Page 23 of Wicked Salvation
I laugh, feigning boredom.
Lucian is looking at me like he’s already imagined a dozen ways to kill me. I don’t flinch. He doesn’t have it in him. Not after what happened by the lake. There’s no way he’ll be able to separate us. For all his rage, all his anger, he’stoo late.
“You’re—”
Lucian’s fist connects with my face suddenly. Like a crack of thunder, my whole face vibrates with pain. I stumble backwards, my eyes watering.
What the fuck?
Lucian charges into my room, close behind me. His eyes are a flame, his fist already clenched for another blow. Was he holding back the last time we fought? His punches hurt more than I’d like them to.
“It’s because you’re too weak.”
The last thing I need is The Spirit in my head, fucking things up. I force my mind to the present, blocking Lucian’s blow with my arms as I try to get up on my feet. When I’ve found my footing, I launch myself at him, fists flying.
It’s a sloppy fight.
We’re locked in a vicious struggle, crashing into furniture. Lucian’s punches are connecting with my face, my throat, the center of my chest, whereas mine don’t seem to be fazing him as much. He’s driven by something more intense than what I’ve ever felt.
I won’t let him win. I can’t.
But before I can even finish the thought, Lucian knees me in the stomach so hard it feels like I’m about to lose my breakfast. I fall to the ground, covering my face as he kicks and stomps. I’m angry, I’m upset—he fucking ambushed me.
I’m bleeding.
I’m bruised.
My whole body hurts, my face numb, pain zagging through every vein in my body. He grabs me by the shirt, pulling me up just enough off the ground to spit in my face. Then he lets me fall to the ground.
He may have the physical advantage now, but?—
“You’re too late.”
He looks puzzled. “Did my fists not do enough talking?” he rages. “I’ll beat your ass every single fucking day until you leave her alone. And if I get too bored, I’ll kill you.”
A credible threat.
“What makes you think you have any right to interfere with things between me and my fiancée?” My voice is venomous.
His face goes white.
I wipe his spit from my face, pushing myself up on my elbows. There’s blood on his shirt, and a few bruises here and there on his face. I can only imagine what I look like.
“What, you didn’t know?”
His eyes are wide with shock.
“She told me that she was still going to marry you.” He balls his fists. “But I didn’t know she’d already said yes to…”
“You poor thing. Did Eden make you think you had a chance?” I stumble to my feet. “You think you can just waltz in here and start throwing punches to get what you want? News flash, dumbass, Eden wants this more than she’s letting on.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I proposed to her yesterday, and she said yes.”
I can see the moment his pathetic heart breaks. It’s a sight to behold. I commit it to memory, and I plan to replay it for as long as I can remember. As a matter of fact, I might just send him a postcard from our honeymoon—reminding him that I’m fucking the only girl he’s ever wanted, and the one he’ll never get.
“You’re lying.”
