Page 62 of Cruelly Fated
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I visited Grandpa today. He told me what happened…to Mom. Said you’ve looked into it. That you might know more.”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Why the sudden interest?” he asked, cautious.
I inhaled. “I’m ready to know the truth. Maybe then… Maybe I can finally stop grieving.”
“I’ll pull the file when I’m back in the office. Call you later?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
His grunt crackled through the speaker. “Don’t thank me yet.” Then he hung up.
“Larry,” Lance mouthed as he walked by carrying a crate. I dropped to all fours and scrambled behind a stack of empty boxes.
Larry’s breathing grew louder—harsh and wheezy, like a steam engine sputtering up a hill. Or an overweight dragon with a sinus problem.
“Where is she?” he bellowed.
“I’m sorry, sir, who?” Lance asked, sounding genuinely confused. I bit back a laugh.
“You sorry sack of troll dung… Allie.”
“You must’ve missed her. I saw her head into the club.”
I peeked through a gap between the cardboard stacks.
Larry whirled and stomped toward the exit, muttering curses under his breath. On the way, he kicked a tower of empty crates, sending them clattering. One landed squarely on his head.
“Son of a banshee!” he roared, clutching his skull.
“Go,” Lance mouthed, flicking his hand toward the back door. He’d been acting as my lookout for half the night since my run-in with Larry. I couldn’t avoid my boss forever, but tonight, he wasn’t getting another second of my time.
I sprinted across the lot and dove into my car, which was still unlocked. I could practically hear Valor’s disapproving sigh in my head. I gave the back seat a quick glance. Empty. No kidnappers hiding there today.
Larry was always the last to leave the club, so the odds of him leaping out from the shadows and landing on my hood were slim. But I kept the headlights off until I hit the road, just in case.
Once I merged onto the main road, I finally loosened my grip on the wheel. The traffic picked up, although sparingly, since it was three a.m. after all. Most nightly activities moved underground, or well, indoors. The winking neon signs and quiet streets should have calmed me, but as Kyon’s high tower came into view, my stomach pitched.
Our morning conversation replayed in my head. What did the dragon prince want from me? Was there more to our arrangement than Grandpa’s protection? Aside from the mind-blowing sex…
He’d seemed tense this morning, like he regretted last night. Or maybe it was the fact that I was in his space, the only place not tainted by his bloodline and obligations. A lone place where the dragon prince could shed his crown and just be. And I’d crash-landed in it like a damn comet with no brakes.
“Hello?” I called out, barely louder than a breath as the elevator doors slid open, spilling me into the hush of his living room. Shadows sliced through the space, which was awash in the city’s multihued lights like an Impressionist painting.
“How was your shift?” a low voice answered from within.
His head and then the sculpted stretch of his chest appeared above the back of the couch. Shirtless.Fae gods, help me.
I stepped inside and rounded the couch, breath catching, pulse doing things it had no business doing. The door whispered shut behind me.
The city lights carved shadows along the hard ridges of his chest and down the sharp cuts of his abs. His dark hair curled damply over his forehead, like he’d just stepped out of the shower. Or hell. Either would’ve suited him.
My gaze snagged on the faint claw marks trailing along his side. His dragon stirred behind those molten eyes, watching me.
“You’re not sleeping,” I said, voice thinner than I wanted.
