Page 85 of Sage Haven

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Fitting.

A tomb for men like Lucas.

A sanctuary for no one.

Castor was waiting on the front steps.

Arms crossed and jaw tight.

The kind of stillness that screamed fury.

I killed the engine. Stepped out and met his gaze.

He didn’t waste time.

“Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” His voice was low and dangerous.

I exhaled, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps.

The tension snapped tight between us.

“Inside,” I said.

The words were gravel.

And we both knew it wasn’t a suggestion.

It was the beginning of something neither of us could walk away from.

Not now.

Not with Sage locked in the pit downstairs.

And not with Lucas about to wake up in the trunk of my car.

19

SAGE

The first thing Inoticed was the cold.

It wasn’t just the sharp bite of the air; it was the way it seeped into my skin, the metal restraints digging into my wrists, sending a dull ache up my arms with every failed attempt to move. My ankles were bound too tight and unyielding. My legs ached from the strain of sitting too long in one position. There was no slack in the bindings.

No mercy.

I forced myself to take a breath, shallow and ragged, as my head pounded in an unforgiving drumbeat that throbbed behind my eyes. Whatever they’d drugged me with was still there, clinging to the edges of my consciousness like a stubborn fog I couldn’t outrun.

For a moment, I stayed still.

Counting the beats of my heart.

Listening. Assessing.

The sound of my own pulse echoed in my ears until, slowly, I became aware of another sound.

Breathing.

Steady. Calm. Controlled.

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