Page 42 of Midnight Queen

“That won’t be necessary. I’m more than capable of finding my own way home.” Lucy’s arms cross tightly in front of her.

Lorcan’s completely unbothered by her blatant disinterest. “You should be more careful. Walking home alone on these streets is unwise. Don’t you know about the monsters lurking around the corners out here? They’re just waiting to get their hands on an ass as sweet as yours.” His eyes trail over the tight dress she wears, lingering on her backside just a little too long.

Those knowing eyes of hers cut to me as she says, “Yeah, I’m aware of the monsters in this town. I’ve seen how bad their bite is, but I’m not afraid of them.” Lucy doesn’t wait to confirm I’m reading between the lines of her message. She simply knows I am. “My bark is worse anyway, and you’re going to find that out the hard way if you don't stop gawking at my ass, Lorcan.” Her arm swings out and she backhands him across his chest. “Enough.”

Even though it didn’t hurt, Lorcan rubs at the spot on his sternum. “You like it rough, darling? That’s okay, so do I.”

“You have no idea what I like,” Lucy snaps. “And if you did, you couldn’t handle it.”

A shit-eating grin breaks across Lor’s face. “Is that a challenge, Lucy?”

Lucy rolls her eyes with an annoyed huff.

Quincey’s legs kick violently as she lets out a frustrated screech. “Oh my fucking god! Flirt or fuck, I don’t care, but someone make him put me down!”

Lorcan chuckles, but wisely makes no move to assist her.

Lucy grabs Quincey’s ankle, giving it a loving squeeze before apologizing to her, “Sorry, Q, no can do. He’s caught you and there’s no getting free now.”

She has no idea just how true that statement is.

Before she turns away to leave, Lucy pauses and looks at me. “I know she’s lying to me,” she whispers so low that only my advanced hearing can pick up on it. “She spins a good tale, but the restraint marks on her wrists she tried to hide from me gave her away.” Her face sets in a deadly glare. “I don't give a fuck who you are, Laurent. If I find out you’re the one who hurt her, I will kill you myself.” With her parting threat, the human turns on her heels and with her head held high, she walks away from us, leaving the confirmation that she knows more than she should in her wake.

“Lorcan, follow her home.”

“Goody, I’ve been demoted from babysitter to stalker. I’m really starting to forget why I’m still here,” he whines mostly to himself, at the same time, Quincey thrashes violently in my grasp.

“Put me down right now or I swear to God, I’m going to donate every single one of your Armani suits to Good-fucking-Will!” Her hands slap harder against my lower back.

Lorcan cocks his head, staring at Quincey with raised eyebrows. “Now I remember.”

She climbed into the back of the SUV, opting to sit in the confined third row rather than sit beside me. For the entire span of the drive home, she drank the large water bottle we’d stopped to purchase at a convenience store, and she sobered up.

It was for the best that we didn't talk, seeing as the displeasure still stirred in my chest that she’d be so reckless in the first place. The relief that she was now safe and under my supervision did little to quell the anger.

By the time the car stopped in front of the house, the alcohol-induced haziness had left Quincey’s eyes and without a word, she jumped out of the car, leaving me behind.

Her escape is short lived when she discovers the front door is locked. Arms crossed, she stands there now with an impatient look on her face as she waits for me to open the door.

Still scowling, she watches when I press my hand to the black handprint reader next to the door. When Duke was hired years ago, he had each of the doors outfitted with these readers, so we didn’t have to mess with keys. And as he said then, locks are easy to pick. It would take someone with a particular background to get through these electronic ones.

The second the dead bolt unlocks, Quincey shoves the door open and stalks inside. She steps out of her shoes as she goes, leaving them in the middle of the foyer before going up the stairs.

“Quincey,” I attempt, but she doesn’t turn around.

Sighing, I scrub a hand down my face. If I were a patient man, I would allow her time to calm herself down so we can discuss this rationally. Or I can follow her and demand we discuss whatever the hell is going on in that head of hers.

I contemplate my choices for all of ten seconds, but in the end, there really isn't a choice to be made. I don’t feel like waiting.

I’m up the stairs and stalking down the hallway before Quincey’s even made it to her bedroom door. It’s sweet she thinks I’m going to allow her to sleep in a separate bed. I slept alone for the past three hundred years, and I thought I was content with that until I discovered I much prefer having her next to me.

As if she believes a closed door will be enough to keep me out, she slams it shut.

My fingers curl into my palms at her childish behavior.

My fists thud against the wood, breaking the feeble lock. The door bangs against the wall behind it and I saunter inside the room just as she’s pulling the hoodie she wears over her head.

Every time I see the bandages on her chest, the uncontrollable monster inside of me rears its head, demanding we spill Gideon’s blood the same way he spilled Quincey’s.

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