Page 140 of Deceived Wrath

The sound makes my stomach drop even before I look at the screen.

Lorcan.

Of course. Because the universe refuses to let me have one night where I can pretend that Cormac and I can have a future.

I swallow hard and answer before the call times out.

“About time. I’ve been calling you for the past hour.”

I glance toward the bathroom door.

The shower is still running, the steam filtering under the frame, but for how much longer, I’m not sure.

“I can’t talk now. Cormac’s here.”

“I need updates.”

He makes it sound like Cormac is a faulty machine I’m monitoring, not a man who just fucked me like I was something he couldn’t bear to lose.

“I’ll call later,” I lie.

“No. You’ll talk now.” Lorcan’s tone sharpens, and I flinch as I glance at the bathroom door again. “Did he say anything useful? Anything about?—”

“No. Nothing.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I know I’m running out of time.

“You better not be lying. Believe me, girl. You don’t want me to question where your loyalties are.”

Because you won’t like the answer.

“Lorcan, I said I can’t talk right now.”

I hang up before he can spout off any more threats.

The moment the call disconnects, I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, trying to breathe past the tightness in my chest.

The more time I spend with Cormac, the harder it is to believe the things Lorcan has told me about him. The violence. The cruelty. The cold-blooded ambition. I haven’t seen any of that.

I’ve seen a man who reads to his son at night and wakes up early to make him pancakes. A man who is willing to go above and beyond to earn my forgiveness for choosing to protect his son above all else.

And I’m supposed to betray him.

The bathroom door opens, and I almost jump out of my skin as Cormac steps out, a towel slung low around his hips and his damp hair dripping onto his shoulders.

His eyes flick to my phone. “Everything okay?”

I force a smile. “Yeah. It was just Zoe checking in.”

Cormac studies me longer than he should, like he can sense the internal war I’m fighting inside my head. But then the moment’s gone, and he quickly throws on a pair of boxers and climbs into bed beside me.

“I could get used to this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“Me too…”

And that’s how I know I’m in trouble.

Because the more I get to know him, the more I realize the complexity of the mess I’ve tangled myself in.