Page 47 of Burned

And no one else exists except the people in this room, this ridiculous, beautiful room full of things we did not know we needed.

And Lucian’s hand against my cheek, steady, possessive, and careful.

Not closing around me.

Just there.

Waiting while I learn to trust his love without fearing that a beautiful woman from his past will steal it back from me.

One of the outer guards steps into the room. Calm but hurried. He leans toward Bayne, discreetly relaying information not meant for my ears.

Bayne looks at Lucian and raises one hand. He presses two fingers together and waves his hand right to left.

Lucian’s body tenses beside me. The air in the room is heavy with tension.

I may not have Gregory’s formal education, but I’ve practical experience in navigating these men. And I’m slowly decoding their gestures.

The beautiful things fade away.

Bayne just told Lucian that someone is approaching Red Shutters.

Gregory enters the room, laptop in hand. “We’ve received a message.” He’s staring at the screen in awe. “Isobel has just made contact with us.”

“What?” Lucian is over to the screen before I take a breath. Gregory tilts it towards him. Lucian’s knuckles go white, his hands in tight fists. He stares down, trying to make sense of the words.

Gregory summarizes. “The Phoenix message was from her. She was referring to herself. She thought you would read between the lines.”

My stomach drops.

Lucian doesn’t look at me. His eyes stay focused on the screen. “I did not.”

Holding two fingers pressed together, he waves once, right to left.

I feel the color drain from my face. I look from Lucian to Mack, to Gregory.

“What’s going on?” Then back to him. “Lucian?”

“She’s here,” he says, turning to me slowly. His eyes lock on mine, flashing with emotion. “Isobel is here.”

CHAPTER SIX

LUCIAN

I should not takeher outside. It’s cold. There’s danger out there. I know this with the rational part of my brain.

But I’ve just been informed; Isobel is minutes away. And suddenly, she’s very, very much alive. I’m not one to process ‘emotion.’ Which means that, at a time like this, receiving news that rewrites the past fills me with something close to rage.

Which translates to need.

And right now, I need her.

Erin is standing there, looking like her entire future has just been rewritten.

Or lost.

The way her fingers curl into the sleeves of that soft cream sweater. The way she lifts her chin as if bravery can hide the question in her eyes.

Will he still want me when she walks through the door?