Chapter Twenty-Two
HE PUSHED OFF ME SLOWLY, SHAKILY, almost as if he was about to collapse.
I went to help him—general human kindness flaring to life instead of the terrifying new feelings he’d caused, but he removed my hand from his bare chest and swayed off the bed.
Whisper almost knocked him down again as the panther nuzzled Lucien’s hip, twining around him. His stiff tail almost reached Lucien’s messy, sweaty hair.
“Enough, you stupid beast.” Staggering to the side, Lucien wedged a hand over the silver circle on his chest and moved slowly toward the huge wardrobe. The hulking piece of furniture looked like it would eat him alive with its clawed feet and carved wooden doors.
Whisper trailed after him, head down and body tense as if ready to catch his master if he fell.
I didn’t say a word as Lucien opened the wardrobe, leaned against it for a moment, then reached inside for a floor-length black dressing gown.
His jaw tensed as if it took far more strength than he had to slip the robe over his shoulders, shove his arms into it, and tie the sash around his waist. The luxurious black robe transformed him from a modern-day man into some ancient exotic prince.
Scooting to the edge of his bed, I plucked away my wine-wet shirt and stood.
Raking both hands through his long hair, Lucien turned to face me.
Warily, wearily, his eyes met mine.
The world shrank to just him and me and this room and whatever had just happened between us.
“Are you...okay?” I asked quietly.
“Leave,” he murmured, his voice raspy and tattered.
Moving toward him, questions exploded out of me. “What’s that thing embedded in your chest? What are those cuffs around your wrists? Why do you smell like really potent medicine yet seem to be on death’s doorstep? What—?”
“Once again, your noise is offensive.” His fingers clenched into fists. Straightening to his full impressive height, he stalked toward me, the panther at his side.
I backed up a step.
I couldn’t help it.
The way he moved, the predator guarding him, he couldn’t be real.
None of this could be real because I couldn’t understand any of it.
Couldn’t understand how he could affect me so desperately.
He seemed invincible yet tragically vulnerable. He had the skills to kill those trying to kill him, yet he’d almost died in my arms five minutes ago.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded, my temper bleeding through common sense. “Tell me—”
“Leave,” he snarled.
“But you’re hurt—”
“GO. AWAY!” He surged toward me, fury in his eyes, teeth bared.
Whisper snarled—at him or me, I couldn’t tell.
My stress levels shot to blackout levels.
My heart palpitated.
My eyesight blinded with white spots.
And I had two choices.
Pass out at his feet.
Or run.
I fled.
* * * * *
“Oh my God, you’re still not dead?”
I almost fell flat on my face as I charged out of the palace and into the night. Evelyn was the only one still waiting for an audience with Lucien that would probably never come.
Balling my hands and trying to hide my trembles, I marched past her.
Her eyes dropped from mine, landing on the plastered wetness of my shirt. “Wait...did you sleep with him? Why can I see your boobs? Why are you wet?”
My cheeks caught fire as I looked down. The sheer fabric barely covered anything, revealing just how cold I was and allowing a good estimate of what bra size I would need if I ever chose to wear one.
Snatching at the linen shirt and cami beneath, I yanked the wine-sodden fabric away. “It was an accident, that’s all.”
My head pounded, pounded.
I needed to lie down. As soon as possible.
“An accident?” She came toward me, anger flaring in her dark stare. “An accident that involved pouring water on yourself? What were you trying to do? Win a wet t-shirt contest?”
“I’m leaving,” I muttered, dashing past her to the stone steps.
Nausea hunted my every move.
I couldn’t stop replaying Lucien yelling at me.
His anger wasn’t new. It shouldn’t affect me whatsoever.
Yet after what’d happened between us...
“Wait.” Whirling to face me, her temper cracked just a little. Her performance of being a badass assassin faltered as she glanced at the hulking mansion. “Is he...what’s it like in there?”
My mind skipped over the long day of cleaning and the horrible realisation that Lucien Ashfall lived in a resplendent estate tucked in the English countryside, yet he dwelled in the middle of it—trapped in living quarters that were more of a jail than a palace.
“It’s fine.” I charged down the stairs, my headache crushing.
“Is he okay?” she asked, following me like a bad smell.
“Why wouldn’t he be?” I kept my head down so she wouldn’t see the truth that I’d fallen on top of him thanks to his bloody panther, only to end up flat on my back with him pressed against me.
“I’ve heard rumours he’s not well.”
“He seemed perfectly okay to me.”
As if I’d tell you anything.
“What else happened?” she asked, not letting me leave. “Aside from the accident.”
No way did I want her following me back to my pavilion or seeing me pass out in the garden if I didn’t make it home fast enough. I spun to face her, gritting my teeth against the rush of vertigo. “Nothing happened.”
“Something happened.”
“I did some cleaning for him. That’s it.”
“Cleaning?”
I crossed my arms, flinching against the wet fabric. “Look, I’m tired, hungry, and not feeling very well. I don’t have to answer your questions, so—”
“Is he dying?”
“What?” Words stuck in my throat. “W-Why would you ask that?”
She shrugged. “He looked in pain the last time I saw him. Coupled with the rumours that he passes out a lot...it’s only natural to wonder if he’s terminal.”
“He passes out a lot?”
God, empathy and pity and a whole lot of trouble gushed through me.
The agony on his face. The trauma in his voice.
Back in his bedroom, he’d seemed moments away from begging death to take him.
His despair had been so thick, it’d choked both of us.
His pain was a living entity, devouring him alive but.
..that wasn’t my story to tell. He couldn’t afford to look weak because then the vultures would arrive, and circle more than they already were.
I might not understand him. I might have very confusing thoughts about him. And I might wish every moment to get out of this place, but...I wasn’t a gossiper and for some reason, he’d given me a smidgen of trust.
If I stood any chance of getting out of here, it was most likely through him so...I’d be loyal to my unofficial, slave-driving employer, and keep his secrets.
I met Evelyn’s eyes, hoping my ability at lying had improved. “He’s absolutely fine. As far as I know, there’s nothing wrong with him. And now, if you don’t mind, I really have to go. It’s been a long, long day.”
I ran before she could stop me.