Chapter Seven
Elena
They killed him…
The words repeat on a loop in my mind as I run down the empty sidewalk.
Did they see me?
I remember the shocked gasp that left my lips at what I witnessed—I can’t help but feel that someone heard me. My heart pounds, and the bitter taste of fear coats my mouth. When I start to slow down, thinking I’ve gone unnoticed, loud, jarring steps reach my ears and my heartbeat spikes.
Oh God! What should I do?
I start running again, faster than ever. It’s dark and I can barely see my feet or the ground in front of me. My lungs are burning, heat searing my chest as my breathing grows heavier. The footsteps grow closer and I glance back to see a huge shadow looming behind me. My heart races, and the burn in my chest heightens until breathing becomes difficult.
“Elena!”
The voice is muffled, intruding on my turbulent mind. But I can’t stop running. There’s an urgency riding in my veins. A need to escape even as my heart threatens to give out.
“Elena!”
Lucian’s deep voice pierces my mind. The subtle panic in his tone pulls me out of the cold grip of my nightmare and I jolt awake in bed, drenched in sweat, chest heaving and heart racing as I take in Lucian’s worried gaze studying my face.
A soft moan leaves my lips, my head banging like a drum. I can see his mouth moving, but I can barely make out the words above the noise in my head. “Uh…?”
“I asked if you’re okay, angel.” His voice is gentle and soothing, like a balm to my burning soul.
I shake my head, instantly regretting the action as the pain only intensifies. “My head…” I moan, pressing my hands against my temples.
His gaze darkens with worry as his eyes search mine. He sweeps my hair back, his hands gliding tenderly down my shoulders. “Let me help you sit up, and then I’ll get you some aspirin.”
He arranges a pillow behind me, slightly elevating my head and shoulders. Then he presses a kiss to my forehead, the action tugging at my heart despite my physical discomfort. The bed moves under his weight as he climbs off, and I close my eyes, listening to the soft pad of his feet as he walks out of the room. There’s something familiar about the nightmare I just had. I can feel it with every fiber of my being.
I have to remember…
I feel like there’s something important connected to this dream. With that thought, I take a deep breath and try to replay the dream in my mind, taking myself back to the scene. Suddenly, it becomes clearer, and the memory slams into me like a freight train. I can’t stop it. I groan aloud, gripping my head. It’s as if someone is repeatedly ramming a sledgehammer into my skull.
I scream in pain, tears streaming down my face at the inflow of memories.
Someone died. Right in front of me.
“Elena!”
At Lucian’s panicked tone, I open my eyes to see him holding a glass of water and a pill bottle. He gently places them on the nearest surface and sits beside me. “What’s wrong, love?” he asks as he wipes my tears.
But I can’t seem to stop the tears, or the memories that are roaring back. “I’m remembering. I remember it all,” I whisper hoarsely, trembling.
Sobs wrack my body as the past envelops me. Lucian gently tugs me into his arms, rubbing my back in a comforting caress. “It’s going to be fine, love. You’re going to be alright. I’m here.”
Memories are overwhelming me, bursting out of me like a dam. My emotions are all over the place, and the scene seems fresh in my mind, like it’s happening before my eyes all over again. It’s terrifying, but Lucian’s steady presence starts to soothe me alongside his firm words. Slowly, my tears subside, save for occasional shiver. I burrow my face into his chest, reveling in his warmth.
“Talk to me, love. What did you see?” he asks.
My arms tighten convulsively around him. “It’s bad, Lucian. It’s really bad,” I whisper.
My voice is muffled by his chest, but I know he heard me from the subtle stiffening of his huge body. “It’s alright. I’m here whenever you’re ready,” he assures me.
He gently disentangles his arms from around me and opens the bottle to shake out two pills. “Here. Have some aspirin for your headache,” he says, transferring the pills and water to my outstretched palms.
I swallow them down along with half the contents of the glass. As soon as Lucian replaces the glass on the bedside table, he retrieves the pillow from behind me and slides smoothly in its place, fitting my back to his front. His movements are gentle and unhurried, taking care not to jostle my aching head. A single arm brackets my upper body and I snuggle deeper against his chest as his chin rests gently on my head.
His other hand intertwines with my right hand on my lap, sending the familiar tingles that I’ve come to associate with Lucian’s touch racing down my spine. We stay silent for a while and I bask in the safety that his presence provides, his steady heartbeat grounding me and rooting me in reality despite the memories threatening to pull me away.
