LUKAS’S POV
Selenea had stormed upstairs earlier, her red hair flashing, leaving me with Callan’s blood-streaked grin and Freya’s smug taunts ringing in my ears. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I stood in the living room, the air thick with tension, my boots scuffing the hardwood. My chest tightened, her distance gnawing at me all morning—she hadn’t looked at me, hadn’t spoken, just shut herself away. I flexed my hands, knuckles popping, and strode to the stairs, my boots thudding, the banister smooth under my palm. She was my mate, my roommate, my everything, and I needed her voice, her eyes, her heat.
I climbed fast, the steps creaking, my breath sharp, and stopped at her door—oak, solid, locked. My brow furrowed, my fist hovering, the cool wood mocking me. She’d never locked it before.
