CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LUCIEN
This was a horrible idea.
I sat beside Mia’s bed, elbows on my knees, watching over her as she drifted in and out of consciousness. The fire in the hearth had burned low, leaving the room filled with a chill, but I didn’t dare move to tend it.
She had been like this for hours, sometimes thrashing, sometimes muttering things I couldn’t understand, and when she did wake, she was so drunkenly out of sorts that I almost preferred it when she was unconscious.
I scrubbed a hand down my face, exhaling sharply. She had no idea how utterly foolish this was. How reckless. How dangerous.
And yet, she had done it anyway.
Mia shifted, her lips parting as a soft sound escaped her. I tensed as her fingers twitched toward me, reaching out in her delirium. Even now, lost in whatever visions haunted her, she still sought me.
I clenched my jaw and forced myself not to react. It was just the side effects.
This was a mistake.
Not sitting here, watching over her—that, I had no choice in. At one point, she had convulsed, her body stiff with the force of whatever she was seeing. I had nearly shaken her awake, nearly pulled her out of it just to stop the sight of it.
But even in her fevered state, she had clung to my sleeve, murmuring, “Not yet… I almost have it…”
And so I had let her stay lost in it.
Because she was searching. For answers. For me. And the cruelest part of all was that I already knew the truth of my curse—The way to break it.
It hadn’t come to me in a single, striking moment, but in pieces. As soon as I had said Serena’s name, each vision had returned like brushstrokes on a forgotten painting, filling in gaps that had been empty for too long.
And then I’d felt the intense familiar pull when I’d touched Mia’s locket. I knew without a doubt then that she was my key.
I remembered now. Everything… and still, I had told her nothing. Because I couldn’t.
I had thought it would be easier, keeping it from her. That it was necessary. But watching her now—exhausted, vulnerable, doing this just to help me—made the weight of my silence unbearable.
She had no idea how close she was. No idea that I could simply tell her. And no idea that if I did, it would all be for nothing.
I exhaled slowly and reached out before I could stop myself. A single curl had fallen across her face, and I brushed it back, my fingertips barely grazing her heat slick skin.
She sighed at the touch, a quiet, contented sound that sent something traitorous curling low in my stomach. She moved closer, wanting more of my touch. I should have pulled away. I should have left the room, put distance between us before I did something reckless.
But instead, I stayed. Because if this was the price of my silence—watching her fight for me, knowing I couldn’t fight back—then the least I could do was see it through.
Even if it destroyed me.
A quiet sigh left her lips, and I tensed as she stirred. Her eyelashes fluttered, her breathing shifting from uneven to something softer, slower. Then, finally, her eyes opened.
At first, she just looked at me. Her gaze was unfocused, hazy from the effects of whatever hellish concoction she’d ingested, but then a slow, lazy smile curved her lips.
I stiffened. That was never a good sign .
“You,” she murmured, her voice thick with drowsy warmth. “Are so handsome when you’re worried… and you smell like vanilla and… smoke.”
I blinked. “What?”
Mia let out a dreamy little sigh and leaned over the bed so that her upper body rested on my legs.
She reached up as if to touch my face, but her hand fell short, landing limply on my chest instead.
“It’s really quite unfair, you know,” she continued, slurring slightly.
“How are women supposed to stand a chance when you look like that?”
My brows lifted, torn between amusement and utter disbelief. “I imagine they manage.”
She hummed, her fingers lazily tracing over my shirt. “It’s just… your face.”
I smirked. “Yes, I do have one of those.”
She squinted, as if struggling to articulate what she meant. “It’s like… like if a painting came to life, but it was brooding and grumpy.” She poked my chest accusingly. “Very grumpy.”
I bit back a chuckle. “I’m not grumpy.”
“You are.” She sighed dramatically, rolling her head to the side to gaze up at me. “But that’s alright. Because you’re also beautiful.”
I felt something tighten in my chest. Fuck.
I knew she was drunk, so drunk that she wouldn’t remember this come morning. That whatever she said now was nothing more than the ramblings of a woman deep in the throes of a potion that made her… bothered.
And yet, some treacherous part of me wanted to hear more.
“Beautiful, am I?” I mused. “I thought you said I was insufferable .”
“You are,” she huffed, shifting slightly. “It’s the eyes, you see. And the hair. And the jaw.” Her fingers brushed my chin in emphasis, and I felt myself tense at the warmth of her touch. “And the way your voice does that… thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing,” she said seriously, blinking up at me. “The deep, rumbly thing that makes it impossible to argue with you.”
