Page 21 of Black Castle

Until he is tired of it.

Until this unnamed feeling in his chest fades away.

He will see her again…no matter what.

Chapter Seven

Vivienne

At Pennywise Books, Everstead’s biggest bookstore, Lucan stands near a bookshelf; Everstead is only a couple of miles from Vivienne’s hometown, Golden Creek.

He is looking over the back of a book—Raven and the Dawn of Blood—a pair of thin-framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. His amber eyes blaze with fervent zeal. Anyone can tell the summary written at the back of the book is intriguing.

Three weeks ago, he was just the man Vivienne met at Fitz’s Lit and Brew—she and Kenji’s favorite coffee shop.

Seated at the room’s back, he had stood out against the shop’s dark aesthetic. And there was something about his pale skin that made him look like moonlight frozen in time. She had never seen eyes as intensely brown as his—like melted amber caught in a dying flame. And that day, those eyes truly burned right through her skin.

No man she has ever seen compared to his beauty. Dressed head-to-toe in designer clothing, his exotic and graceful carriage had caused her heart to flutter. But the dark aura surrounding him also made her afraid. He commanded power even without saying too much.

A single word, “No,” from him that day, nearly brought her to the point of collapse, her knees weak.

Their differences were glaringly apparent and she doubted they would ever cross paths again. With the darkness exuding off him, the way his eyes seemed to hold death in its depth, she wasn’t even sure she could ever handle being in the same space with him again.

But last week, as if she unknowingly dared fate, she saw him again at The Lumina Dome, where she went for a book signing.

But he was different. Not because he was a 6’5 tall man with an imposing presence yet doubling over with a panic attack. No. That wasn’t it at all. It was because compared to their coffee shop meeting, he seemed milder, and his eyes were kinder that day.

It was as if he was a different person from the one at the coffee shop. Except that he was not. It was the same man. Maybe he was having a bad day then. Perhaps he disliked interacting with strangers, thus his initial reaction was coldness.

Maybe comfort around someone was the prerequisite for his kindness.

And when he walked to Vivienne on the park bench when the event was over, she concluded that he needed to establish friendship or trust. And maybe he realized he could be kinder to her because she was there for him in what could be one of the most difficult moments of his life.

When they exchanged numbers, she really wasn’t bold enough to wait for his call. But even if she had failed to recognize it, it was right there, a flicker of hope. Maybe life was giving her another chance at love. What could she say? She was a desperately hopeless romantic. And she always sought love in the smile, laughter or eyes of every man she met…including Ian Griswyk, the man who she has formed a habit of checking her phone for, each day should he decide to call or text.

When she received a call from an unknown number earlier this morning while at school, her fingers had trembled because it was a strange country code that flashed across the screen of her phone.

It was him.

He said he was in town. She asked if he was having a panic attack. And she had chuckled, even though he didn’t find it funny. He didn’t laugh.

He said he wanted to get some books. So he was hoping she could assist him with that. Then she offered to take him to a bookstore that literally had almost every fantasy book he could ever need on his shelf.

Five hours after the call, and here they are. She is still in her uniform because he had picked her up right from the front of the school.

“You’re staring.” His voice remains rich, deep and husky. “Is there a problem?”

His golden brown eyes have lifted from the book, locking on hers that has indeed been shamelessly ogling at him.

Heat crawls up her cheeks. “Yes.” Her voice is soft, timid, but she doesn’t care to hide her flushed cheeks behind the curtain of her wavy red hair. She doesn’t have them in braids today, not a messy ponytail, either. Today, she let them fall in their own, naturally wavy curls, resting on her shoulder, framing her oval face.

“Really?” He folds his arms across his chest, his brow lifted.

He is right. Everything isn’t okay.

She is standing in the same room with a man whose beauty rivals the gods, elegance that only could have been believable if it’s between the pages of a book.

Vivienne isn’t the kind of girl who meets men like him. Men who command a room without even speaking a word. Men who carry power like a second skin.

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