Page 60 of Wicked Bonds
“Looking for something?”
I nearly jump out of my skin. Lucien stands ten feet away, hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored coat. How does he always manage to sneak up on me? Vampire stealth is bullshit.
“Just enjoying the flowers,” I say, shoving my phone in my pocket. “Very calming. Very zen.”
His eyes flick to the dirt on my knees, the scratches on my hands from the rose thorns, the obvious pattern of disturbance I’ve left in the garden beds. “Yes, you look extremelyzen.”
“Did you need something, or are you just here to annoy me?”
“You need to come with me.” His voice has that serious edge that usually means trouble. “Now.”
“I’m good here, thanks.”
“Rose.” He takes a step closer, and I catch that familiar scent of vetiver and mint. “In about thirty seconds, you’re going to attract the kind of attention you don’t want. Trust me on this.”
“Trust you?” I laugh, but it comes out bitter. “That’s hilarious, coming from the Coven’s personal spy.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m trying to help you.”
“By following me around? By reporting my every move to Wickersly? Real helpful, Lucien.”
“By getting you out of here before—” He stops, head tilting in that way that means he’s hearing something I can’t. “Move.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He moves faster than I can see. One second he’s ten feet away, the next his arm is around my waist and I’m being lifted off the ground. I yelp in surprise as he throws me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes.
“Put me down!” I beat my fists against his back, but it’s like punching marble. “This is kidnapping! Assault! I’ll set you on fire!”
“Give it a try,” he says, already walking. His hand is firm on the back of my thighs close to my butt, keeping me in place despite my squirming.
“I hate you.” I grab a handful of his coat and pull, which does absolutely nothing. “This is humiliating.”
“It’s necessary.”
“It’s bullshit is what it is.” The blood is rushing to my head from being upside down, and the view of Lucien’s ass, while admittedly excellent, is not improving my mood. “I can walk, you know. I have legs.”
“Which you weren’t using to leave when I asked nicely.”
“You didn’t ask nicely! You just showed up and started making demands!”
He turns a corner, and finally, mercifully, sets me down. I immediately shove him, which moves him about as much as shoving a mountain would. My hair is a mess, my shirt is twisted, and I’m pretty sure my face is red from all the blood that pooled in my head.
“You’re an asshole,” I inform him, trying to fix my appearance.
He nods toward the garden.
I turn, still fuming, and see a familiar figure strutting across the grass. Galanthis, that weird cat that seems to have free run of the campus, is making his way toward the exact spot where I was searching. He stops at the disturbed earth, sniffs delicately, then starts scratching at the dirt.
Is he about to…?
Yep. The cat squats and takes a poo right in the middle of the chrysanthemums.
“Galanthis has a sixth sense for where he shouldn’t be,” Lucien says. “And he’s Wickersly’s familiar. Everything he sees, she can see if she chooses to look through his eyes.”
The implications hit me like a truck. If I’d still been there, crouched in the dirt obviously searching for something, Wickersly would have seen everything. Would have known exactly what I was doing.
“Oh,” I say, because what else is there to say?
