Read Online Winter's Knight by H.J. Raine, Kelly Wyre - Free Book Online
Authors: H.J. Raine, Kelly Wyre
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and staying well out of Lucian’s reach. “It’s not you. I just... I can’t. I can’t do this yet.”
“Do what, sweet Shea?” Lucian asked as tenderly as he could. Some part of him was absolutely sure it was dying at the sight of Shea in such turmoil; it told Lucian that if he didn’t fix this, do something, right the wrong, figure out what the hell just happened, Lucian would wink out of existence. “The Scene shit? You don’t have to--”
“No. I don’t.” Shea’s tone turned to stone. “Get out. Now.”
“S-Shea?” Lucian asked, trembling and hating himself for sounding like he was six and hiding in the closet fromhis father’s fists.
“Oh, Christ. Fuck this,” Shea muttered and staggered to his feet. He sucked in a breath and shouted, “Luke, get out! I need you the hell out of my house! Now!”
Rage powered Lucian upright, and for a horrible moment he thought he might do something truly insane. Attack Shea, throw a book at the asshole’s head, something. The waking burn of a forming bruise across his shoulder blade and the tightness in his chest stopped him.
And so did the confusing mass of hurt, anger, fear, and loss that filled his love’s eyes and slid in a single silver track downone cheek.
“All right,” Lucian said, chilly as the ice filling his guts and engulfing his heart. “I’ll go, sweet Shea.” Lucian added the cruel twist of inflection, and the nightmare part of him liked the way Shea flinched. Lucian stalked to the entryway. The gun lay in his path, and he kicked it with a garbled cry, yanking open the door and slamming it hard enough to rattle windows behind him.
Lucian made it to the Rover, and time kept skipping. He didn’t recall the porch, the gravel, or his keys, but he relished the spin of tires when he hit the gas.
Somethingwas wrongwithShea.
The Rover found traction on rock and snow and bounced down the mile-long drive toward the main road that wound its way by the Ollivander farm. Lucian couldn’t stop shaking, realized he’d left his coat on the rack inside Shea’s cabin, and he nearlyhit a tree.
Someone had hurt Shea.
Yanking the wheel in the direction of the skid, Lucian avoided a head-on collision and reality stuttered again. The next thing he knew, he was on scraped asphalt, tires straddling the center lines. He glared at the speedometer that screamed he was doing ninety in a thirty-five, and the Rover careened back to the proper side ofthe road.
Something that Lucian had done had made Shea lashout.
Lucian’s back throbbed in complaint, and he ignored it. He slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street, stopping next to a wooden fence lining private property. Lucian didn’t recognize the fence, the pasture, anything. His breathfogged the car, he couldn’t feelhis hands or feet, and he smashed at the controls on the dash until heat flooded the interior. A horn blared, Lucian braced for impact, and a sedan whipped around the Rover. The driver shook a fist, and Lucian’s head hit the wheel, once, twice. The painbarelyregistered.
Someone was goingto pay.
Slamming on the hazard lights, Lucian eased the truck off the road and into a ditch. He fumbled in his pockets until he found his phone. It slipped to the floorboards, and Lucian cussed in stammers that worried the last remnants of his sane self. He couldn’t figure out how to turn off the damned keyguard, and he screamed inthe enclosed silence, deafening.
Finally hitting the right buttons, Lucian clutched at his chest and doubled over inthe seat. The callrangand rang, and Lucian felt alone in the world. God and purpose and everything he’d ever worked for didn’t matter, didn’t know his name, and Lucian hung on the cliffofdespair.
“Clark.”
Luciantried to speak, couldn’t.
“Hello?”Clark said.
“...dialed you accidentally,” Lucian heard in the background. Daniel. “Why’s he callingthis time of--”
“Shea,” Lucian said, the single syllable a mess of sound.
“Luke? What’s
“Do what, sweet Shea?” Lucian asked as tenderly as he could. Some part of him was absolutely sure it was dying at the sight of Shea in such turmoil; it told Lucian that if he didn’t fix this, do something, right the wrong, figure out what the hell just happened, Lucian would wink out of existence. “The Scene shit? You don’t have to--”
“No. I don’t.” Shea’s tone turned to stone. “Get out. Now.”
“S-Shea?” Lucian asked, trembling and hating himself for sounding like he was six and hiding in the closet fromhis father’s fists.
“Oh, Christ. Fuck this,” Shea muttered and staggered to his feet. He sucked in a breath and shouted, “Luke, get out! I need you the hell out of my house! Now!”
Rage powered Lucian upright, and for a horrible moment he thought he might do something truly insane. Attack Shea, throw a book at the asshole’s head, something. The waking burn of a forming bruise across his shoulder blade and the tightness in his chest stopped him.
And so did the confusing mass of hurt, anger, fear, and loss that filled his love’s eyes and slid in a single silver track downone cheek.
“All right,” Lucian said, chilly as the ice filling his guts and engulfing his heart. “I’ll go, sweet Shea.” Lucian added the cruel twist of inflection, and the nightmare part of him liked the way Shea flinched. Lucian stalked to the entryway. The gun lay in his path, and he kicked it with a garbled cry, yanking open the door and slamming it hard enough to rattle windows behind him.
Lucian made it to the Rover, and time kept skipping. He didn’t recall the porch, the gravel, or his keys, but he relished the spin of tires when he hit the gas.
Somethingwas wrongwithShea.
The Rover found traction on rock and snow and bounced down the mile-long drive toward the main road that wound its way by the Ollivander farm. Lucian couldn’t stop shaking, realized he’d left his coat on the rack inside Shea’s cabin, and he nearlyhit a tree.
Someone had hurt Shea.
Yanking the wheel in the direction of the skid, Lucian avoided a head-on collision and reality stuttered again. The next thing he knew, he was on scraped asphalt, tires straddling the center lines. He glared at the speedometer that screamed he was doing ninety in a thirty-five, and the Rover careened back to the proper side ofthe road.
Something that Lucian had done had made Shea lashout.
Lucian’s back throbbed in complaint, and he ignored it. He slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street, stopping next to a wooden fence lining private property. Lucian didn’t recognize the fence, the pasture, anything. His breathfogged the car, he couldn’t feelhis hands or feet, and he smashed at the controls on the dash until heat flooded the interior. A horn blared, Lucian braced for impact, and a sedan whipped around the Rover. The driver shook a fist, and Lucian’s head hit the wheel, once, twice. The painbarelyregistered.
Someone was goingto pay.
Slamming on the hazard lights, Lucian eased the truck off the road and into a ditch. He fumbled in his pockets until he found his phone. It slipped to the floorboards, and Lucian cussed in stammers that worried the last remnants of his sane self. He couldn’t figure out how to turn off the damned keyguard, and he screamed inthe enclosed silence, deafening.
Finally hitting the right buttons, Lucian clutched at his chest and doubled over inthe seat. The callrangand rang, and Lucian felt alone in the world. God and purpose and everything he’d ever worked for didn’t matter, didn’t know his name, and Lucian hung on the cliffofdespair.
“Clark.”
Luciantried to speak, couldn’t.
“Hello?”Clark said.
“...dialed you accidentally,” Lucian heard in the background. Daniel. “Why’s he callingthis time of--”
“Shea,” Lucian said, the single syllable a mess of sound.
“Luke? What’s
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