Page 79 of Stone Crest: Rise of a Raven
Defeat flashes across his face and remorse hits my chest. He’s loyal. To his best friend, and here I am demanding him to break that loyalty.
“He’s hurting, Dec. I can feel it.” I press my hand to my chest. “I just need to know if he’s giving up. On me. On us “
He heaves a deep sigh. “He’ll never give up. That’s why he’s gone. He needs answers.”
“For what?”
“The curse.”
Confused I shake my head. “But I thought it was over. He found me.”
“It’s deeper than that, Raven. It’s not that he wouldn’t find you.” Gone is his frustration. It’s only empathy. “He can’t complete the bond without marking you.”
“Ok.” I nod.
“If he marks you….” He runs his hand over his face. “It will kill you.”
Pain slashes across my chest. “What?”
“I know.” He steps around the car. “He’s trying. He won’t stop until he can beat it. Until then…”
“He’s afraid he’ll hurt me,” I lean my head back. “If I didn’t love him, I’d kill him.”
This man and his chivalry.
Declan chuckles. “I told you the truth. Now unlock my car.”
Rolling my eyes, I wave my hand, unlocking the doors.
“I see you’ve been practicing,” he muses.
I flip him off as he climbs in his car just as Hendrix arrives. Another day of getting followed around like an untrusted celebrity.
“I’ll be at Gemma’s for dinner, after that. You’re going to call him!” I call out. “I want to hear his voice, Declan!”
He waves, before peeling out of the drive.
As I walk back over the broken door, the afterthought hits me. What does Declan want with a pharmaceutical company?
Chapter fifty-six
Locke
This can’t be right.
“And you’re positive this is the place?” I peer out the window at the run down shack.
“This is the address mom gave me.” Kingston checks his phone again.
“It’s been thirty years. You sure she’s even alive?” I shift my car in park.
“I guess we’ll find out.” Kingston kicks open his door, and steps out onto the dirt.
With heavy steps we climb the old wooden stairs that are warped and faded. Cobwebs cover the front door, along with the bay window to my left. Lifting my hand, I knock twice and step back. It takes a solid two minutes before I hear the shuffling of feet. The deadlock snaps, and the door slowly slides open. A woman with gray hair tied into a slick bun at the top of her head leers at us through the crack.
“Name,” she asks.
“Angeline Hale sent me.” I meet her hazy eyes that are rimmed with redness.
