Page 40 of A Match Made in Coven
Lorcan slouched in the high-backed velvet armchair in his study at home, shadows dancing across his features in the flickering firelight. If not for the burning flames, he’d be sitting in total darkness. Not that lighting the fire had been intentional—more a result of his volatile magic sparking out of his fingertips. At least his outburst of angry magic had only ignited the logs and not set the entire house ablaze. Small mercies.
The spacious room stretched out before him, a symphony of gothic elegance and sleek modernity. Vaulted ceilings vanished into the inky shadows of the exposed wooden beams above, while polished hardwood floors gleamed below.
Floor-to-ceiling windows, shrouded by heavy black velvet drapes, reflected the leaping flames like dark mirrors. Lorcan traced his fingers over the armrest’s smooth velvet, its cool surface a contrast to the warmth radiating from the hearth.
His wayward magic might not have set the house on fire, but Lorcan’s chest still felt like it was burning from the inside out. He berated himself for his role in Sarah Michelle’s removal from the case, for tailing her into that gargoyle-forsaken bar against her wishes. Not that he regretted doing it—the stubborn witch had waltzed in alone, courting disaster. She would’ve gotten herself captured—or worse. But he was sorry for losing control, for blowing up like he had today, hexing an entire, random human bar.
That was the other thing that disturbed him, how he had exploded when Sarah Michelle was under threat. Yes, he was attracted to her. He liked her, but his primal reaction to her potentially being harmed ran deeper. It spoke to something far more profound than mere desire or affection. A bond, a connection he couldn’t fathom, but that he felt with every fiber of his being.
Lorcan heaved a sigh, shoulders sagging. And now, thanks to his impulsive idiocy, they were back to square one. Enemies. And not an inch closer to apprehending Elijah’s murderer. Silas may be a dreg of humanity, but the loan shark hadn’t killed his friend. Who, then? Why?
Lorcan’s mind kept swirling in circles with these dark thoughts until it became too much to bear. He decided the best way to get himself out of this funk was with a run. He hopped up from the armchair and jogged up the grand staircase in the foyer. The wrought-iron railings twisted in intricate spirals, casting serpentine shadows on the walls.
In his bedroom, he changed into a pair of shorts and running shoes before heading back downstairs, shirtless—the way he preferred to run. Just as he was about to head to the basement, the doorbell rang. Lorcan stopped in his tracks, somehow knowing it washer—as if he could feel her, sense her, as if she was already part of his soul. A smile tugged at his lips as he went to open the door.
Sarah Michelle’s warm brown eyes widened as they took in his bare chest, her gaze lingering. Lorcan didn’t mind; he wanted her to look—more than that, he wanted her to touch, to kiss, to bite. He wanted everything.
“Detective,” he purred.
Sarah Michelle frowned, her raven hair swaying as she shook her head. “Don’t you ever wear a shirt around the house?”
“I was about to go work out,” Lorcan replied with a shrug. “Wasn’t expecting any visits, especially not from you.” He cocked his head, curiosity now burning in his chest instead of despair. “What brings you here? Not that I mind, of course.”
“Go put on some clothes. Then we can talk.”
Lorcan’s smile turned mischievous. “Do my abs intimidate you that much?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you want to hear what I discovered, or do you need more time to admire yourself in the mirror?”
He chuckled at that, stepping aside. “Come on, the study’s this way. Fire’s already lit.”
“Were you hoping for a spread inHaunted Mansionswhen you picked the decor?” She unleashed a verbal wrecking ball against his curated aesthetic.
Lorcan scoffed. “Have a seat, get comfortable. I’ll go get decent.” With that, he turned and headed back upstairs to change, leaving Sarah Michelle alone in the study with her sarcasm and, he hoped, a lingering impression of his physique to keep her company.
Lorcan returned a few minutes later, now dressed in a cozy hoodie and sweatpants. As he entered the living room, he stopped short at the sight before him. Sarah Michelle had removed her coat, revealing a soft, oversized sweater and leggings that hugged her curves. She was curled up in one of his armchairs by the fireplace, her feet tucked under her thighs, shoes discarded on the floor.
A sudden surge of possessiveness coursed through Lorcan’s veins. The need to keep her safe and warm in his home was overwhelming. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let go.
Shaking his head to clear the thought, Lorcan reminded himself of the harsh way they’d parted earlier that day at The Backroom. If Sarah Michelle had come to him now, it must be serious. It had to be about Elijah.
He cleared his throat, alerting her to his presence. Sarah Michelle’s shoulders gave a slight shudder as she turned to face him. Lorcan settled into the twin armchair opposite her, the crackling fire casting a warm glow over their features.
“So, what’s up?”
Sarah Michelle took a deep breath before launching into her explanation. She brought him up to speed on everything Andromeda had uncovered about Morning Star and Councilman MacGregor’s involvement.
“Why would the councilman publicly oppose a development he’s heavily invested in?” Sarah Michelle concluded, her brows furrowed in concentration. “We looked at it from every angle but couldn’t find a reason. I mean, is it a common practice in real estate to trash the project you’re working on?”
A slow smile spread across Lorcan’s face. “It’s nice to hear you need my expertise, detective.”
Sarah Michelle rolled her eyes. “I didn’t come here to stroke your ego,” she retorted, the words sending Lorcan’s mind straight to another part of him he’d like her to stroke. “I came to catch your friend’s murderer.”
The mention of Elijah sobered Lorcan’s depraved thoughts. He rose from his chair and strode over to his desk, retrieving his laptop and reading glasses. As he settled back down beside the fire, he glanced at Sarah Michelle.
“I need to study the development project before I can give you an answer,” he explained, slipping on his glasses and opening his laptop.
Before getting to work, he winked at her, and her sharp intake of breath sent a ripple of satisfaction through him.
