Black wrath etched his features; he stepped closer as if to hurt me. “Twenty fucking years I’ve had to put up with this nonsense but you...you might be the worst one yet.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sometimes I’m lenient and let some of you go, but this time?” He smiled thinly. “This time I’m going to exterminate each and every one of you because—”

“Wait!” I threw up my hands even though he hadn’t moved. “I told you! I’m not like the others. I-I didn’t come here willingly. I’m not here to kill you or bed you. I’m—”

“Whisper,” he purred, cutting me off. “Kill this liar for me.”

“Whisper?”

The black panther coalesced from the night, its hackles raised and whiskers bristling.

That’s Whisper?

Staggering away from the tree, I backed up. My system threatened to shut down, but I fought back. I fought my broken mind like hell because I didn’t want to be torn to pieces by a jungle cat. “I’m not meant to be here!” My eyes flew between Lucien’s and Whisper’s.

What sort of name was Whisper?

“I’ll admit I was greedy at the thought of a fully funded spa weekend. I let consumerism get the better of me. I should’ve known it was too good to be true, but...I’m honestly not lying.” I continued to back up, the panther stalking my every move. “Me and a few other women are here by mistake. The rest of them, you’re right. There’s a bunch who want you dead, along with those who will happily do whatever you want if it means they end up impregnated but—”

“Enough,” he whispered, rubbing his temples as if in pain. “I haven’t heard so much chattering in decades.”

“Sorry, but...you’re not listening. And I should really be given the opportunity to prove my innocence before you kill me—”

“Quiet,” he hissed, stepping toward me in familiar black clothes. His coat was buttoned only at the waist, flaring out like an emperor’s cloak. “You’re so noisy.”

The urge to apologise came again but I pressed my lips together and stayed silent.

Our conversation seemed to hover, wrapping around us in the flame-flickering dark.

Lowering his hands, he winced a little as our eyes met. Beneath his mask of rage and hate, cracks of agony fractured like lightning bolts. Sucking in a breath, his fingers strayed to his chest, lingering over his heart.

“Are you...okay?” The question fell from me, completely against my control.

He went fatally still. “What?”

Uh-oh.

Now what had I done? Was I not allowed to enquire about his health, or had I somehow hinted he was weak?

“I can see you’re in pain,” I forced myself to say. “I was just—”

“Looking for ways to kill me?”

“God, will you stop? How many times do I need to profess my innocence?” My own anger rose to meet his. “I told you. I’m not here to kill you—”

“Ah, yes.” He smiled. “Just like you’re not here to fuck me.”

That smile.

It took my breath away.

That one action transformed his handsome face from beautiful to devastating. A smile full of scorn and sarcasm but somehow aching with suffering.

It moved me.

Affected me.

He stiffened.

Sucking in a breath, his fingers strayed from his heart to his cheek, rubbing self-consciously. “What are you doing? What are you looking at?”

If anyone ever asked for my story of what happened in Cinderkeep, I would tell them that that was the moment that my entire life changed. A moment as quick as all the rest, yet powerful enough to change my heart and fate and future.

Forever.

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “I mean...you do have blood on your cheek but that wasn’t what I was looking at.”

“What are you looking at then?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

No way would I tell him how drawn to him I was. How intrigued and afraid and...attracted.

He dropped his hand, balling it into a fist by his thigh. Padding barefoot toward me, he murmured, “It’s almost like you want me to kill you.”

Up close, he was too many things. Dangerous, obviously. Beautiful enough to break a thousand hearts. But his pain wasn’t a trick of the firelight.

It ghosted his eyes, bracketed his mouth. It lived in every motion and word.

His gaze drifted to my lips. Heat flooded my blood, treacherous and inconvenient.

Whisper stalked between us, silent and watching. Its shoulder brushed my thigh, before going to Lucien and headbutting him. Never looking away from me, Lucien ran his fingers down the beast’s spine as it trailed past.

The way he stroked it—such casual familiarity that spoke of so many prior moments like this one.

My tummy clenched.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re looking at me again.”

Flames from the torches transformed our shadows into flickering silhouettes. My headache pressed behind my eyes and despite holding my own this long, I was scarily close to burning out.

Swallowing hard, I backed up a step. “Are you?” I whispered.

“Am I what?”

“Going to kill me?”

He smirked. “Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Who in their right mind would say yes?”

His eyes darkened before he looked away almost as if he’d say yes. He’d say yes to ending whatever it was that he endured.

With a savage chuckle, he drew his shoulders back, hid all signs of such things, and looked down his nose at me. “Killing you is tempting but...not tonight.”

Relief slammed into me, ugly and bright. “You won’t?”

He merely shook his head, elegant and graceful.

“Why?” I breathed.

His eyes held mine with a blatant threat. “Because you’re infuriating.”

A laugh escaped, surprised and slightly deranged. “Is that meant to be a compliment?”

He didn’t reply.

“So you’re saying the moment I’m un-infuriating, you’ll kill me?”

“Perhaps.”

“What can I do to stop you from killing me?”

“I guess time will tell, won’t it?” He smirked. “Run along, little liar. Before I change my mind.”

Curiosity itched to stay—to learn more about him, despite his murderous tendencies—but instinct took control, and I fled.

I didn’t stop running until I crashed into bed and pulled the blankets over my head as if I could hide from the devil himself.

Chapter Thirteen

FOR SEVEN YEARS, SLEEP HAD BEEN my best friend and favourite medicine.

Sleep could erase a shitty day, heal a hurting head, and reset my messed up nervous system in ways nothing else could.

If I had the choice, I would sleep longer than I was actually awake, preferring to exist in dreams where I wasn’t so shattered and my parents were still alive.

Tonight, I dreamed of the very first place where I’d fled after watching my parents inject themselves with a chemical that didn’t grant immortality like they’d hoped but turned them into puddles of molten bone instead.

I hadn’t even gone home to shower off the strangely coloured blood that’d splashed all over me.

I’d ignored Frank and all the staff.

I’d grabbed my passport from the safe, my bag from the office, walked out of the company, and vanished. I’d spent seven months in the jungles of Vietnam—not to find myself or heal my grief—but because it was the first plane out of the airport.

I’d somehow ended up in a tiny village where no one knew me, no reporters wanted to interview me, and the pressure of ruling a company that Forbes claimed would single-handedly be the reason why death would become a pastime we could all avoid was non-existent.

I gladly and gratefully slipped into Asian provincial life.

It didn’t matter I couldn’t speak the language or that my credit cards were useless without an ATM. A local family took pity on me and taught me how to work in their fields.

I found salvation in long, hard hours—even though my condition tormented me—and collapsed into a deep, healing sleep the moment the day was done.