Page 22 of Black Castle

Men like him shouldn’t be found around girls like her. The cursed girls. The ones fate and time have forgotten. The ones left to suffer for the sins of their fathers.

Lucan Raskovic is a dream, though the one at the coffee shop had looked like a nightmare. But here she is, nonetheless, standing in front of him.

“I highly doubt it because it’s kind of a romantic-fantasy and you’ve made it so obvious with the books you’ve picked so far that you’re anti-romantic,” she says. “But by any chance, have you read Runes and Starlight?”

He shakes his head, the dim bookstore light reflecting off his silver-white hair, which is neatly pushed back into a half-bun, a few loose strands brushing over his perfectly sculpted face.

“You kinda remind me of Draven Forrest.” A shy smile is drawn across her lips. “I mean, he was the bad guy, but he was so cool and unhinged and the way the author described his look made him have more fangirls than the so-called, slimy, pretentious, self-righteous Jude Archangel.” She makes a disgruntled face, then her gaze flickers back to him.

He is watching her. Those fiery eyes boring into her soul, burning right through the fabric of her defense, stilling her breath as her heartbeat staggers.

She forces herself to break away from the curse of his stare, then clears her throat. Her fingers tremble as they glide through the shelf she is standing next to. She can still feel his eyes on her, unwavering, unrelenting. They make her nervous. They make her feel like with time, she will melt in front of him.

She pulls out a book from the shelf. By the skull and roses on the cover, it is without doubt, a dark romance novel.

“Don’t you wanna try something outside your usual genre?” She holds the front of the book to him, a cheeky grin on her lips.

Lucan glances at the book and his lips press into a firm line.

“No.”

“Oh, come on.” She persists, ignoring the faint tick of his jaw. “It’s good to try something new, you know.”

Without a word, he covers the short distance between them, plucks the book from her hands and tucks it back into the shelf she pulled it out of.

“No,” he says again, this time, more firmly.

Vivienne blinks, dumbfounded by his action. She has never seen someone show so much resistance to change.

“Hmm, are you neophobic, Commander?” she asks casually, her step falling faintly behind his heavy and calculated ones as he heads away from the shelf toward another one.

He pauses mid journey without warning, and Vivienne bumps right into his muscular back.

She knows his pale appearance rather speaks of elegance and immortality, and not of the fragility of a China doll, but she wasn’t expecting him to be this strong. The force of the impact is almost enough to send her barreling backward and landing on her ass.

“Are you okay?” He flips around with a swift motion, his hand gently grabbing her shoulder.

Her breath catches as the heat of his touch sears her skin. He is close to her. Too, too close. And his intoxicating scent—sandalwood and rose with a hint of earth—invades her nostrils, clings to her skin, making her feel dizzy.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper.

Her heart is still racing. And when she looks up at him, he is staring at her, as if not convinced enough, as if searching for any sign of danger. His movement to hold her must have forced a curl loose from the bun as a silvery white strand rests over his left eye.

Vivienne can’t breathe. The image—white hair clashing with amber eyes—burns right into her vision like fire meeting eyes, a collision of opposites, as if the moon were moments from eclipsing the sun.

There is no way she is not recreating this unforgettable image in her tablet tonight.

The realization that he is still holding her shoulders flickers in his eyes. And with a soft clearing of his throat, he lifts off his hands, taking a step away from her.

He leans against the shelf they are standing by, like a man completely at ease, his hands thrusting inside the pocket of his designer pants.

“I don’t have a fear of trying new things.” He cranes his neck slightly, voice quiet yet still heavy.

She beams, nodding. “Every man must have a fear no matter how indomitable he thinks he is.”

She turns and pulls a book from the shelf. “I’m guessing yours is reading romance books.”

She knows one of his fears. And it is crowded places. It will be too ignorant of her not to notice it. However, it will be too heartless of her to mention it, too. He is a soldier. They aren’t meant to show weakness in public. And that day at the event, he must have been so embarrassed. He was falling apart under the gaze of strangers. That must have been traumatizing. He must have buried the memory. Bringing it up wouldn’t be nice.

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