I will need to tell her soon though, or she might start to get suspicious as to why I won’t leave her alone, because now that I’ve been this close to her, there’s no going back.
I follow Lore as she makes another turn, this time into what looks like a gated estate. Sacred City didn’t put me on edge the way riding down this long driveway does.
The house that comes into view looks more like a castle than a home. The massive stone structure appears as if it belongs on the craggy cliffs of the West Coast instead of being nestled among the huge oak trees dripping with moss here in the South.
Lore pulls her bike right up to the front steps and kicks her stand down before climbing off. Her eyes are glued to the upper levels of the house as she runs her palms down the front of her thighs.
The swell of anxiety coming from her only grows stronger as I close the distance between us. She jerks her head to the right as I approach, almost as if she’d forgotten I was with her, but I know that’s not the case.
“Did you grow up here?” I desperately want to alleviate some of the tension making her spine ramrod straight. It would be so much easier if I could taste her skin and run my hand up the back of her neck and into her hair.
“No,” Lore says softly. “I don’t think he could truly connect with this place after she… It was their home together.”
That’s understandable, considering the bond gargoyles form with their homes. I bet whatever attachment he had to this place died when his mate did. If it weren’t for Harlow’s love for Lore, he might have allowed himself to follow hisbashertinto death all those years ago.
After taking a deep breath, Lore avoids the stairs to the front door and walks around the side of the house. She looks over her shoulder, spying me not five feet behind her, then crouches while running her hand along the seam of the mortar between the stones. A few seconds later, she springs back to her feet and makes her way to a side entrance of the house with a single key grasped in her hand.
I probably shouldn’t feel a sense of triumph because she allowed me to see where the key was hidden, especially since I could break down the door with ease, but I do. I’ll take any piece of her I can get.
“It’s been years since I’ve been here,” she says, using her hip to push the door open after unlocking it.
I’m tempted to pull her back and enter before her, but I’m certain she wouldn’t appreciate that very much, so I fight my instincts and follow closely behind her.
Even with the sun shining through the windows, the small room is cooler than the temperature outside. Lore pockets the key and inhales deeply. “He’s been here.” She glances over her shoulder at me. She’s right—Harlow’s presence is in this house. Her eyes are wide, but I sense more hesitance than excitement from her. Lore knows there’s a reason Harlow hasn’t returned. I think she even knows the chances of finding him alive and well are next to impossible.
With me in tow, she navigates the house with a clear destination in mind, passing massive rooms with sheet draped furniture. I don’t know if telling her about Harlow helping me with mybashertwas the right move, but it was the truth and she deserved to know, even if my presence and the recent reminder of what he lost might be why we’re here, searching this empty house for him.
Lore is breathing hard by the time she makes it to the top of a wide staircase, but I’m certain it’s not from exertion. I can see her pulse pounding at the base of her throat when she slows her hurried pace and shuffles down the long hall with reluctance.
“Lore.” I speak her name before actually thinking about what I’m going to say when she reaches for the door handle. She bows her head and exhales a shaky breath. “Let me,” I offer and hover my hand over hers.
Lore
Modeus’hand is poised above mine, as if he’s reluctant to touch me but ready to take over when I seem to be faltering. There’s a large part of me that wants to let him, but I would hate myself for the weakness later.
“I’ve got it.” My voice is little more than a mumble as I finally push my thumb down on the latch.
The door creaks inward, but my feet remain rooted on the threshold. Movement catches my eye, but it’s just the breeze from an open window stirring the fabric-covered bed. My shoulders fall, but the sense of worried anticipation doesn’t abate.
“He’s not here.” There’s no relief in my tone. The heavy weight of his hand lands on my shoulder, and I have the urge to spin around and bury my face in Modeus’ chest, which fucks with my head, so I think about ripping his fingers off one by one instead.
“Should we check the rest of the house?” Modeus suggests, giving me a gentle squeeze before releasing his grip. The fact that the loss of contact bothers me proves this man is dangerous for me to be around.
“I’ll take the two upper floors.” Even though I never lived here, I feel protective of this place, but mostly, I need to get away from him.
“You want space,” he says out loud, telling me he can see right through my façade. I cut my eyes to his, and he raises his hands in surrender while casting his gaze down at the ground. “Forgive me.”
I feel like shit the moment the words are out of his mouth. I have no idea what being an agent of Hell is like, but I don’t think they offer classes on the nuances of discretion and it’s clear he’s trying.
I have the urge to place my finger under the high demon’s chin to lift his eyes back to mine, but I don’t think touching him would be a good idea, especially skin to skin. I’d probably start stripping my clothes off, and while I would love a distraction, I would just be making a bigger ass of myself and avoiding the reason we’re here.
“Sorry,” I murmur and duck my head, trying to meet his gaze. “It’ll be faster if we split up to search the house.”
Modeus lifts his head, but he’s still somehow peering at me from under his lashes. Damn, I wonder who his mate is. Is she a club member? Do I know her? “Call if you need me,” he murmurs.
“Will do.” I dismiss him, needing breathing room for an entirely different reason now. When he finally starts to back away, I enter the room and take a quick look around, even peering into the bathroom, but it’s just as empty as the rest of the house has been.
I make quick work of searching the top two floors, lingering only in the room that was mine for the short time we lived here after her death. It feels so different than my room at the clubhouse. I don’t have a connection to this place either.
