DRAKE POV
Lucius has always been cunning—painfully, annoyingly, effortlessly cunning—and the trails he cleared on his way down the mountain only proved it. He knew we were coming. He knew we would track him. And he absolutely did not want us to find him.
I don't blame him.
If I had Eve with me—alone, unreachable, uninterrupted—I would have buried my tracks too. I would have gone out of my way to keep Marcus from swooping in with his "my mate!" theatrics. And I definitely would have tried to keep myself from arriving.
As much as I envy him… I'm not worried he'll win her forever.
Why?
Because Lucius and Eve both carry ticking bombs inside them—two fuses just waiting to burn down whatever bond they've started building.
The first one?
Salem.
That little furball-snark-machine-lizard-cat-thing she adores more than her sanity. Lucius is the one who struck him down. The only reason Eve isn't screaming bloody murder is because she doesn't know yet. And the moment she does?
