Page 115 of Black Castle

The phone continues to ring away, and she can almost see Ian’s desperation in every vibration.

She sneaks a peek at Lucan again. He is by the little bar in the living room, pouring whiskey into a glass. She’s still got time.

Combing her fingers through curls, she makes a beeline for the door.

“Hey,” she whispers hesitantly into the speaker when she is successfully out of earshot, hating herself for the news she is about to break to him.

“Oh, hey.” The excitement in his voice crushes her. Her eyes snap shut as guilt ridicules her conscience.

“You are at the shop, aren’t you?” she asks, biting her lower lip nervously.

“Yeah.” His reply deflates her. “Been here for about fifteen minutes.”

“Shit,” she curses under her breath.

“Is there a problem?” he inquires, disappointment already registering in his voice.

“Yeah…” she trails off, her gaze staring into the distance. “Ian, look, I don’t think I can make it.”

“Oh.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her apology can definitely not expel what he is feeling, but that is the most logical thing to do. “My grandma came over and you know, Isadora is away. I can’t just—”

“You have a grandma?” he asks, suspicion lacing his voice. It has never been a conversation worth having. Carla wasn’t really present, so there was never a point in talking about someone who wasn’t even there.

“Isadora’s mom.”

“Oh.” His calm voice echoes through the speaker. “It’s just, you never talked about her.”

“She really wasn’t in the picture much.”

“I see.”

“Maybe tomorrow, same time?” she offers. She actually does want to see him. She really needs to clear the air at this point. Tell him to move on or something. Actually, she isn’t sure what she wants. If investing her emotions in Lucan and his psycho brother, who has clearly taken hold of his body now, is a bad bargain. Or if she should just settle for the gentle love Ian gave her in the past and is clearly still willing to give.

“Tomorrow sounds fine,” Ian murmurs.

“Cool.”

“So, see you tomorrow then?” He sounds really hopeful.

“Yes, definitely.”

“Okay, bye,” he says, and she awaits his signature line. “Love you.”

She shouldn’t reply, but it’s some sort of instinct at that moment, she was teleported to the past, a phone conversation between them about to end.

“Yeah, love you too—”

But she can’t even finish the legendary line as her cell phone is ripped from her ear by a hand whose fingers leave a scathing scratch on her temple.

Vivienne doesn’t even have to turn to look at the person to know who it is. The invisible dark smoke that swirls around his existence already wraps around her.

And when she does turn to acknowledge him, his eyes are glaring daggers into the screen of her phone, his jaws hard and literally twitching.

“Give it back,” she says softly, stretching her hand for the phone.

His gaze shifts from the phone, his jaw working, and without glancing at her, he drops the phone on the tiled floor.

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