Page 37 of Made in Malice

“My name is Nova Devlin. I live here.” I sound like I’m lying. I wouldn’t even believe me if I were him.

He bends down to get a better look into the car. “You live here?” He sounds skeptical. Like I said, I don’t blame him.

“Yes, with the Umbras.” That sounded a little more confident.

“Oh, right.” He begins to nod. “Sorry about that.” He steps back in a rush as if I might decide to burst right through the gate.

“No problem. Should I…” I start to ask if I should call ahead to let them know I’m coming, but he’s already inside the building, so there’s no way he could hear me.

I wonder if Morningstar notified him that he was coming, or if he just assumes the roar of his engine is enough of a warning.

I don’t rush over the bridge or even past the college. To be perfectly honest, I’m leery of being on the isolated road with him in the middle of the night. I’d probably end up with my new car in the ditch, or worse.

I let out the breath I was holding when I turn down the lane that leads to the estate when I don’t see the glow of taillights ahead of me. This is one time when I can thank him for driving like a speed demon.

My stomach hollows out when, halfway down the road, my headlights illuminate Morningstar’s black car on the wrong side of the road half into the grass. I slow down as a feeling of dread fills me. Is this some sort of sick trick, or does he need help? I can’t tell if he hit anything because there’s no light coming from his car at all.

Should I call someone? Maybe Alden?

Slight movement on the ground spurs me into action, and I punch down on the gas for a second before slamming on the brakes and throwing the SUV into park.

Lucian is propped up against the rear wheel of his car, and the side of his face is red with blood as it drips down his jaw. It brings back so many unwanted memories, I almost throw up right on the spot, but I fight down the bile in my throat and run over to him.

He squints up at me, but the rest of his features are soft as if he’s confused.

“Are you okay?” I ask like an idiot, dropping to my knees in front of him and reaching out, but I’m unsure if I should touch him.

He blinks. “Charity?” The single slurred word is enough to tell me he’s been drinking, and it pisses me off. He could have killed himself or someone else.

“What were you thinking?” I admonish when what I really want to do is get up and leave him here, but I can’t. He could be hurt worse than it seems, plus it’s just wrong.

Lucian moves his tongue around the inside of his mouth, and I see blood on his teeth. “Crap, I need to call an ambulance.” I start to get up, but he grabs a hold of my arm, stopping me. His touch is surprisingly gentle considering his words.

“Don’t you fucking dare. I will bury you.”

I pull my arm away to prove I can and give him a glare in return. I almost say, “Try it,” but I manage to keep the taunt to myself. He’s in no shape to spar, even verbally.

“You’re hurt,” I remind him. Drunk people don’t always feel pain—my mom didn’t. I shove thoughts of that night away. I need to be present here.

“Bullshit,” he snaps, then turns his head to spit blood from his mouth.

“Drunk and delusional,” I mumble.

“I’m not drunk.”

“Did you take a bath in whiskey then?”

“What the fuck are you even doing out of bed, Charity?” He leans to the side a little.

“None of your business, pretty boy. Is there someone I can call for you since you’re too stupid to let me call an ambulance?”

Lucian makes a snorting noise and knocks his head back against his car. I watch his eyes roll back in his head before he shuts his lids.

I immediately reach out to shake him, but his eyes snap open as if he can sense me moving closer, and he looks at my hand near his face and shoulder like he’d rip them off if I tried to touch him.

“I thought you passed out,” I defend hastily.

“Sure,” he says, but he clearly doesn’t believe me.

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