Page 20 of Necromance
Silence. I swallowed hard, my breath coming fast.
Lucien turned back to me, his expression unreadable. His hands were still clenched into fists at his sides, his stance tense, protective.
I was shaking. I hated that I was shaking.
His gaze swept over me, his dark eyes sharp. “Are you alright?”
I nodded stiffly. I wasn’t sure if I was lying.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his dark hair. Then he looked toward the shadows where the spirit had disappeared.
His voice was low, dangerous. “The man had no face.”
I shivered.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Sleep child,” My grandmother soothed as she smoothed back my tangled hair from my face. Her smile was warm, fine lines dancing around her eyes.
”Will you tell me a story, Mamaw?”
”What story would you like to hear, my little pet?”
I tugged the blankets up to my chin, excitement bubbling in my small frame. “The one about Ravenspire!”
She tilted her graying head, her smile fading slightly. Something in her pale blue eyes shimmered like unshed tears, but she nodded before looking away.
”The Duke of Ravenspire,” she began softly, her stare seeming to drift to a far away place. “Betrayed a heart. Forevermore trapped in art. Bind him tight, where he shall stay, until a heart guides his way. Dashing though he be, only love shall set him free. Call him forth with careful thought, his time shall never be bought. Cursed to dream in eternal sleep, until a heart he shall keep.”
I yawned, feeling my eyes grow tired. “Mamaw?” I said, quietly. “Did the duke ever escape his curse?”
She cupped my cheek, her hand soft and warm. “Oh no child, not yet.”
Frowning, I nuzzled into her palm. “That’s very sad. I hope he is freed.”
Her lips turned up in a grin, a gleam sparkling in her eyes. “One day he will be, pet. One day…”
I stirred awake, groggy and disoriented, the lingering exhaustion from last night’s encounter still weighing heavy on my limbs. The dream… or memory… pressed in around me. The story that my grandmother had told me as a child renewed fresh in my mind. My eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim candlelight of my bedchamber—only to find him sitting beside my bed, watching me.
Lucien.The cursed Duke.
One arm draped casually over the back of the chair next to my bed, the other resting on his knee. He looked entirely too comfortable, as if he belonged there. His dark eyes flicked over my face, assessing, a slow smirk curving his lips.
I groaned, turning onto my side and burying my face into the pillow. “A gentleman should never enter a lady’s bedchamber uninvited,” I grumbled.
He hummed, amused. “Hmm. Who said I was a gentleman?”
I sighed dramatically, rolling onto my side to glare at him. “Yes, I should have known. Gentlemen don’t lurk in bedchambers like some brooding specter.”
His smirk deepened. “Ah, but I am a specter, am I not?” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dipping low. “Tell me, little necromancer, are you afraid I’ll do something ungentlemanly?”
The way he said it—little necromancer—sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.
I sat up, ignoring the warmth creeping up my neck. “No,” I said simply. “I doubt you’d have the nerve… or the ability.”
I looked him up and down at the thought, a blush creeping up my cheeks. I shoved away my wicked curiosity.
His dark brows lifted. “Wouldn’t I?”
