Chapter 5
Lucian stood in the sudden silence of the kitchen, his chest heaving.
The shattered ceramic on the floor was a perfect metaphor for the last ten years.
He wanted to rage; to demand she admit the truth, but she had fled.
His jackal’s ear twitched furiously. Every nerve ending screamed for him to let the anger settle, to apologize for his harshness, but the jackal inside him smelled something else, too—her fear, yes, but also a deep, familiar sorrow that resonated with his own.
He slammed the tool bag onto the counter, trying to drown out the treasonous sound of his instincts.
Don’t fall for it, a bitter voice hissed in his head. It’s what she does.
He remembered the night a friend had shown him the messages.
There were screen shot texts between them and Goldie, a casual exchange detailing the ingredients of a love spell, a magical concoction designed to bind a heart to the person who drinks the potion.
The memory was foggy—blurred around the edges, maybe due to the shock or time—but the accusation was crystal clear: she had done it to him.
The evidence was why he had turned his back on settling here with her.
He had thought that here in this town they would settle forever.
But she taught him that forever didn’t exist, so he left town, determined to never let a woman—or magic—take away his free will again.
It was why he would never drink or eat anything she made.
To consume her offering would be to admit defeat, to risk letting the artificial affection reignite with whatever spell she was trying to cast on him.
He pushed the memory down, the ingrained conviction hardening his face. He followed her out of the kitchen and found her leaning against the counter, scrubbing at an already clean spot on the mahogany countertop.
“Running away already, Goldie?” he drawled, his voice low, aiming for indifference but landing on accusatory. “Thought you were better than that.”
She didn't look up, just kept swirling the rag in circles. “I’m not running. I’m minimizing collateral damage. You break things, Lucian. I’m just tidying up the shrapnel.”
“And what damage did I just inflict? Refusing a cup of coffee?” He scoffed. “You’re the one who spun a beautiful lie and acted surprised when I didn’t want to sip poison.”
Finally, she looked at him, and the mask of indifference fractured.
Her vibrant green eyes were wide and suddenly glistening.
A single tear tracked a clear path down her cheek.
Then another. The sight hit him like a physical blow, a sudden rush of agonizing sympathy his jackal couldn’t ignore.
He felt a sickening drop in his gut, a wrenching, instinctive pull to step forward and wipe it away.
He tried to push the feeling aside as he worked, focusing instead on the burning heat in his chest.
“Oh, here we go,” he snarled, stepping back to break the connection.
The tears, the look of devastation—it all tasted like cheap theatre to his wounded pride.
“The victim act. You lie, you manipulate, and when you get caught, you cry. Are you trying to gaslight me now, Goldie? Make me think I’m the monster for believing what I saw? ”
The anger was hot and useful. It was easier than dealing with the raw, desperate look in her eyes.
“How did the cup get broken?” she whispered.
He stepped back, reeling from the question. He hadn’t meant to swat her hand or burn her, but it had been a knee-jerk reaction.
“Why would you think I would take anything you offered?” He didn’t wait for her response.
Spinning on his heel, he stomped back into the sanctuary of the back room, grabbed the wrench, and focused all his frustrated, burning energy on the only thing in the shop he knew he could still fix: the broken espresso machine.
After a few more frustrated slams of the wrench, the espresso machine finally surrendered, the new part clicking into place.
Lucian cleaned his tools with jerky, angry movements.
He didn’t bother saying goodbye to Goldie.
He just stalked out, the door chime ringing the end of his self-inflicted torture.
He drove home, watching the fall leaves drift on the wind.
The beat-up truck handled a curve with ease, but the suspension groaned in protest—a high, sick sound that grated on his nerves.
He knew the struts were shot, a costly, time-consuming fix.
Add it to the mental list, he thought, his jackal side demanding he bring order to the chaos.
He pulled up to the familiar cream-colored house and saw his mom, Carrie, standing on the porch. She was waiting for him, a coffee mug cradled in her hands.
As he approached, she offered it to him. “Your dad’s sleeping,” she murmured, her voice hushed. “The treatment for his claw tremor wore him out. I know you didn’t want to go into town, but he needed the rest.”
Lucian nodded and lifted the mug. The bitter black coffee burned as it went down, a sharp contrast to the sweet, spiced scent of Goldie that still clung to his clothes.
His mom’s soft, familiar eyes tracked him as he lowered the cup. “Are you mad, pup?” she asked, cutting straight through his guard.
“No,” he lied.
“Don’t lie to me,” she replied, her gaze firm as she stood on tiptoe to brush his hair off his forehead.
He debated opening up, spilling the frustrated rage and doubt that was twisting his insides raw, or just deploying the bare minimum, defensive response he had perfected over the last ten years.
He chose the path of least resistance. “Just the usual Goldie gaslighting,” he grumbled, taking another sip of the caustic coffee.
Carrie sighed, running a hand over his arm. “Lucian, you were both so young back then. Maybe you’ve both grown up since then.”
He clenched his jaw, the familiar heat of anger rising in his chest as he listened to her usual, measured diplomatic words. He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “I doubt it, Mom. Some things are just engineered to be stubborn, whether it’s an old espresso machine or a toxic habit.”
