Read Online Winter's Knight by H.J. Raine, Kelly Wyre - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: H.J. Raine, Kelly Wyre
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wrong?”
“Don’t f-fuckingcallme that!”Luciancried.
“Sir. Sorry, sir.” The snap in Clark’s voice didn’t lessen the concern, and Lucian couldn’t breathe. His chest hurt, he was sweating and shivering. It felt like he was dying.
“What’s your location, sir?”Clark asked.
Lucian shook his head, and snarled. “I don’t know. Farm. Near the farm.”
“The Ollivander Farm, sir?”
“I don’t know. Goddammit, Clark, something’s wrong.”
“I understand, sir. We’ll fix it. Just tell me where youare.”
“W-wrong with Shea,” Lucian clarified. He blinked burning dry eyes and hated his father so much in that single instant that the emotiontried to obliterate him. “Ssomethingh-hurt him.”
“Does he need medicalattention, sir?”
“No. Not like that.” Lucian got a full lungful of air, sighed a shakyexhale.
“Good, sir. Better. Just breathe. Are youhurt?”
“He threw me into the wall,” Lucian whispered like he was recountinga bad dream.
“Shea did?”
“We were on the couch, and it was fine. Fucking fine. And thenI... I said--”
Good boy.
“--something, and he threw me.”
“Do youneed a doctor?”
“No.” Lucian forced another deep breath, and the world beyond the windshield wavered inthe red haze of rage. “I need to know what the fuck happened to him, Clark. I need to know why I don’t have that information. Why you didn’t tell me anything or find out that someone got close enough to my Shea to do harm. And I need to know it now so I know who the fuck to kill.”
“Sir. Where are you?” Clark asked, impatient emphasis oneachword.
“I told youI don’t fuckingknow!”
Clark was silent for a few seconds, and Lucian had sense enough to feel bad for yelling but not enough compassion to apologize. “If you’re near the farm, you’re closer to us than you are to home,” Clark said. “You’re in no shape to drive, but I know I won’t be able to convince you to stay there until I can get this goddamned software to work to pinpoint your location.”
“Let me see,” Daniel said, close enough to the phone for Lucian to hear. There was a rustle, a low sound, and Clark spoke to Daniel with a hand blurring the speaker before comingback to Lucian.
“Get here,” Clark pleaded. “We’ll talk about what happened. Please, sir, just--”
“Fine.” Lucian tossed the phone into the passenger seat, and for once the GPS didn’t fight Lucian as he called up maps and directions to Clark and Daniel’s townhouse. He defied the speed limits and dared a cop to show up. He replayed every single second of the night over and over. He wanted to live inthe memoryof Shea’s kiss and hands, Shea’s moans and words, Shea’s taste and smell. He wanted to die at his own incompetence, at his inability to string facts together fast or tight enough to see the problem. He knew Shea, and the gun and the violence and the scars didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense, and he knew he should retreat. Leave Shea alone. He’d gotten his chance with Shea, had fucked it up, and Lucian was still reeling at how life was continuing despite his expectations. Lucian wasn’t supposed to survive losing Shea, and without Shea, nothingwould ever matter again.
“Fucking idiot.” Lucian flew through traffic in the Fashion District of New Amsterdam, and avoided hitting the gang of drunk coeds stumbling to cross the street. Lucian tried to get a grip. He wasn’t melodramatic, he wasn’t a quitter, and he most certainly didn’t lose that whichmattered to him. Except for-
“No. Not again.” Lucian dove into a parking spot on Lily Avenue a block away from Clark’s home. He slammed the Rover’s door and walked into the freezing wind, hands shoved into his pockets. His shirttails flapped, his tie was loose, his hair wrapped in tangles around his head. He couldn’t think straight, and it was driving him mad. Lucian could always sort the data, make the intuitive leap, figure out the root of a problem. He didn’t
“Don’t f-fuckingcallme that!”Luciancried.
“Sir. Sorry, sir.” The snap in Clark’s voice didn’t lessen the concern, and Lucian couldn’t breathe. His chest hurt, he was sweating and shivering. It felt like he was dying.
“What’s your location, sir?”Clark asked.
Lucian shook his head, and snarled. “I don’t know. Farm. Near the farm.”
“The Ollivander Farm, sir?”
“I don’t know. Goddammit, Clark, something’s wrong.”
“I understand, sir. We’ll fix it. Just tell me where youare.”
“W-wrong with Shea,” Lucian clarified. He blinked burning dry eyes and hated his father so much in that single instant that the emotiontried to obliterate him. “Ssomethingh-hurt him.”
“Does he need medicalattention, sir?”
“No. Not like that.” Lucian got a full lungful of air, sighed a shakyexhale.
“Good, sir. Better. Just breathe. Are youhurt?”
“He threw me into the wall,” Lucian whispered like he was recountinga bad dream.
“Shea did?”
“We were on the couch, and it was fine. Fucking fine. And thenI... I said--”
Good boy.
“--something, and he threw me.”
“Do youneed a doctor?”
“No.” Lucian forced another deep breath, and the world beyond the windshield wavered inthe red haze of rage. “I need to know what the fuck happened to him, Clark. I need to know why I don’t have that information. Why you didn’t tell me anything or find out that someone got close enough to my Shea to do harm. And I need to know it now so I know who the fuck to kill.”
“Sir. Where are you?” Clark asked, impatient emphasis oneachword.
“I told youI don’t fuckingknow!”
Clark was silent for a few seconds, and Lucian had sense enough to feel bad for yelling but not enough compassion to apologize. “If you’re near the farm, you’re closer to us than you are to home,” Clark said. “You’re in no shape to drive, but I know I won’t be able to convince you to stay there until I can get this goddamned software to work to pinpoint your location.”
“Let me see,” Daniel said, close enough to the phone for Lucian to hear. There was a rustle, a low sound, and Clark spoke to Daniel with a hand blurring the speaker before comingback to Lucian.
“Get here,” Clark pleaded. “We’ll talk about what happened. Please, sir, just--”
“Fine.” Lucian tossed the phone into the passenger seat, and for once the GPS didn’t fight Lucian as he called up maps and directions to Clark and Daniel’s townhouse. He defied the speed limits and dared a cop to show up. He replayed every single second of the night over and over. He wanted to live inthe memoryof Shea’s kiss and hands, Shea’s moans and words, Shea’s taste and smell. He wanted to die at his own incompetence, at his inability to string facts together fast or tight enough to see the problem. He knew Shea, and the gun and the violence and the scars didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense, and he knew he should retreat. Leave Shea alone. He’d gotten his chance with Shea, had fucked it up, and Lucian was still reeling at how life was continuing despite his expectations. Lucian wasn’t supposed to survive losing Shea, and without Shea, nothingwould ever matter again.
“Fucking idiot.” Lucian flew through traffic in the Fashion District of New Amsterdam, and avoided hitting the gang of drunk coeds stumbling to cross the street. Lucian tried to get a grip. He wasn’t melodramatic, he wasn’t a quitter, and he most certainly didn’t lose that whichmattered to him. Except for-
“No. Not again.” Lucian dove into a parking spot on Lily Avenue a block away from Clark’s home. He slammed the Rover’s door and walked into the freezing wind, hands shoved into his pockets. His shirttails flapped, his tie was loose, his hair wrapped in tangles around his head. He couldn’t think straight, and it was driving him mad. Lucian could always sort the data, make the intuitive leap, figure out the root of a problem. He didn’t
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