.”
“And yet,” she whispers.
Then she kisses me. It’s not soft. There’s no hesitation. She kisses me like she wants to forget where we’re going. Like she wants the limo to keep driving forever so we never have to step into that room full of polished smiles and hidden knives.
I kiss her back the same way because I know exactly what it is to dread walking into a place where people only see the version of you they invented. I know what it is to be judged before you open your mouth. I know what it is to want to bite before anyone gets close enough to hurt you.
My arms lock around her waist.
The other two crowd closer, Silas’s hand sliding up her back to steady her from behind while Ronan’s fingers brush her thigh where her dress has slipped.
A soft sound breaks from her mouth into mine, and every ounce of restraint I claimed to have starts to fracture.
I feel the limo begin to slow beneath me.
Ronan glances toward the tinted window. “We’re here.”
Of course we fucking are.
Wren stills in my arms, and I breathe out a frustrated sigh.
“To be continued,” I tell her, ensuring she can see that I mean it. That dress of hers is not making it back to her apartment in one piece.
Flashing me a quick smile, she plants a too-quick kiss on my lips before slipping from my lap, fixing her dress as the limo comes to a stop.
“Let’s get this show on the road.” Ronan looks at each of us, lingering the longest on Wren. He waits for her to give him a nod, a silent I’m ready, before he pushes open the door and climbs out. Immediately, he slips into polished politician-son mode.
Silas follows, silent and composed, offering Wren his hand.
But I keep hold of her for one second longer.
“You can do this, Little Moth.”
She draws in a slow breath. Then her spine straightens. Her chin lifts.
The nervous girl vanishes beneath something sharper. Something emerald and glowing and quietly lethal.
“I know.”
And fuck me.
There she is.
Our serpent.