Page 12 of Necromance
Several hours later, I sat at the desk, surrounded by the comfortingmess of books I’d brought with me. Old, worn tomes filled with the secrets of the dead, their pages heavy with centuries of knowledge. I could feel the heat of the candle beside me as I scanned through them, my brow furrowed in concentration.
None of them seemed to hold the answer for what Lucien was. The closest entity that resembled his unique features would be a phantom, but even that didn’t seem to fit. Lucien was as real as I was at that moment. Somehow his phantom form allowed him to be… alive.
I turned the pages of a particularly ancient book that had belonged to my grandmother. The leather creaked softly under my fingertips. Nothing. I sighed, my gaze drifting toward the man who still occupied the room. The only true explanation I had was that perhaps his form was part of the curse. Perhaps my magic had awoken him.
Lucien paced the floor in front of me, his heavy boots tapping against the wooden floor in a rhythmic, almost impatient manner. He was clearly bored, and I could feel the tension in the air growing with each step he took. His presence was overwhelming, like a storm gathering on the horizon, and yet, I couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. It was maddening, the way he moved, the way he was so… alive. His figure, still wrapped in shadows, was so much more substantial than anything I had ever encountered.
”You know,” he said, breaking the heavy silence that had been weighing down the room. His voice was smooth, lazy, but there was a clear edge of irritation in it. “You’reawfully quiet for someone who’s supposed to be a necromancer. I expected more action, more drama… perhaps some chanting or…”
”So sorry to disappoint, your grace,” I muttered, barely looking up from the book in front of me. “I’m trying to think.”
”Lucien,” he said, voice smooth as he stepped closer.
I looked up, meeting his dark gaze. “What?”
”I prefer you call me by my name.”
”That,” I started slowly. “Is entirely improper… even if you are a ghost… or whatever you are.”
He grinned, leaning over the desk so that his face was mere inches from mine. “I am in your bedchamber in the middle of the night.” His eyes lowered to my lips then continued a slow descent to my chest, pausing where the thin fabric of my nightgown hugged my breast. “And you are wearing nothing but a scrap of fabric, which I might add is a lovely nightgown. I should think calling me by my name would be the least of those improprieties.”
His eyes came back to mine and I shivered, not from the cold. Only now did I even realize the truth in his statement. The breath of fabric felt all too revealing suddenly and I shifted in my chair, awkwardlycovering myself as best I could.
”Fine,” I said with a tight smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had unsettled me. “Lucien.”
”Hmm,” he mused, straightening. “I rather like the sound of my name from your lips.”
”Don’t get used to it,” I said, my voice far too breathy.
He laughed softly before rounding the desk and leaning against it next to me. His hand moved, fingers gently twisting in a strand of my hair that had come loose.
“Why is it that you believe I am not a ghost, witch? You feel the difference, don’t you?”
I leaned back in my chair, the warmth from his presence far too close, stirring something inside of me. I stared at him as he continued his gentle toy with the lock of my hair.
”The difference?” I repeated quietly, feeling mesmerized by his fingers.
One corner of his perfect mouth lifted. “In what I am.”
I hesitated, drawn to his dark eyes as the firelight seemed to reflect golden hues that danced there. I felt my pulse quicken beneath my skin as his finger brushed my cheek.
”I feel a lot of things,” I managed, my tone weaker than I cared to admit. “And right now I feel that you’re not helping me concentrate.” My patience was beginning towear thin, but not in the way one would expect. There was something about him, his proximity, his overwhelming warmth that had me feeling… uneasy in a way that I wasn’t accustomed to.
Lucien tilted his head, watching me with that wicked glint in his eyes. “You want my help? Maybe I’m a figment of your wildest imagination or maybe…” He slid the curl through his hand, then his fingers trailed down my neck with the barest touch. “Maybe I’m something much more interesting.”
I swallowed, leaning forward slightly into his touch despite myself. My body suddenly felt too warm.
Damn him.
”Don’t tease me, sir. I need answers, not riddles.”
He dropped his hand, standing tall and towering over me. “I’m not teasing,” he said, voice still carrying a playful edge. “I’m simplyhelping.”
My fingers curled tightly around the spine of the book in front of me.
“Perhaps your memory is far more disturbed than I’d initially accessed because you seem to have forgotten the meaning of the wordhelp,”I snapped, then sighed at my own tone coming out a bit too sharp… a bit too bothered. “What if I can’t figure out what you are?”
His grin faded at my abrupt change of subject, his expression suddenlybecoming more serious, though the tension between us remained thick, palpable. “Then you’ll have to deal with me just as I am,” he replied with a shrug.
