This was going from spectacularly bad to horrifically horrible.
I didn’t want to name Laura because I couldn’t be responsible if he killed her. But if I said it was me...
“Did you hurt him to hurt me?” he breathed, pain aching behind his fury.
Whisper came to my side, headbutting my hand until I stroked him without thinking, the solid bulk of him pressing hot against my thigh.
I still couldn’t reply.
I stared at death and went absolutely speechless.
Lucien glowered at his panther.
Silence echoed between us as he studied the way Whisper purred—almost obnoxiously loud as if defending me. I opened my mouth to speak—to try to deflect blame from Laura and save myself, but Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
“Forget it.” His tone turned heavy and tired. “It wasn’t you.”
I stiffened. “Are you...will you make whoever did it pay?”
His hand fell and his head tipped up, his gaze locking wearily on mine.
He studied me long enough to make me lightheaded, before he finally sighed. “I told Whisper he has to fight his own battles. He can deal with whoever hurt him.” Turning in a whirl of black, he prowled toward his bedroom. “I’ve changed my mind. Leave me alone.”
Every part of me ached as Lucien vanished into his quarters and slammed the door with a resounding bang.
I sagged against the purring panther. “Well...” I forced a smile. “That went well.”
Whisper huffed as if I was the most ridiculous woman in the world.
He had a point.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
HE DIDN’T COME OUT OF HIS room until well past sunset.
Usually, I would’ve left by now. Grateful to have knocked off work and possessively hoarding the hours I had to snack, nap, and do my best to relax enough for my headaches to fade.
But...I’d stayed.
If I was honest, I hadn’t done much work. Not needing to behave under his watchful, suspicious gaze, I’d spent most of the day curled up in his usual place on the window seat, skimming the pile of books he’d been working through. I’d even managed a nap when Whisper squeezed himself between me and the window, smothering me with his warm, cosy bulk.
A lot of the day, I’d worried Lucien wasn’t well. That he was behind that door burning and hurting, too proud and stubborn to ask for help.
But...Whisper didn’t seem concerned, and I did my best to accept he must be okay.
“That’s for you, oversized kitty cat.” I plopped the huge stainless-steel bowl onto the floor, heavy with two slabs of steak I’d found in the fridge. I’d seared both sides—unsure if Whisper was used to cooked or raw and settled for somewhere in between.
The panther licked his muzzle, his huge paws scarily quiet as he stalked toward his food.
Turning to fill up two glasses with wine—plum this time—I almost dropped the bottle as I noticed Lucien leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, shoulder propped up against the frame. “What are you still doing here?” His voice was thick with scorn and snow, but his eyes lingered eagerly on the mushroom pasta I’d made an hour ago, waiting on the breakfast bar.
“You’re back.” I beamed a smile as if nothing strange was going on between us and grabbed the two glasses.
All day, I’d rehearsed what I would say and each time I’d found flaws and riddled myself with anxiety. I’d had to stop trying to foresee how tonight would go and hoped fate would intervene.
“Here.” Going to him, I offered up one of the glasses.
He studied me warily before accepting the drink with stiff fingers. Taking a sip, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. His jaw clenched as if holding back whatever he wanted to say before he muttered reluctantly, “You’re exceedingly frustrating.”
