Page 162 of The Prince's Curse

He held her tight, tears streaming down his face as she cried into his neck. “I knew you would come back,” she wept. Her hands curled into his hair, tight enough to sting, and still he did not let go.

Then she wriggled against him, grabbing his arm to pull him into her home. He barely had a moment to notice the pretty decor or the framed picture of her with Dominic and Rachel, as she was already peeling off his light sweater. Her touch ignited that old, familiar desire, but dread still clung to him. He caught her hands gently. “Lucia, we have to talk. I have to tell you something.”

“Did you not miss me?” she said coyly.

“Of course I missed you, but you don’t know what’s happened since we last spoke,” he said.

Hurt flickered in her eyes.

He kissed her hand. “I want you more than anything, but I have to tell you the truth, because I fear you will not want me anymore once you know.”

She shook her head. “Do not say such silly things,lásko.”

When she began to tug at his hand again, he gently broke her grasp. Stepping back, he said, “Let me speak the truth, and then you can decide. And if you would still have me, then I am yours for eternity.”

Her brow furrowed, and he saw the first true hesitation in her eyes. Wouldn’t it be easier to simply tell her that he’d been imprisoned against his will all this time? It wasn’t entirely untrue, after all. She didn’t have to know.

But this was his Lucia, his light in the unending darkness, and if he lied to her, then he was worth nothing at all.

Without speaking, she led him into the sparsely appointed living room, where he settled onto a leather couch. He was surprised when a calico cat emerged from under a table to sniff delicately at his feet. Lucia perched on the couch near him, taking his hand into hers.

“What is it?”

“Lucia…after the curse took you, I was distraught. I sought out other witches to help you, but most wouldn’t even try, and the few that would, couldn’t do anything. And after a few years, I couldn’t bear the guilt any longer. I hunted down Armina Voss, the witch responsible for all these curses, and I begged her to spare you.”

“To save me?” Lucia asked.

He nodded. “She made me an offer. If I served her, she would release you, and I took it. And she bound me to her will.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

How did he describe the pain of the magic she’d etched onto him, the shame of knowing he’d sold himself like chattel? He pushed up his sleeves and showed the intricate marks that still stained his skin. “She used magic to control me,” he said. “I was her soldier. And I hurt people.”

“Because she made you, yes?” Lucia said.

He nodded. “But my hands are filthy, Lucia. I have killed a great many people. I lied to my brothers and let them believe I had died. I served the witch for over a hundred years. And…I nearly killed Alistair. I came here to kill Shoshanna, nearly killed her brother.”

At that, Lucia’s brow furrowed into a frown. “Why would you hurt Alistair?”

“Armina told me that killing Shoshanna was the only way she would release you,” he said. “And then I learned that Shoshanna had already broken the curse. And I had hope for the first time in over a century.”

Her slender fingers traced the marks on his left arm, as if she was trying to imitate the strokes of Armina’s brush. Her eyes found his. “Why do you think I would not still love you?”

“Because I hurt people,” he said. “And you are sweet and good, and?—”

Her brow arched. “Kova, you have always thought I was soft and foolish.”

“I do not,” he protested.

“You were a soldier in the Tsar’s army even before you became a vampire. I know that you have blood on your hands. This is nothing new,” she said, still tracing those marks. “I did not care then, and I do not care now.” She inched closer to him, knees brushing his. He suddenly felt like a gawky teenager again, cheeks flushing as she reached out to cup his face. “Look into my eyes. If that witch had ordered you to kill an innocent child to bring me back, would you have done so of your own choice? What about an old woman? Would you have sliced her throat if it would save me?”

He shook his head, eyes stinging. “I would have found another way. But once she bound me?—”

“I am not concerned with what that wicked hag bound you to do,” Lucia said sharply. Her expression softened, and she leaned in to kiss his lips again. “I do not mean to be short. But I cannot tell you if you want me to offer my forgiveness or deny it.”

“I don’t know either,” he whispered. “I feel as if I have been broken, and that you could not possibly love what remains.”

“Again, you think I am soft and foolish. It is not unkind of you, just short-sighted as men often are.” She kissed his brow, then his lips gently. “My mother taught me well how to mend torn things. With a gentle hand and time,” she murmured, kissing his temple. Warmth spilled over his lip, and he looked up to see tears welling at the corners of her brilliant blue eyes. “Do you still love me?”

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