“Well…like I told you,” I begin, “it’s a dream of mine to have a café, and when my mom died, my resolve to make that dream come true became stronger. So, I’ve been working in a local café for more experience and to gather enough money to apply for a loan.”
Lucian’s hand tightens around mine reassuringly, and a small smile graces my lips. “It was during one of my shifts a year ago that this man walked in. He was kind, and had the nicest smile. I was his server, and he tipped me so well, saying I reminded him of his daughter. He became a frequent customer who I would always attend to whenever I was on shift—his name was Warren Flint.”
Lucian’s body goes rigid behind me. I look up at his face, pushing my head deeper into his chest. “Is something wrong?” I ask softly.
He places a lingering kiss on my temple. “It’s nothing, love. Go on with your story,” he answers.
I straighten my head and look down at our joined hands, needing the comfort of the sight to continue delving into my memories. “We became somewhat close—he would talk to me about his daughter, and his work. He was an artist. About a month ago, he entered the café with a painting, looking nervous, and like he was in a hurry. He gave me the art with a phone number and urged me to give it to his daughter and no one else.
“I took the piece to the back room to store it in my locker, and by the time I got back out, Warren had left. I didn’t think something was really wrong—I just thought he was late for a meeting or something and had to leave.” I shrug in Lucian’s arms even as sadness presses down on my chest.
“That night, I was walking to the nearest bus station when I passed by the alley at the end of the block…” My chest tightens with pain, and tears well up in my eyes, blinding me as I clutch Lucian’s hand tighter.
He turns me in his arms, pressing the side of my face to his chest and caressing my hair as he places kisses on my temple and forehead in a tender and intimate gesture. “Take your time, love,” he whispers.
I shiver softly in his arms. “Warren was on his knees, his back to the street. And a man was pressing a gun against his temple. I heard Warren say, ‘You’ll never find it,’ before his murderer pulled the trigger and killed him. I think I made a sound—I was in shock. I ran…I was so scared.”
In a voice tight with tears, I say, “I didn’t know I was being followed, so I slowed down, trying to catch my breath. Then I heard footsteps behind me and I started running again, but it was dark and I couldn’t see. I turned to look back, and then I tripped and…I hit my head, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in the auction house without my memories.”
I shift my teary gaze up and Lucian’s impassive eyes. “And I would have encountered much worse if you hadn’t saved me from the auction house. Thank you, Lucian.” I wrap my arms around his neck.
“Elena, I would do anything for you.” His words are a dark promise that steals my breath.
“I know.”
We stare at one another in silence as I come to terms with everything I’ve remembered. I don’t know what to do or how to move on from it all. Being with Lucian seems like the start of a new life for me. I can’t deny how I feel for him, but I can’t move on with him without laying Warren’s soul to rest.
Lucian’s deep voice penetrates my thoughts. “You left the painting in your locker that night?”
I nod. “I didn’t want to carry it on the bus, so I was going to leave it at the café until I got ahold of his daughter.”
“What’s the name of the café and where is it?” he asks.
“Moss and Moonlight Café. It’s in downtown Seattle, on Pine Street,” I reply.
“Do you remember the killer’s face? Can you describe him?”
The man’s face instantly flashes in my mind, and I wince, nodding. “I know him so well that I don’t even have to describe him. He’s a regular at the café too. It’s the senator—Senator Walter.”
Lucian goes rigid behind me, and then immediately relaxes. It’s so fleeting that I assume I imagined it. “I see,” he says, his voice betraying nothing.
“I want him to pay for what he did,” I beseech softly. “I want to tell the police everything I remember.”
“I know you do,” he says gently. “But right now, you need to rest. It’s late and you need your wits about you if you want to talk to the cops.” He grazes his knuckles down my cheek.
A delicious shiver wracks my body. “Okay.”
Lucian slides his body out from behind me with an ease that belies his size. “I want to quickly make some calls. I’ll join you soon.”
He leans down and takes my lips in a deep but gentle kiss, sliding his tongue into my mouth and branding his taste on me. But the kiss stops just as soon as it begins, and he arranges the pillow behind my head, pulling the sheet around me.
“I’ll be back soon. Sleep,” he orders softly, placing a chaste kiss on my lips.
I watch him leave, feeling bereft at his absence even with the taste of him lingering on my tongue. I sigh softly, feeling languid and soft from the kiss. But it isn’t long before the past intrudes on my thoughts again and I’m back to thinking about the death of Warren Flint, battling a strangling guilt.
It’s going to be a long night…