Page 66 of Black Castle

It may seem as though her life is full of ‘maybe’ these days. But hope is all she’s got.

Chapter Twenty

Lucan

What the hell is she doing here?

The question claws at Lucan’s mind, relentless and unforgiving. It doesn’t matter that every instinct in him begs and screams to run to her, to pull her close and hold tight like letting go would kill him. It doesn’t matter that his chest tightens at the sight of her, his pulse pounding so violently he fears it might shatter his ribs.

It doesn’t matter that he has missed her with every waking moment, so much it started to feel like a physical ache, a stubborn pull in his chest. It doesn’t matter that every day, every fibre of his being rebels against any actions that aren’t him boarding his jet and flying back to the States to see her.

No, seeing her, that luminous smile on her face, her hair flying in the wind, it doesn’t matter that he is reminded of how he has missed her so intensely that he swore his body was on the verge of shutting down, as if the next step, the next breath without her would be the one that finally broke him.

None of his body’s protests matter at all. Because she isn’t supposed to be here in the first place. Never this close to him again. She is meant to be far away from him, her name a fading memory floating in his thoughts in a flicker of moments.

Yet here she is. Like a moth to flame, she has wandered too close, unaware of the inferno waiting to devour her.

What is the point of all the battle that has been going on within his mind for weeks? He has tried so hard, fought his own feelings, chained his desires for her, just to keep her away from Zev. He has fought so relentlessly to the point of losing his sanity, his sleep. Look how this reckless minx is about to turn that effort into nothing?

How did she allow her spontaneous decision to lead her here? Into the lion’s den? Into Zev’s hands?

No, he can’t let whatever seems bound to happen to ever happen. Even if this is the last battle he ever has to fight, he must get her out of here, no matter how his body, mind and soul fight against that.

She needs to leave before the gate pulls shut. Because he is losing his strength every passing day. He doesn’t know how long he can keep Zev locked away. The bastard is fighting the hardest he has ever fought within the confinement of Lucan’s mind. Soon, Lucan will lose this battle.

But before that happens, she needs to go far away from here. Before Zev catches a whiff of her. If he does, he will tear through Lucan’s mind and come out. He will trap her here in his darkness.

Oh, he will consume her, tear her apart piece by delicate piece until there’s nothing left but ash. Her wings—so fragile, so beautiful—will wither under his touch, trembling as he rips them from her, one by one. He won’t be kind. Oh, Zev is not made to be merciful to his prey.

Lucan needs to save her. Before he destroys her. Before he steals away the little light left in her.

He needs to save her from his wicked twin brother.

Chapter Twenty-one

Vivienne

Mr. Putin, the butler, served dinner at 7:30 p.m. Vivienne had just finished showering and was ransacking her travel bag for her arm warmers, almost on the verge of a panic attack when his knock came on the door.

As his knocks echoed, Vivienne’s fingers had trembled, digging through her things, pulse hammering in her ears. She was certain she packed them.

Her breath hitched, her chest tightening, but just as the panic was about to take hold, she later found them crumpled at the bottom of her backpack.

Ten more minutes passed before she finally composed herself and arrived downstairs.

It has been two minutes now since she joined Kenji on the large dining table.

“Doesn’t the food look a bit too much?” she asks, nudging at Kenji’s attention.

Kenji gives a half-shrug and continues scrolling through his Instagram feed. “I don’t know. There are five plates, though, which means five people are supposed to be here.”

Vivienne’s brows pull together and she begins to count. “Okay, you and I are already two. Snow White makes us three. Who are the remaining two?”

“That’ll be Captain Serrano and Miss Aiko,” Mr. Putin answers, arriving at the table again with a stainless steel bowl, steam curling from its lid. His smile is pleasant, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Vivienne’s mind latches onto the names. Especially Miss Aiko. Who is that?

Before she can turn to Mr. Putin and ask, a deep voice, laced with an Italian accent, cuts through the air.

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