“Funny,” I said, my lips twitching. “You seem to manage just fine.”
Mia let out a breathy laugh, her hand sliding lazily from my chin to my shoulder. “It’s exhausting, you know. Arguing with you.”
I arched my brow. “And yet, you never stop.”
She grinned, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before snapping open again. “That’s because you deserve it.”
I let out a soft chuckle despite myself. “Do I now? ”
She nodded solemnly, then squinted as if she had just remembered something very important. “Oh.” She patted my chest clumsily. “You’re also a very good pillow.”
That startled a laugh out of me. “A pillow?”
“Mm.” She made a pleased little sound, curling slightly closer and resting her head in my lap. “A very nice, warm, unfairly handsome pillow.”
I swallowed.
She was drunk. So, so drunk.
The scent of her—flowery and sweet drifted up and I took a deep breath, savoring it. I remained perfectly still, my muscles locked in place as she rested against me, her breath warm against my leg.
This was dangerous. She was dangerous.
Because for the first time in centuries, I wasn’t certain I could stop myself from wanting more.
Mia’s fingers twitched against my chest, her touch warm even through the fabric of my shirt. Her breathing had evened out, and for a moment, I thought she might have slipped back into unconsciousness. But then, in the softest voice, she murmured, “Lucien.”
Something in my chest tightened.
“Hmm?”
She sighed, a slow, dreamy sound, and turned her face slightly against me. “I know you’re not a rake.”
That made me pause. I tilted my head, glancing down at her. “Is that so?”
“Mmhm.” She nestled in closer, utterly unguarded. “Because you haven’t even kissed me once.”
My entire body went still.
I exhaled a quiet laugh, though it did little to steady me. “Is that your only requirement?”
She made a vague gesture with her hand, her fingers lazily brushing against my collarbone before they fell limp again. “If you were a rake, you would have kissed me by now. Probably more than once.”
I smirked despite myself. “Do you want me to kiss you, Mia?”
A flicker of something passed over her face… surprise, maybe, or uncertainty. For a moment, she hesitated, her fingers curling weakly against my chest. Then, so softly I almost didn’t hear it, she whispered, “Yes.”
I swallowed hard, staring down at her, at the way her lips curved into the faintest, drowsy smile. She didn’t know what she was saying. She was too far gone, too lost in the lingering haze of her visions.
And yet, her admission sank its claws into me, lodging deep in places I had long since buried.
“Do you want to kiss me, Lucien?” she whispered, her voice soft and husky.
I brushed her hair away from her forehead, running the silky strand through my fingers.
“Always,” I answered honestly, assured she wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow .
She smiled at that. “Do you think I’m pretty?” Her words slurred.
I laughed softly, studying her delicate features. Soft, full lips, perk nose sprinkled with the faintest freckles, and long dark lashes that fanned across pale, flushed skin.
She wasn’t pretty.
She was the sunlight after a rainstorm, morning mist during sunrise, the first bloom of spring flowers in a meadow…
Pretty could never compare to her.
“Very much,” I said instead, softly caressing her cheek.
Her brow furrowed slightly and she frowned as she mindlessly toyed with a button on my shirt..
“Then why haven’t you kissed me?” She asked seriously.
Her plea twisted in my chest. I traced my thumb lightly along the curve of her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch. Her breath hitched, just barely, her lips parting as if she meant to say something more, but thought better of it.
“Because you’ve never asked me to.”
Her lashes fell, a warm flush creeping into her cheeks. She reached up, toying nervously with my button again.
“What if I asked you now?” She mused quietly, her voice nearly a breath.
I grinned at her drunken bravery, catching her roaming hand in mine. “Mia,” I said carefully. “You’re intoxicated and you don’t know what you’re asking for.”
She met my eyes, searching them. Her frown deepened. Despite the haze of drunkenness, there was a clarity to her eyes now. “I may not have the nerve to ask you tomorrow.”
I hesitated a moment longer, letting out a breath I didn’t need. It was a bad idea. A horrible idea. She wasn’t in her right mind…
And yet, I couldn’t deny her.
I shifted, pulling her completely into my lap so that her knees straddled my legs. She faced me, wrapping her arms around my neck.
I trailed my finger down her jaw. “Have you ever been kissed, Mia?”