“She stayed,” Carrie stated simply, challenging him with the fact.
Her hand rested gently on his arm. He looked down at that small hand that had wiped his tears when he scraped his knee as a kid and threw up in exasperation when he’d announced he was moving to the city.
“And built a whole life here. When the church roof caved in last year, she was one of the first people to volunteer to help. People change, Lucian. Maybe you should give her a chance to show you who she is now instead of only seeing the eighteen-year-old she was ten years ago.”
He pulled his arm away and took a deliberate step back.
“I left to protect myself from her dark magic. And this isn’t about her life.
I just went through another round of her trying to play the victim after I refused to drink her magic coffee.
” He clenched his jaw, refusing to elaborate on the sight of her tears or knocking the glass out of her hand.
“What do you think she had to gain by putting a spell on you to begin with?” she asked, her voice turning stern.
Lucian turned away from those prying eyes and looked through the front door. “How long is Pop going to be out? Is the new round of treatments actually helping?”
Carrie’s face softened immediately, shifting from stern mother to worried wife.
“It’s agonizingly slow, Lucian. It’s a grueling, months-long process of rest, and you know your father is fundamentally incapable of grasping the concept of rest. He’s meant to be lying down, not running around trying to fix everything someone needs help with. ”
“He tried to go to Enchantresso this morning,” Lucian confirmed, the familiar protective anger for his father overshadowing his rage at Goldie. “He insists he can still work. I had to force him to hand the job over.”
“Thank you, pup,” Carrie whispered, relief in her voice. “His pride refuses to let anyone know how draining the treatment is. We just need to watch out for him.”
Lucian nodded. He finished the coffee and followed his mom inside, hoping the silence of the house would finally quiet his mind. As soon as he sat down, he saw his father’s phone light up. Great, another job, he sighed as he answered it.
Lucian sat on a weathered wooden bench in the town park, the heavy scent of damp pine needles a sharp contrast to the savory aroma of the roast beef sandwich his mother had packed.
He relished the temporary silence, the only sound being the distant rustle of autumn leaves.
It was a rare moment of stillness in a day already cluttered with the ghosts of his past mixed with several work calls.
For a few minutes, he wasn’t a man haunted by a witch’s betrayal; he was just a son enjoying his mother’s cooking in the crisp afternoon air.
The peace shattered with the crunch of gravel.
"You look like a man who’s deep in thought, Lucian Duskbane,” a bright, familiar voice chirped.
He looked up to see Elena standing there, a playful tilt to her head.
She looked different from what he remembered, more polished.
Her long brown hair caught the sunlight as she stepped closer into his personal space.
“Or maybe just a man who’s very dedicated to his sandwich. "
He offered a small, polite smile, though his jackal shifted restlessly beneath his skin.
It wasn’t anger. Not quite. More like the feeling he got when a storm was gathering beyond the horizon, hidden behind clear skies.
“Just enjoying the quiet, Ellie. And yes, my mom’s roast beef sandwich is very dedicated to being eaten. "
She chuckled, a melodic sound that felt slightly too loud for the afternoon, and slid onto the bench beside him, her shoulder brushing his.
"The quiet is overrated,” she teased, leaning in slightly.
“You know, you’re looking good, Lucian. Stonefall City definitely agrees with you.
” Her hand found its way to his arm, her fingers tracing the line of his biceps.
It was a bold, lingering touch that made his skin prickle with a strange, indistinct warning.
He took another bite of his sandwich, nodding along.
“Thanks, Ellie. You too. It’s good to see you back in town.
I hear you’re working at Enchantresso now?
” He steered the conversation away, not wanting to touch on his life.
The thought of speaking of Goldie and the shop made his jaw clench, a sour taste filling his mouth, but the prospect of delving into his own life felt even more bitter on his tongue.
She squeezed his arm; her smile faltering for a fraction of a second before snapping back into place.
The expression vanished so quickly that he wondered if he’d imagined it.
“Oh, you know, just helping out an old friend. The shop has character, but it’s a lot of work.
How about you? Are you taking over Duskbane Repairs? "
"Yeah, at least for now. Dad needs the rest to heal.” He didn’t pull away, not wanting to cause an unnecessary scene or hurt an old friend’s feelings, so he simply focused on finishing the last few bites of his lunch.
“So you’re staying in town for good?” she asked casually.
“Looks that way, at least for the time being.”
“Really?” Her smile widened. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d stick around.”
“I’ll be here for a while.”
“Good.” She tilted her head. “Maybe we’ll finally get a chance to catch up. I feel like I barely recognize this town anymore.”
“Yeah?”
“People change.” Her smile softened. “Some more than others. I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to catch up with Goldie, but she’s certainly changed since high school.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Ellie hummed softly and looked away, as if she’d almost said more and thought better of it, but then she rambled about the cafe.
He nodded along, his mind already drifting back to the repairs waiting for him at his father’s shop and the emerald-green eyes he couldn’t seem to scrub from his memory.