CHAPTER ELEVEN
The library loomed ahead, its large oak doors seemingly waiting for us.
It was the only other clue that Portia had given Lucien, so of course, we followed it.
I couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything pressing down on me—the curse, Serena, the spirits trapped in this place.
My mind was spinning with possibilities, but I had no real direction, no clear answers.
Plus there was the castle which seemed to be its own entity.
I paused mid-step, my gaze catching on the portrait hanging in the dim corridor. Lucien’s likeness stared back at me, dark eyes and chiseled features. I hadn’t passed it since releasing Lucien from it and now something about it made me stop.
Lucien took another step before realizing I had halted. “What is it?”
I stepped closer, narrowing my eyes. An unease swept through me. There, just along the bottom right corner. The paint looked… faded. Not by much, but enough to notice now that I was looking for it. Had it always been like that?
“Lucien,” I murmured, glancing at him. “Has the painting always looked like this?” I gestured toward the faintly discolored spot.
Lucien’s brows drew together as he studied it. He was quiet for a moment—too long. Then, with a shrug, he said, “I don’t recall.”
I frowned. That didn’t seem like something he’d just forget. He had been trapped inside that painting for years. He had spent more time staring at it than anyone… or at least through it anyway.
Something about his nonchalance unsettled me.
“You don’t recall?” I repeated, watching him carefully.
He smiled though I could see his jaw tensed. “It’s old, Mia.”
I stared at him. It was a good point, but still. Something seemed off. The painting was the heart of his curse. Any change to it—no matter how small—could mean something.
I turned back to it, studying the brushstrokes, the layers of paint, the way the shadows blended into the background. I reached out, my fingertips hovering just above the surface .
Lucien’s voice was sharp. “Don’t touch it.”
I snatched my hand back, startled.
“Why not?”
When I looked at him, his expression had shifted…he wasn’t just tense, he was worried. Another piece of the puzzle settled into place. Suspicion settled somewhere in my stomach.
Lucien knew something.
And he wasn’t telling me.
“Last time you touched it,” he said with a slight tilt of his head. “It released me so what if touching it again forces me back?”
I frowned, my eyes narrowing slightly. “I suppose,” I replied slowly. Though he made a good point, there was something off about his demeanor. Ever since I’d found him in the gallery, he seemed… different.
He reached out, taking my hand to gently pull me along. I let him, but my gaze drifted back to the painting as we started down the hall again. The words from the story my grandmother had told me echoed in my mind.
Call him forth with careful thought, his time shall never be bought.
Curling dread swelled in my stomach. Something was wrong.
I didn’t have time to dwell on it long though as we entered the library, the heavy scent of aged paper and dust hitting me immediately.
The room was vast, filled with towering shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction.
Thick volumes lined the walls, the very air feeling thick with the weight of forgotten knowledge.
I moved toward a nearby table, brushing my fingers across a stack of books, hoping something would jump out at me. I glanced over my shoulder at Lucien, who was standing near the entrance, watching me with his arms folded over his broad chest.
“Do you have any idea what we’re looking for?” I asked, trying to focus as I picked through a few old leather-bound books, my thoughts still lingering on his portrait and the way he had reacted.
Lucien frowned then sauntered over to join me.
His steps were slow, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.
“You’re the necromancer,” he teased, leaning casually against the table, but his usual light tone was just a bit too tight.
“I’m just a ghostly, cursed, man with no memory.
What do I know about books and riddles?”
Portia’s ghost hadn’t given us much to go on, vague as always, but my magic stirred the moment we’d stepped inside the door. I could feel it now, humming fainting just beneath my skin, guiding me as I trailed my fingers along the shelves.
Lucien moved a few rows down, muttering to himself as he flipped through the brittle pages of an ancient book.
The remnants of a stained-glass ceiling hung fractured above us, its shards casting broken patterns of colorful light onto the marble floor.
Cobwebs veiled the highest shelves, and entire sections of books had been claimed by time, pages curled, ink faded to ghosts of words.
Yet, there was something reverent about it, as if the room still remembered it had once been treasured.
I moved slowly through the aisles, fingers skimming the spines of forgotten volumes.
My magic tugged gently like a thread pulling me forward.
I let the sensation guide me curiously, weaving in and out of the shadows.
There were thousands of books here, maybe more, and most of them hadn’t been touched in decades.
A faint unease stirred in my chest, quiet but insistent. I turned down a narrow row tucked deep into the back of the library. The shelves here were more crooked, the floor beneath my feet creaking with every step. The candle in my hand quivered, its flame bending as if drawn toward something.
I froze.
And that’s when I felt it.
Wedged between a crumbling book on early noble lineage and a thick morsel of poetry, it sat, dust covered and still. The onyx leather was cracked, the silver sigil engraved on its spine dulled with age, but unmistakable.
A serpent eating its own tail—an ouroboros—curling around a five pointed star.
No. It couldn’t be.
My pulse thundered in my ears .
I reached out with a trembling hand and touched the book’s spine. My magic surged, heat rising beneath my skin, tugging toward the tome like it knew it… remembered it.
Because it did.
Recognition slammed into me like a wave.
I pulled the book free, cradling it to my chest as dust spiraled into the air.
The taint of dark magic pulsed through me like a second heartbeat.
There was no mistaking the symbol on the cover, a tree blackened and burned, its branches twisting and coiling upward.
The image sent a cold shiver down my spine and I knew without a doubt…
The book belonged to my grandmother.
I hadn’t seen it since I was a child, locked in her apothecary cabinet for safe keeping after…
My throat tightened.
I had been forbidden to touch it, forbidden to even speak its name. I’d only dared to open it once, and the pages had whispered to me, magic that was older and darker than anything I’d ever felt.
