“Everything is chess in Black Crown,” he replies, his voice softening slightly. “And Lucien was raised to be a grandmaster.”
Chapter 25
Lucien
Practice was absolute hell today. Coach ran us ragged with suicide drills because Matthews couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut about the referee calls from last week’s game. My legs are burning, sweat still clinging to my skin despite the shower. All I want is to collapse on my bed and not move for the next twelve hours.
I step out of my room in nothing but low-slung basketball shorts, rubbing a towel over my damp hair when I hear the front door slam downstairs. Then comes the sound of muttering—angry, feminine muttering—followed by shoes being kicked off with enough force to probably dent my fucking wall.
“Fucking assholes think they can just...unbelievable...who the fuck does he think he is...”
I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my face as I move to the top of the stairs. Aww, she’s talking about me. How fucking cute.
I lean against the banister, crossing my arms over my bare chest as I watch her stomp around the foyer. She’s still in her St. Augustine uniform—black pleated skirt that’s riding up just enough to make my dick twitch, white button-up with the red and black tie at her throat. Her hair is pulled up in thosepigtail bubble braids I’ve learned the name of only because I’ve fantasized about using them as fucking handlebars while she’s on her knees. Each one is tied with a red “Sinners” bow that makes her look deceptively innocent.
There’s nothing innocent about the way she’s cursing under her breath, though.
She’s halfway to the kitchen when she finally notices me watching her. Her head snaps up, those hazel eyes narrowing when they lock with mine.
“I need to talk to you,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger in my direction.
I raise an eyebrow and spread my hands out in a welcoming gesture. “By all means, talk. I love to hear you berate me for whatever I’ve possibly done now.” I place a hand over my heart in mock offense. “As if I haven’t been on my best behavior.”
“Best behavior?” she snarls, storming up the stairs toward me. “Is that what you call going behind my back to a council meeting where my entire life was being discussed without me?”
Ah, so that’s what this is about. I keep my face carefully neutral even as my mind races through how she could have found out. Only one real possibility—her father. The quiet bastard always knows more than he lets on.
“You’re upset,” I observe, which only makes her eyes flash dangerously.
“No shit I’m upset!” She reaches the top of the stairs, standing toe to toe with me now. “Vincent tried to formally dissolve our choosing bond by claiming we’re siblings, and you didn’t think that was something I should know about? Not that I care about being free from this, but for him to say that to the council opens up a whole slew of other problems.”
I shrug, enjoying the way her chest heaves with each angry breath.
“What would telling you have accomplished?” I ask, watching her fury build with each word. “You would’ve stormed into a sacred meeting space you don’t have clearance to enter, confronted thirteen of the most powerful men in Black Crown, and gotten yourself blacklisted for the next decade or worse. All while I handled it perfectly fine without your interference.”
“Handled it?” She steps even closer, jabbing a finger into my bare chest. “This isn’t just your fight, Lucien. This is my life, too. My reputation, my family, my fucking identity that’s being questioned.”
I catch her wrist before she can poke me again, holding it firmly between us. “And I defended all of that. Successfully, I might add. You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t ask you to defend me!” She tries to yank her hand away, but I tighten my grip. “I’m not some damsel who needs saving.”
“No, you’re my Chosen,” I growl, pulling her closer until I can feel the heat radiating from her body. “Which means your battles are my battles, whether you fucking like it or not.”
She’s so close now that I can see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, count every freckle scattered across her nose. Her cheeks are flushed with anger; her lips part as she breathes heavily.
“Fuck you,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m not your possession.”
“No?” I slide my hand from her wrist to her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my fingers. “Then why are you living in my house? Why did you come to me when you were scared? Why do you keep looking at my mouth like you want me to shut you up with it?”
Her eyes widen, and for a split second, I see uncertainty flicker across her face. It’s quickly replaced by that stubborn defiance that makes my cock throb.
“I don’t?—“
“Liar,” I murmur, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “You’re so fucking transparent, Little Sinner. All fire and fury on the outside, but inside? You’re dying for me to take control.”
She makes a sound—half protest, half whimper—that shoots straight to my dick. Her body betrays her, leaning into my touch even as her mind fights against it.
“You don’t know what I want,” she says, but her voice lacks conviction.
