“How do you know that?”
“I was trapped in darkness and silence, but my real curse was to remain aware of my punishment.”
Ruger’s expression twisted into something between sympathy and confusion. Sure, he knew curses existed, but he had never heard of such a powerful and long-lasting one.
“Punishment?”
Luka dipped his head.
“Why were you punished?”
A low, rumbling growl vibrated through his companion’s chest again. “For existing.”
It had to be the most disconcerting conversation Ruger had ever had. The fact that he was engaged in said discussion with a naked male who had been encased in stone only moments ago certainly didn’t help.
As fantastical as the story sounded, however, he had no reason not to believe Luka. First off, he had witnessed it with his own eyes. Beyond that, and despite knowing nothing about him, he was inclined to trust the guy.
He just didn’t know why.
People he worked with had described him as organized and detail oriented. Casual acquaintances considered him fastidious. Those who knew him well—and could get away with it—called him an asshole.
But they would all agree that he didn’t trust easily.
What made Luka different? Why did he feel so…familiar?
“We should probably find you some clothes.” And someone who knew a lot more about this kind of stuff than he did. Someone like Skye Maddock. “How about you come down from there?”
Taking a deep breath, he shuffled forward a step and stretched his arm out, making sure every movement was careful and controlled.
Luka stared at his offered hand for a long time, his posture tense, and his expression unreadable. Then, just when the inertia started to feel uncomfortable, those long, slender fingers unfurled, and he reached back with painful slowness.
Several things happened in that moment.
The wind kicked up again, the breeze swirling around them and carrying the fragrance of lake water, changing leaves, and something dark, almost primal. It wasn’t a scent he recognized on a conscious level, but one that triggered something in him on an instinctual level.
A charge crackled through the air.
A shiver rushed up his back.
Time slowed.
And someone yelled his name from the top of the hill.
Chapter three
“Ruger!Ruger!”
Luka snapped his head up, his gaze narrowed on the intruder bounding toward them. His lips peeled back from his teeth, and a loud, guttural growl ripped from his throat. Overhead, ominous clouds gathered above the lake, darkening the sky again as thunder crashed with every streak of lightning.
He didn’t know where he was or how he had gotten there. He didn’t know exactly how much time had passed. Hell, he barely knew who he was anymore.
Right then, however, none of that mattered.
No longer cautious or hesitant, he moved with purpose as he grabbed Ruger’s wrist and jerked him forward, away from the coming threat. Moving with the fluidity of a predator, he leaped off the stone pedestal and sailed over Ruger’s head to land in front of him on the sandy bank.
Wings spread and shoulders rounded, he lowered into a defensive crouch, prepared to fight to the death to protect his mate. Although now that he had a clear view of the newcomer, he doubted that would be necessary.
The male stumbled to a stop several yards away, his brown eyes wide and fearful. Dressed in a pair of pristine white pants and a crisp black shirt, with his mousy brown hair combed neatly to one side, he looked…important. Not aristocracy, but certainly of a higher class.