Why was it here? How did this book come to be in Ravenspire’s library?
Lucien approached from behind. I spun around to face him. His gaze moved between my face and the book in my hands. My grip tightened, knuckles turning white.
”What is that?” He asked gently.
I held the tome tighter to my chest, like it might slip away if I let go. “It’s a… spellbook. A very powerful one,” I answered, carefully avoiding his eyes. “Old magic.”
His gaze sharpened at my clipped tone and he stepped closer, tilting his head. “You recognize it?”
I hesitated.
”…No, it just feels familiar. That’s all.” The lie felt like ash on my tongue.
Lucien narrowed his eyes now, dark brows drawing down. “Familiar how, Mia?”
I shivered at his carefully controlled tone.
I turned the tome over in my hands, trying not to show the tremor in my fingers. “It’s just… ancient magic. I can feel it, that’s all.” Another lie. My voice had quivered just a bit too much.
Lucien didn’t look convinced. He stepped even closer, his voice low. “You’re lying.”
My breath caught. “What?”
“I may have lost my memory, Mia, But I know what it looks like when someone is hiding something.” His gaze darted from my face to the book, then back again.
I swallowed hard, searching my mind for an excuse. I was quiet for too long. Lucien leaned in, bracing his hands against the shelves behind me on either side of my head, trapping me between the books and his warm, solid body.
It was a side of Lucien that I’d never seen before, dark… dangerous. There was no humorous expression or pe rpetual teasing that always followed him. No, he was angry. And I couldn’t blame him. I was keeping something from him and worst of all, I was doing a terrible job of it.
”Lucien…” I started slowly, cut off by his low voice.
”What aren’t you telling me?” One hand moved just beneath my chin, his finger tilting my head back, forcing me to look into his eyes.
”Nothing,” I breathed, unable to keep my voice from betraying me. Despite the intense fire I could see in his eyes, all I could feel was his body pressing into mine. As if the thought echoed between us, his gaze fell to my lips.
”Does this book have something to do with my curse?” He asked, his tone much gentler as he trailed his finger down my throat.
”I… I don’t know yet,” I stammered, feeling as though all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked from my lungs. “I just need to go retrieve my bag so I can study it.”
Lucien stared at me for a long moment, tension vibrating between us before dropping his hands. With a low sigh, he stepped back. The loss of his warmth was instantaneous and I shivered, clutching the book hard against my swollen breasts.
He raked a hand through his hair, turning away. “I’ll get it for you.”
Without so much as a glance back in my direction, he vanished into nothingness. Before I could even let out the breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding, he reappeared right in front of me, holding my bag. I gasped, stumbling back against the shelf.
He reached for me, steadying me with his free hand, a slight tick in his jaw as he held me for just a moment longer than necessary before releasing me and stepping back. I reached for my bag instinctively, but he pulled it just out of my grasp, a slow grin curving one side of his mouth.
“What do you say?” he asked, the teasing in his tone returning, yet still holding a hint of darkness that relayed that he wasn’t quite letting go of his suspicion.
“What?” I shot back, my eyes narrowing.
He stepped back further, still holding it out of my reach, and raised an eyebrow. “Do you know how much energy it takes me to transport things?”
I lifted my shoulders slightly, shaking my head. Curiosity flared within me. What else could he do? What did he have control over, and how much power did he truly have?
I thought about the night he’d saved me from the gruesome figure, the dangerous gleam I’d seen in his eyes only a few moments ago…
I shivered, not from fear though, but from the nagging interest that was now piqued.
My eyes roamed the length of him, hard, distinct muscles clearly evident under his dark clothing, and my heart gave a small stutter .
”How much?” I asked before I could stop myself, my voice a little more breathless than I’d intended.
Lucien’s gaze darkened as he stepped closer, the distance between us closing in one smooth stride. His eyes locked onto mine, intense and deep, like they were searching for something… like one single reason to keep this moment hanging in the air between us.
”Quite a bit,” he murmured, tone low and thick, his mouth so close to mine that I felt the warmth of his breath graze my lips.
I swallowed, feeling that familiar tension rise between us like an electric charge.
He didn’t break eye contact, and I was suddenly aware of how my body ached to press into him.
The heat of him seemed to reach out, wrapping around me in ways that made my pulse quicken and my mind forget how to breathe.
”And to hold things?” I asked, voice unsteady as I glanced at my bag in his grip.
His mouth quirked. “I assure you, I have the strength.”
I took a small step forward as if no longer able to fight the tether that pulled me into him. My breast pressed into his chest and I stifled the pleasure of soothing the ache there.
“What else can you do?” I whispered, biting my bottom lip between my teeth.
His expression shifted, something gleamed in his eyes, a knowing grin that only deepened the heat between us.
”Careful, witch,” he mused softly, a warning that needed no explanation. Heat crept up my cheeks, but I didn’t take my eyes from his.
Just once. What could be the harm in just one small kiss… for research purposes, of course.
”Show me,” I said, stunned by my own brazen words.
His smile deepened as his gaze dropped to my lips, and I could feel the air around us charge, thick.
He leaned in and I sucked in a breath, my lips parting with anticipation. His mouth hovered just a hair above mine, teasing. I pressed my hand to his chest, my fist curling around the fabric of his shirt, itching to pull him the rest of the way.
”When you learn to say please,” he said softly, voice thick with his own desire. “Perhaps I'll grant your request.” He stepped back then, the distance between us now feeling like an ocean.
He held my bag out to me. I reached for it, my hands trembling slightly as I took it from him. The moment still hung in the air, untouched, unfinished.
He smiled as if he knew exactly what he had done to me.
I cursed him silently.