CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
The silence that followed was deafening.
It wasn’t just that he was gone—it was that something inside me had gone with him. Like the light had been plucked from behind my ribs. Like my very soul, even restored, had been hollowed out.
I didn’t know how long I knelt there, arms curled around nothing, the stone beneath me cold and unyielding. The dagger lay where I’d dropped it, mocking me with its gleam. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shatter something, tear the world apart until he came back to me.
But all I could do was grieve.
And then—I turned.
His body still lay on the stone slab, deathlike, too still, too pale.
I moved without thinking. I needed to be near him. Just once more.
I climbed onto the slab beside him, laying down with my head pressed to his chest, curling into his side like I could will time to rewind.
“Come back to me,” I begged, voice so broken it barely left my throat. “Please… I can’t—I can’t do this without you.”
I sobbed into the fabric of his coat, the tears spilling fast and hot. Everything in me cracked wide open. This was what true loss felt like. No hope, no magic left, just a girl broken beside the boy she’d loved too late.
But then—
Thump.
I froze.
I held my breath, not daring to believe it. And then it came again.
Thump.
A heartbeat.
My breath hitched. My hand curled into his coat, frantic, desperate. I pressed my ear tighter against his chest.
Thump-thump.
Steady. Slow. Real.
He was breathing.
“Lucien,” I gasped, lifting my head. “Lucien—!”
He didn’t open his eyes, but I felt it—the warmth blooming in him, slow and quiet, like a fire coaxed back to life.
He was alive. He was still in there .
I kept my ear pressed to his chest, afraid that if I moved, it would stop. That this was just another cruel illusion of the castle. Another dream Serena had spun to break me.
But his heart kept beating.
Slow. Steady. Alive.
“Lucien,” I cried, lifting myself just enough to see his face. “Please… come back.”
I brushed the hair from his forehead with trembling fingers. His skin was warm now, not the cold stillness of death. But he didn’t stir. His lips were parted, his brow relaxed—peaceful. Too peaceful.
“Wake up,” I begged. “Please, I don’t care about the curse—I don’t care what it costs. Just… wake up.”
I shook him gently. Called his name again. Nothing.
Desperation twisted inside me.
Then something came back to me.
Something my grandmother had said in Lucien’s memory, something I had dismissed.
My soul. Lucien gave it back to me. A sacrifice… given freely.
True Love. Spoken. Shown.
My heart pounded as I leaned over him, hovering above his lips.
It felt ridiculous, childlike. The sort of magic you heard about in fairy tales. But this wasn’t a fairy tale. This was pain and sacrifice and choosing each other through darkness.
And I did love him.
Fully. Helplessly.
I reached up, cradled his face in both hands, and with a whisper of breath I leaned down and kissed him.
It was soft. Hesitant. My lips brushed his like a vow, like a plea, like an offering.
And then—
He inhaled sharply.
I gasped, pulling back just as his eyes fluttered open—storm-dark and dazed.
“Mia?” he rasped.
Relief crashed through me so hard it stole my breath.
“You came back,” I breathed, tears welling again—this time from joy. “Lucien, you… you came back.”
His brow furrowed faintly as his hand rose to touch my cheek. “How?”
I let out a wet, broken laugh. “You Lucien. You sacrificed yourself for me. You broke the curse.”
He smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting wickedly. “You kissed me to wake me… let me guess. True love’s kiss?”
I shrugged, my smile widening. “Who would have guessed? ”
Lucien shook his head, pulling me to his chest and burying his face in my hair. “Your grandmother could have told us there was another way.”
“She did,” I murmured, my voice muffled against him. “Well… sort of. She did say ‘true love always breaks the curse’.”
He smiled—slow, soft, stunned.
“Hmmm,” he hummed, still shaking his head as he gently shifted me so that he could stand, bringing me with him.
As Lucien and I ascended from the catacombs, our footsteps were no longer met with darkness, but light.
The castle… breathed. Sunlight poured in through stained glass windows that hadn’t been open in years. Vines receded from the walls. The halls seemed to straighten, warm hues creeping into once-dusty tapestries and lifeless stone. It was as if the castle itself sighed in relief.
Then, one by one, the spirits appeared. Dozens of them, maybe more. Translucent and glowing faintly gold, no longer grotesque or lost. No longer tormented.
Portia stood among them, her hair pinned in perfect curls, her gown a vibrant lilac that shimmered in the light. She smiled radiantly, tears in her luminous eyes.
She gave Lucien and me a little wave, elegant, cheerful, as her form began to rise.
Others followed. A young girl, a man with a violin, a maid in a cap, a footman holding his hat to his heart. They rose together, drifting upward toward the vaulted ceilings, toward the light that awaited them.
They were finally free.
Lucien slid his fingers through mine, and we stood there, hand in hand, heart to heart, as the last of the ghosts ascended.
And for the first time, Ravenspire Castle wasn’t haunted.
It was home.
Lucien turned to me, the golden light catching the angles of his face, softening the shadow that had haunted his eyes for so long. But now… that shadow was gone. In its place, a glint of something boyish, wicked, alive.
His eyes sparkled with that familiar, smoldering heat, dark and wild, like a storm that had finally broken. And then came that grin—slow, devilish, thoroughly Lucien. The one that had first made my stomach flutter, and now made my heart ache in the best way.
Before I could say a word, he pulled me flush against him, strong arms locking around my waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go. His mouth found mine in a kiss that was both a promise and a claiming—hungry, tender, laced with all the pain we’d survived and all the joy that now bloomed between us.
The world fell away, the castle, the ghosts, the past. All that existed was him. Lucien Wescraven, alive and real and kissing me like I was the only thing tethering him to this earth.
When he finally pulled back, breathless and smiling against my lips, he murmured, “I love you, witch.”
“And I love you,” I whispered back, my voice shaking with everything I couldn’t say.
His grin deepened. “Good. Because I fully intend to haunt you for the rest of your life.”
I melted into him, breathing in his warm scent.
He was mine.
And I was his.
Utterly, completely, irrevocably his.