Page 29 of Black Castle

“Waylen?” She lifts a brow.

He let out a low hum and a nod.

“Um…” She hesitates, glancing at Waylen again. “Not exactly. We do share a class or two. And wave to each other across the hall once in a while.”

“Okay.” There’s an eerie and awkward silence for some minutes, the soft laughter coming from a table or two away punctuating the air between them. And at a distance, there is a low buzz of a cell phone, the hum of the coffee machine, and the chime of an oven.

She wants to ask him why he specifically told her not to call him that day. What could have been the reason? It doesn’t make any sense. Trying to understand why he had a panic attack in the parking lot is hard. She feels like she needs closure. But he seems like he doesn’t want to talk about it. She wishes he would talk about it.

Why did he say she shouldn’t call him?

“He’s literally so…white. Why? That’s weird.” A comment suddenly drifts across the air to their table.

“Like some damn vampire.” Another voice adds, giggling.

They don’t have to say a name—it’s obvious who they are talking about. Vivienne glances over her shoulder and spots them; two boys and a girl sitting a table away, all seemingly the same age. Vivienne’s gaze meets one of them—a blonde girl—who quickly looks away before whispering something animated to others. Vivienne averts her gaze.

“Kids,” she murmurs softly. “They can be rude, sometimes. Ignore them.”

But Lucan doesn’t even look bothered. And even if he is, he doesn’t show. His expression is blank, and trying to interpret the emotion in his eyes isn’t helping. There is nothing to see when he is so good at hiding them.

“Do you think his hair is dyed?” Vivienne’s fingers clench on the table. They are very disrespectful and rude. She already made it obvious that she can hear them. Shouldn’t they have the decency to quit?

“It’s the same color as the root,” the blonde replies. “If it’s a dye, the root would be a different color.”

“Maybe it’s a wig,” one of the boys says, and they all bark out a peal of laughter.

Vivienne wants to charge there and do something really mean. But she isn’t sure if Lucan is interested in a situation where she fights strangers on his behalf. Maybe he doesn’t really care for trouble. Perhaps that’s why he is turning deaf ears to all. It will be rude of her to go making troubles.

“We can leave if you want,” she tells him.

“Why?” Finally, he speaks, an unknown fire burning behind his bright eyes. His intense stare nearly stills her breath.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I thought they might be making you uncomfortable—”

“I’m fine.” He cuts her off, then leans into his chair. “It’s nothing.”

“But—”

“It’s fine, Vivienne.” There isn’t exactly a strain in his voice that hints at anger, but his words do carry a weight that whispers power, enough to make her gently tremble in her seat.

She glances over her shoulder at the kids’ table again. They are no longer laughing, but they are still murmuring, their eyes occasionally floating across to their table.

Vivienne returns her attention to the table just in time for Waylen to bring their order.

“Enjoy your meal.” Waylen throws her a friendly smile and retreats quietly.

The donut is still steaming hot. She places a hand gently on it, feeling the tenderness and heat against her touch. It’s golden brown, just the way she loves it. No sprinkles, no cinnamon sugar, no glazes, no frosting or icing. None of those dramas. Just a plain donut.

“You really like donuts.” Lucan says after careful and long observation.

Vivienne’s eyes widen in alarm. Is she drooling? She wipes at her lips furiously.

Lucan’s lips twitch in a failed attempt to smile. “It’s your eyes,” he murmurs. “They are shining.”

A blush creeps up her neck, stretching to her cheeks. “Yes, I like them a lot.” A bashful smile settles under the curve of her lips.

An awkward silence settles between them. Suddenly, she isn’t sure if she wants to eat the donut while he is watching.

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