Lucien was the first to break the silence. “This type of portal leads to the Underearth,” he said quietly, and I snapped my eyes up to meet his. “I don’t know what it’s doing in a human neighborhood, but no human should come into contact with it.”
My lips parted in surprise as I searched his gaze. A gold glimmer entered his eyes from the flame. “I don’t understand,” I confessed now, so many questions running through my head. “Portal? Underearth?”
Lucien blew air over the candle, and the flame disappeared. The stench of smoke filled the air in the kitchen as he made his way back to the living room and settled down on the couch. “It’s time we talk.”
I followed him, feeling a little unsettled. Not by him, though; for whatever reason, I felt oddly at ease with his presence, be it human or wolf. But rather by the impending talk.
Taking a seat on the sofa, my ass had barely touched the cushion when he asked, “How much do you know about my kind?”
Spine stiff, I found his gaze, which now was cool and calm, the complete opposite to what I was feeling. “Yourkind specifically, nothing,” I told him, fidgeting with the seam of my shirt. “But I have been researching the supernatural for a few years now, so I found some stuff out.”
He eased onto the couch, careful not to lean on his injured back, and put one long, strong leg over the other while spreading his arms over the back of the couch. The movement caused the robe to slide loose a bit in the chest area, revealing a glimpse of hard abs dusted with hair only a few shades darker than his skin. The sight made something tug deep in my gut, and I felt my cheeks heat up. Before I drooled and panted like a starved animal, I tore my gaze away.
His voice, when he spoke, helped me focus back on the subject at hand. Especially when his words rang with an ominous tone. “First of all, where did you find the portal?”
Since I now knew he meant the shadow mark, I could at least answer that. “Right where I found you.”
Chancing a look up at his face, refusing to let my eyes roam back to the tantalizing chest, I saw his face take on a dark expression. “This is bad news,” he said, his arms falling to his sides as he leaned forward. “Actually, it’s the worst news.”
My heart pounded in sudden alarm. “What do you mean?”
Lucien didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he rose to his feet and began pacing back and forth, grabbing his chin as his face set in grim, deep thought. “This type of portal appears only when the Syndicate isinvolved.” He paused, glanced at me, and added, “The Sable Syndicate,” as if I was supposed to know what that meant.
“When I mentioned I knew some stuff,” I said, drawing his full gaze, “it means that I studied the supernatural world on my own.”
He cocked his head, pretty curls falling to the side. “How do you mean?”
Swallowing hard, I jumped to my feet and strode to my desk. Grabbing my notebooks—the sigils I copied and named and theories I gathered from all the research I’d done—I handed them to Lucien and sat back down, watching as he carefully read through them.
Silence stretched in the room, and the more he read, the wider his eyes became. His face slacked further and further in shock with every page he flipped until, long minutes later, he finally looked back at me. “You’ve done all this?” he asked, stunned. “On your own?”
I nodded, ignoring the uncertainty I began to feel. He probably thought I was a joke. He might be a part of the very thing I’d been studying for years, but that warranted even more disdain. Because I was merely a human woman trying to delve into a world that wasn’t hers. If I were him, I would think I was either presumptuous or stupid.
But to my surprise, Lucien said, “While all terms and definitions are entirely off, especially when it comes to Spellscripts, this is outstanding work.” He studied me as if he saw me for the first time. He turned so he faced me fully, his gaze serious. “Drew,” he suddenly said, and the way his lips shaped my name made heat flare up between my legs. “Why have you been doing so much research?”
My heartbeat picked up. This was a loaded question. A very loaded one. One I didn’t want to answer.
So I deflected. “How do you know my name?”
Lucien frowned. “I heard Chase calling you that.” He paused for less than a second before he added, “Like I heard you calling him by his name.”
“Huh,” I murmured in response, looking away, trying not to think back to what he’d asked.
But Lucien obviously did, because he said, “Why are you avoiding the question?”
Panic made my heart flutter, and my eyes returned to find his, which were now filled with both confusion and curiosity.
Telling him the real reason wasn’t an option, so instead, I redirected the question into something less personal. “I’m a columnist forThe Hallowing Hour,” I replied quietly. “It’s a magazine that studies the supernatural and reports incidences of potential paranormal activity.”
He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak before he closed it and took a deep breath, seeming to have changed his mind. After a few more silent moments, he finally said, “I didn’t know such a magazine existed.”
That wasn’t surprising. “It’s not particularly famous,” I told him. “It’s very niche.” That’s to put it mildly; we had barely reached five thousand subscribers last month, and that was after the magazine had been running for ten years.
Lucien seemed to mull it over before he spoke again. “This changes things.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. “Changeswhatthings?”
His face grew serious, grave even, as he stared at me.