Page 99 of Coveted

“I was there.”

My response is automatic. “You were not.”

I definitely would’ve remembered a six-foot-five, blue-eyed demon in the audience.

“I sat in the back, in the shadows.” The corner of his mouth tugs with amusement, or maybe the pure pleasure of proving me wrong. “You wore a dark green dress with a black knit sweater, black stockings, and boots. Your hair was loose, which is my favorite style on you, and the silver polish on your nails glinted when you moved. I can recite your sonnet word for word, if you like?”

The whiskey in my stomach curdles.

“You were there,” I say, the words no longer a question. “Why?”

“I had your locket. I wanted to check you out. Turns out, I got fucking hooked on watching you. I wanted to know more. Then more. And more.”

Pushing my tumbler of whiskey onto the table, I scoot along the sofa away from him.

“You went beyond sending me a few gifts,” I say. “You really, properly stalked me.”

“In fairness to me, you’re very stalkable. I’m going to have to coach you on better cyber-safety. Fedora was going to be a big problem for you. Even from my place near the back, I saw him scrolling your social media after you left the stage.”

Fedora. The guy who heckled me during my reading. The guy who was mugged after the show. He lost several teeth in the beating, and the culprit was never identified.

“Oh god.” I stand, walking haphazardly backward until I run into his shelves. “You assaulted him in the alley?”

Lucan gets up and prowls toward me, making my pulse quicken.

“You wanted me to.” His voice is silky and dangerous, like he’s been wanting to have this conversation for a long time. “I saw it in your eyes.”

“You’re fucking deranged.”

“But am I wrong?”

He comes within arm’s reach, and a scream wells in my throat. Only the knowledge that nobody would hear me stops me from releasing it.

“Yes, you’re wrong,” I say. “I didn’t want him to lose his teeth.”

This is what I get for letting my guard down. I never should’ve come to his apartment. With all the good judgment of a first-killed girl in a horror movie, I let my curiosity win.

“I gave you what you wanted,” he says, “like you gave me what I wanted. A woman who matches me.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

But even through my terror, I know that’s false. We’re alike in ways that fill me with shame.

Does he realize I’m lying? He can’t actually know what I did to Russell, can he?

There’s no way, even for Lucan. I’ve never told a single soul.

Trembling, I inch my hand to my bag, keeping my eyes on his.

If I can stun him, maybe that’ll give me enough time to figure out how to escape this high-tech fortress.

But of course he notices.

Clicking his tongue, he pulls the bag from the crook of my arm. “I’m such a bad host for making you carry this.”

Without breaking my gaze, he slots it onto one of the shelves behind me.

“My friends know I’m here,” I say, my breathing shallow.