Page 47 of Porcelain Grave

Lucien laughs, a genuine, airy sound. "I'm counting on it! If he ever finds you. He doesn't exactly know this place so finding you here without anything to track you on would be impressive. It'll be a marvelous spectacle. But until then..." He points his fork at my plate. "Eat. The risotto is divine, and it's a crime to let it get cold. Come on, one little bite for the mean kidnapper?"

"Go fuck yourself," I snap.

"Such language! Honestly, Rhys has really let your manners slip," he tuts, leaning back in his chair. "Still no? Fine. But don't come crying to me when you faint from hunger and I have to feed you grapes like a Roman emperor. Because trust me, I will. I've always wanted to try that.”

I finally give in and take a bite of the sea bass. Fuck, it’s actually delicious, which just makes me hate him more. As I chew, I glance out the massive french windows. The view is lovely, if you ignore the fact that there are several armed men lined up across the manicured lawn, patrolling the perimeter like they’re guarding a bloody fortress.

"Good, isn't it?" Lucien asks, sounding far too pleased with himself. "I told you. The chef is a genius. Almost as much of a genius as I am for picking this vintage of wine."

I swallow the fish and lean back, narrowing my eyes at him. "What exactly do you want from Rhys? Money? Because if it's just cash, you're a fucking idiot for the risk you're taking."

Lucien scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. "Money? Please, darling. I have plenty of money. I want a business he runs. Specifically, I want Rhys to surrender that particular territory to me. It’s a prime spot, really. Much better suited for my... aesthetic."

I frown, genuinely curious now. "And why the fuck would you think kidnapping me would make him just hand over a whole territory? He's not the type to just sign a deed because he's feeling sentimental."

Lucien’s smile widens, becoming something sharper, more predatory. "Because, as I told you, now Rhys has something he cannot afford to lose. The man is a possessive lunatic—I've done my research. The moment he thinks he's losing you, he'll do absolutely anything to get you back. He'll trade a city for you if it means he can keep you locked in his arms."

"You're awfully confident for a man who's basically playing chicken with a psychotic billionaire," I retort.

"Confidence is my best bloody feature, after the eyes, of course," he quips, leaning in. He looks me up and down with a slow, appreciative gaze that makes my skin crawl and tingle at the same time. "Actually, it's a real shame I didn't find you first. You're exactly my type—pale, grumpy, and looks like she wants to murder me. Truly a delight."

I don't even blink. "Too bad, then. Because I'm his."

Lucien lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest as if I've physically wounded him. "Oh, the tragedy! My heart is shattered! Truly, I am devastated that I must settle for being the secondary lead in this twisted romance. I'll try to recover, but I might need a very expensive bottle of champagne to numb the pain."

Suddenly, the sound of distant gunshots cuts through his theatrical whining. Pop. Pop-pop.

Lucien is still for a moment before cursing out as he rolls his eyes. “Oh, bloody hell!”

Lucien doesn't panic. Instead, he lets out a short, amused laugh and leans back in his chair, crossing his legs comfortably. He looks at me, his expression shifting to one of genuine curiosity. "Tell me, Snowdrop... did you have a tracker on you?"

"Why the fuck would I?" I snap.

"Because," he says, tilting his head, "even if Rhys were the most efficient bloodhound in England, he wouldn't have found you in a matter of minutes. I checked you personally. No phone. I even used a detector for implants—nothing. You're as clean as a whistle."

My mind freezes. A detector. He checked for electronics, for implants... but did he check the halo? The black metal circle resting on my head. I feel a sudden chill. What if the halo is how he found me? Could it, instead of magic, have a tracker?

The gunshots outside get louder, closer, and more frequent. The sound of screaming and crashing fills the air. Then, the heavy front doors burst open with a violent bang that echoes through the entire villa.

Rhys strides in, looking like the god of death himself. He's flanked by his men, their faces grim and their weapons drawn. The big man with the knife immediately tries to step in Rhys's way, but Lucien raises a hand, stopping his guard.

"Don't bother, Tiny. Let the man in," Lucien says airily.

I don't wait for another word. I jump from my chair, the heavy velvet scraping against the floor, and rush across the room. I throw myself at Rhys, hugging him so tightly I can feel the frantic beat of his heart against my chest. He wraps his arms around me, his grip almost bruising, as if he's making sure I'm actually solid and not a hallucination.

Lucien stands up slowly, a smirk still plastered on his face. "Afternoon, Castellan. You look stressed. Rough commute?"

Rhys doesn't even look at me as he pulls back slightly, his eyes locked on Lucien. In one fluid motion, he draws his gun and points it straight at Lucien’s forehead. His voice is a low, guttural growl that vibrates through my entire body.

"You won't look like anything after I gouge your fucking eyes out of your skull," Rhys says, his tone devoid of any emotion other than pure, murderous intent.

Before he can pull the trigger, the room is suddenly flooded. Lucien's men swarm in from the side entrances, surrounding Lucien and pointing their guns directly at Rhys and his squad. It's a Mexican standoff in a fancy dining room.

"Now, now, let's think about this carefully, shall we?" Lucien says, his voice remaining light despite the gun pressed toward his brain. "You could shoot me. You could kill me right here, right now. But my men will shoot back. And who's to say none of those bullets will accidentally find their way into your little love, Ophelia? It would be such a shame to rescue her just to put a hole in her head."

The silence that follows is suffocating. Rhys and Lucien have a stare-down that feels like it could ignite the air. Rhys’s eyes are dark, obsessive, and completely unhinged.

"I am coming for you, Lucien," Rhys says, his voice a promise of absolute agony. "You will pay for every single second you spent touching her. I will make your death a slow, fucking masterpiece."