Page 18

The little hairs at the back of my neck prick up. At first, I don’t think much of it, but then I sense someone behind me. It’s probably just someone else out for an early-morning run. But when they feel closer, I pull the AirPods out of my ears and pocket them. I need to stay alert. I run faster.

I glance over my shoulder.

It’s fucking Lucien.

What the hell is he doing here?

He’s about twenty feet behind me, running at an easy pace, his long legs narrowing the space between us. It almost feels like he’s chasing me. I consider leaving the path, away from the cover of trees, to be out in the open. But I know I’m being paranoid. He’s not going to do anything to me. He’s literally dressed for a jog. His shirt clings to his chest and arms, and even in the predawn glow, I can see the definition of his muscles, the way his body moves with terrifying elegance.

I turn back around and pick up my pace, hoping he’ll just run past me and keep going.

But he doesn’t.

He matches my speed.

I grit my teeth and run faster.

My lungs start to burn, the cold air scraping against the back of my throat, but I don’t slow down. I’m not going to let Lucien think I can’t keep up.

And then he’s beside me.

Running at the exact same pace, his breathing steady and controlled, like this is nothing to him.

I don’t look at him, keeping my eyes forward.

“Morning, Rhodes,” he says, his voice smooth.

I don’t respond.

“Out for a run?” he continues, like we’re friends, two normal people who just happened to cross paths on a jog.

I still don’t respond.

He laughs, and the sound is a cold finger running down my spine.

“You look tired,” he says.

I turn my head just enough to glare at him, and he’s smiling. It’s that same arrogant smile that makes me want to punch him in his perfect fucking face.

“I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth.

“You are?” He tilts his head, his eyes flicking over me in a way that feels invasive. “You’re breathing hard.”

“Fuck off,” I bark.

He laughs again. Then he speeds up, not by much, but just enough to pull ahead of me. It’s typical of Lucien to want to show me he’s faster, that I can’t keep up. He’s always made sure to physically best me any chance he gets, and it gets under my skin. I don’t know why. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me care so much, that makes me want to prove myself, to show him I’m not weak or less than him.

I push harder. My legs burn and my lungs scream as I close the distance between us. Lucien glances back, and I see the surprise flicker across his face before it’s replaced by challenge. He speeds up again, and so do I.

We’re racing now, even though neither of us has said it aloud. That’s how it always starts with Lucien, this unspoken escalation, this wordless agreement to make everything a fucking competition. The path is narrow by the river, barely wide enough for two people, and we’re shoulder to shoulder, our arms brushing with every stride. I can hear his breathing sync with mine in an almost intimate rhythm.

The cold air is like knives in my lungs, each inhale sharp enough to make my chest ache. My calves are burning, a deep muscle fatigue that comes from pushing past a comfortable pace, and a stitch is forming in my side that I’m determinedly ignoring. But I don’t stop. He’s right beside me, matching me stride for stride.

The path curves ahead, following the bend of the river. If I can get ahead before the curve, I’ll have the advantage, the inside track. So I dig deeper, push harder, my quads screaming in protest as I lengthen my stride. I pull ahead, just barely.

And then Lucien’s shoulder slams into mine and sends me careening sideways off the path. I stumble, my feet catching on the uneven ground. I crash into the bushes and my hands sink into the cold earth. For a second, I just lie there, stunned, tasting copper from where I’ve bitten my lip.

“Oops,” Lucien says, and I can hear that he’s slowed to a stop a few feet ahead. His voice is light, almost amused. “Didn’t see you there.”