Page 15 of Necromance
His smirk faltered for the briefest second before he recovered. “So it would seem.”
I sighed, placing my fingers on the planchette. “If you’re not going to be helpful, you can leave.”
Lucien arched his brow. “Are you banishing me, necromancer?”
“I’m asking you to go away,” I said dryly. “There’s a difference.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough.” But he didn’t move. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he watched me. “You really think you can cleanse this place?”
I met his gaze evenly. “Yes.”
Lucien’s smirk softened, just slightly, into something unreadable. “Then I suppose I’ll have to stick around and see if you succeed.”
I let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Fine,” I muttered. “If you’re going to stay, you can help.”
Lucien smirked. “Oh? Am I to be your apprentice now?”
“Hardly.” I straightened, placing my hands palm-up on the table. “Give me your hands.”
His brows lifted, amusement flickering in his dark eyes, but he obeyed. His fingers slid into mine, warm and solid… too solid. A shiver crawled up my spine, but I ignored it.
“Stay still,” I instructed.
“I do love a woman who takes charge,” he murmured.
I shot him a glare before closing my eyes, focusing. I inhaled deeply, drawing my magic forward. A familiar tingling sensation began at my fingertips, spreading outward like ripples in water. I shifted my fingers slightly beneath his, feeling an odd pull as if my magic was curiously… and annoyingly… drawn to him instead of the task I was trying to achieve. I concentrated harder. The room around us faded, the candlelight dimming as the world shifted.
And then…
A jolt. A sudden, violent pull.
I gasped as something dragged me under. The world around me changed—hazy and indistinct, like looking through fogged glass. Yet I felt the castle around me, its presence familiar, unmoving.
Then I saw him.
Lucien. But not as he was now. He was alive.
Dressed in dark, fine clothing, he stood in a grand study, his posture rigid with tension. His hands were braced against an ornate desk, his expression unreadable, but his eyes, those same dark, piercing eyes, were stormy with emotion.
He was speaking to someone.
I strained to see, to make out the other figure, but the vision was fragmented, shrouded in mist. The voice of the unseen figure was muffled, distorted, as though the memory itself was resisting me.
Lucien’s jaw tightened. He said something, his voice sharp, edged with emotion.
Then…
“Mia.” The voice calling my name wasn’t from the vision. It was close, urgent.
Suddenly, the fog shattered. I lurched forward, gasping as I was ripped back into the present.
Lucien was gripping my hands tightly, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Mia,” he said again, this time softer, searching my face. “What just happened?”
I stared at him, disoriented, my pulse pounding in my ears. My visions had always been controlled, intentional. But this… this had pulled me in. It had forced itself into my mind.
“I…” I swallowed, trying to steady my breath. “I saw you.”
His brows drew together. “Me?”
