CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
The voice was familiar, deep, rich, with that velvet darkness I’d come to crave.
Lucien.
I spun toward the doorway. He stood just beyond the threshold, wrapped in shadows, but I’d know his silhouette anywhere. Tall, sharp-edged, with his dark coat draped like ink around him. My heart lurched.
”Lucien,” I gasped, stumbling to my feet toward him. “Thank the seven realms you found me… this room… there’s something wrong with it—“
He moved swiftly, silently, closing the space between us and gathering me into his arms. The moment he touched me, some of the fear in my chest loosened. I pressed my face against his coat, breathing him in, needing that solid weight and familiar presence to ground me.
His hand stroked down my spine, slow… almost too slow.
I shivered. Something about the way he held me was different—possessive in a way he’d never been.
His touch lingered just a beat too long.
His arms tightened slightly, al most uncomfortably.
I pulled back to look at him. He smiled—but it was wrong.
Too wide. Too perfect.
His eyes glittered, but the warmth I knew—his warmth was gone.
A chill ran down my spine and I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. He jerked my head roughly, leaning his mouth to my ear.
”You lied to me about the curse,” he seethed softly, his lips brushing my skin. And then, his hand slid around my throat, then tightened.
I gasped, a strangled, pitiful sound, as my feet lifted off the floor. My hands shot to his wrists, nails digging in, but he didn’t even flinch. His grip was steel, cold and unwavering.
”L-Lucien,” I choked out, barely a strangled whisper.
The bones in my pocket warmed… or perhaps I was just now paying attention to them. Realization struck me like ice, cold, water. It wasn’t him.
It wasn’t him…
His skin—now that I really looked—was too pale, waxy, almost porcelain. His pupils didn’t dilate, and there was no breath, no heartbeat in the body that held me suspended like a rag doll. Just an eerie stillness and that chilling smile.
The bones in my pocket ignited. They burned like live embers, scalding against my thigh through the fabric of my dress. A warning too late. Panic bloomed. I fought harder, my legs kicking, my lungs burning and desperate for one breath of air. Stars burst behind my eyes.
My gaze darted to the thing’s face—Lucien’s face, but not. The more I looked, the more the subtle wrongness screamed at me. The cheekbones were too sharp, the mouth too wide…
I didn’t summon him.
I hadn't called his name, I was certain of it. How had I been so foolish?
Tears blurred my vision. I reached down, fumbling desperately for the dagger at my waist. My fingers brushed the hilt—hope flared—and then slipped away.
No!
The dagger clattered uselessly to the floor.
The imposter’s grip tightened. My mouth opened in a silent scream as blackness tunneled the edges of my vision. I could feel my magic slowly recede from my body, leaving a hollowness deep in my core. I was dying.
An image of my father flashed through my hazy mind. My mother’s cold, undead hands gripping his throat. Tears burned my cheeks as a silent sob ripped out of me.
The thing leaned in close, his breath like frost against my cheek. “You can’t save him,” it mocked .
A raw, violent terror surged through me. With every last ounce of strength, I twisted my body, raked my nails across his face, and bucked against him. His grip faltered… just slightly… just enough. I sucked in a desperate breath and screamed.
”Lucien!”
The last thing I saw was the trickster’s face crack, just slightly, like glass under pressure. Serena’s icy blue eyes stared back at me.
And then, everything went dark.
**********
Warmth.
That was the first thing I noticed. A gentle golden warmth curling around me like a blanket, brushing over my skin and pulling me toward sleep even as something deep inside of me screamed not to let go.
I stirred, my limbs ached, dull, heavy pain that sank deep into my bones.
My throat felt raw, like I’d swallowed fire.
I winced, curling instinctively into myself as I became aware of the soft pressure of a mattress beneath me.
Smooth, cool sheets tangled around my legs and my pillow smelled faintly of flowers and ash.
I was… in my bedchamber?
I blinked up at the dark canopy, dazed, my heart pounding though I didn't know why. The last thing I remembered… my chest clenched violently… the mirrors. The imposter—that thing.
My hand flew to my throat. It throbbed beneath my fingers, sore and tender, the skin definitely bruised. The memory came rushing back in a flood. His face, his voice, those hands wrapped around my neck…
I gasped and bolted upright, but a sharp jolt of pain stopped me.
”Mia…” His voice was a low rasp.
I turned my head slowly, every movement stiff and slow, and found Lucien sitting beside the bed in the chair.
The real Lucien. Shadows pooled under his eyes and his dark hair was slightly disheveled as though he’d been raking his hand through it for hours.
It was odd the way his phantom form could appear so real.
Relief hit me like a crashing wave. “Lucien… you came,” I croaked, my voice barely there.
The moment our eyes locked, he moved, rising from the chair to sit next to me on the side of the mattress. His eyes searched mine with quiet intensity, his hand brushing against my arm as if he needed to make sure I wouldn’t vanish.
”You called,” he said, cupping my face against his palm.
I nuzzled into his warm touch, throat burning with unshed tears. “What happened?”
”You tell me,” he said quietly, gaze sharpening, and I caught the hint of something else in his tone. Anger. Not the explosive kind, but the tightly-wound sort, the kind that came from fear.
”I found you in the gallery,” he continued, his voice clipped, jaw tensing. “You were unconscious and barely breathing with no trace of how you got there or what had happened. Would you care to explain?”
I swallowed hard, my gaze dropping. Shame and guilt curled hot in my stomach.
The gallery? No…
I looked up at him again, frowning. “I went to look for clues… but… the room was different.” I hesitated, trying to make sense of it.
“The castle—it tricked me. It wasn’t the gallery when I walked inside of the room.
It was a room full of mirrors and there were images of me, but it wasn’t me.
” I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to reason with what I had seen.
”Then you were there…” My voice trailed off as I swallowed back the tears threatening to spill ov er. “But it wasn’t you. It was Serena.”
Lucien tensed. “You should have waited… You should have summoned me.”
“I know,” I whispered.
There was a long, weighted silence. I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bare to see the disappointment in his eyes. I stared down at my hands, the sheets wrinkled in my fists. He looked me over, his gaze landing on my throat and his jaw tightened again.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, guilt twisting through me. Not just for going off alone in the castle, but for what I had said to him… for the secrets I was still keeping, for the truth I still couldn’t tell him… for the weight of my grandmother’s book still tucked within my things.
He studied me, a small sigh escaping him. “I don’t care what haunted room you chase next, witch, but you don’t go alone. No matter what. Promise me.”
“I promise… but that’s not all I’m sorry for,” I admitted. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him everything, but he at least deserved an apology for what I’d said to him.
“I’m sorry I called you a rake and implied that you deserved to be cursed.”
He smirked then hummed as if considering my apology. “You did wound my fragile heart, but I shall forgive you, if only because you look particularly pitiful right now.”
I shook my head at his dramatics as he threaded his fingers through mine. I leaned against him, resting my forehead lightly on his shoulder, the ache in my chest easing as he let out a quiet sigh and held me there.
”I am sorry,” I said softly. “Truly.”
His fingers trailed down my back, a ghost of a touch. “I know,” he murmured against my hair.
But the guilt didn’t fade. If anything, it sank deeper. Because I was still lying.