Page 67 of Lover Forbidden
On that note, he started his descent, and he was light on the balls of his boots, twinkle-toeing toward the well-lit hallway below. With every step, the stench of the undead got stronger—and so did his conviction.
No one knew how much longer they had left. So he might as well do something worthy while he was counting down the hours.
And what do you know.
When he hit the half landing, he glanced up over his shoulder. L.W. was where he’d left the heir to the throne, poised between standing on that top step and the rush his body was momentarily going to fall into.
For once, that harsh face wasn’t sporting aggression.
There was a sadness revealed that surely the male would have denied if he’d been called out on it. But everyone had their own demons.
Even fighters who fought with everybody.
Maybe them especially.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Up on the roof, Lyric stared across at Dev—and pulled the kind of blank that there was no recovering from: No thoughts in her head, body frozen, breath exhaling in a rush. She couldn’t have looked guiltier if she’d jimmied the lock of his apartment and waltzed right in.
The fact she’d shown up back here—on the roof no less—after her no-one-night-stands speech made her look like a deluded stalker.
And it wasn’t like she could defend herself with the ol’ you-have-an-infestation-of-the-undead-in-your-building yarn.
“What’s going on here?” Dev walked over to where she stood at the ledge. “What are you doing?”
He’d changed out of his running tights—into loose sweatpants that added bulk to his lower body—but he’d kept his windbreaker on, the folds flapping in the wind. Had he bothered to put a shirt on?
Like that was any of her business…
“Are you okay?” he asked with a frown. As if he were thinking they might be entering 911 land.
“My scarf,” she blurted.
He glanced around. Then both his eyebrows lifted. “I’m sorry? Your scarf is up here?”
“Um, no. Sorry.” She starting doing jazz hands for some reason, soshe shoved her fists into her parka’s pockets. “I think I left my scarf in your apartment. I don’t have your number, I couldn’t get in through the front door, and I thought—”
“How did you get up here?”
She looked over her shoulder—
Directly below, her brother, L.W., and Shuli filed out of the basement door the white-haired figure had left from. And their weapons were out, the guns glinting subtly.
Instantly, her eyes panic-scanned the parking lot—and landed on a car whose brake lights came on. Next, steam petered out of its tailpipe.
Shit.
Whipping her head back around, she tried to remember what Dev had asked her?
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a pair of curved metal arms swooping over the ledge. “Fire escape.”
Feeling like an utter ass, she pointed at them and then headed in that direction. “I thought maybe I could get down into the building and… find your apartment. My grandmother made that scarf.” Which was not a lie. “It’s… priceless to me, and I was all flustered. I get it, I look like a total lunatic here, but I didn’t know what else to do and I wasn’t thinking clearly—but I need that scarf back. And I’m really sorry.”
There was a pause. Then he said, “I found it on my dresser. I was wondering how to get it back to you.”
“Oh, thank you—”
As she all but lunged toward the door he’d come out of, he caught her arm. “You mind if I have a smoke first—”
