Page 31 of Necromance
His hand moved from mine, hovering in the air just above my arm as if he was fighting some urge to touch me again. I swallowed, my body leaning closer to him on its own accord, as if begging for that touch. My heart pounded in my ears and my lips parted slightly as I sucked in a deep breath. His dark eyes slid to my mouth, something primal lingering there.
He moved closer, so close that if I just barely rocked onto my toes, our lips would touch. His other hand gripped the counter just a little tighter…
The stew simmered over, forcing my attention back to it. We both jumped back as the steaming water seeped over the pot, hissing against the hot surface.
Lucien cursed under his breath before he pushed off of the counter and strode from the room. I let out a slow, shaky, breath as I watched him go.
CHAPTER TEN
LUCIEN WESCRAVEN
I stood in the dim light of the art gallery, the weight of silence pressing down on me like a physical thing. The room was suffocating, filled with the musty smell of decay. The portraits lining the walls, their frames cracked and curling, felt like a mocking reminder of everything I couldn’t remember. Faces stared down at me—some noble, some unremarkable—eyes seemingly following my every movement. Yet none of them held any meaning. None of them felt familiar.
I let out a frustrated breath, though I didn’t trulyneedto breathe, I still found it relaxing. My fingers brushed over a canvas that seemed as lifeless as the memories I couldn’t reach. Who were these people? What had they meant to me? I wasn’t sure I cared anymore. The more I looked, the more the haze in my mind thickened.
The others in the portraits had some connection, something tying them to this cursed place, but me? I was just… here. Trapped. And I couldn’t even remember why. My hands clenched at my sides as I turned away from the wall, my feet carrying me aimlessly across the cold marble floor.
What was it Mia had said the night that we met?
The Duke of Ravenspire betrayed a heart…
Not only was I cursed, but turned into a school child’s fairytale. The worst part was that I didn’t even know if it was true. Had I betrayed Serena’s heart? Did I do something so incredibly wicked that the woman wished to torture me for eternity?
Somehow, I doubted it.
This endless cycle of wandering through the dark halls, searching for pieces of a life I couldn’t even remember, was wearing me thin. Every night it felt like I was reaching for something just out of my grasp—but then there was Mia. She seemed to be the only one who could pierce through the fog that had surrounded me for what felt like forever. Though I couldn’t remember my life before this point and time, I was certain I’d never known anyone like her.
And then there washer. The one who had cursed me. Who was she? Serena? The name gnawed at me, familiar but distant, like a half-remembered dream. I needed answers. Something to make sense of all this.
That’s when I heard it.
A faint voice, soft and hesitant, drifted toward me from behind. A chill ran down my spine as I froze. It was as though the world had paused around me, and all I could focus on was that voice.
“Your Grace?” It was her. The maid. Portia.
I turned slowly. Her form was ethereal, translucent, like a shadow clinging to the edges of the room. Her nervousness was palpable. She seemed… afraid. But why?
“I came to tell you something,” she rasped, her ghostly figure shifting uneasily, as though she couldn’t decide whether to stay or flee.
I narrowed my eyes, a mix of curiosity and frustration rising within me. “Tell me, then,” I said, my voice sharp despite my better judgment. My patience had worn thin, but the intrigue in her presence kept me grounded. Whatever she had to say, it might be important, perhaps it was the clue I’d been waiting for.
She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting someone—or something—to appear. She was definitely afraid, her form wavering as though the tension in her was too much to bear.
“What is it?” I urged a little gentler, taking a step toward her. “What do you need to say?”
The maid’s voice dropped to barely a whisper, though the words were clear, every syllable lacedwith urgency. “Townsend. That’s her name.”
My brows furrowed in confusion, the frustration from earlier tightening in my chest. “Is that her surname?”
She took a hesitant step backward, her form flickering violently before she nodded quickly.
I stared at her, my mind racing with so many questions. “Serena Townsend,” I said slowly. The name tickled the back of my throat and a hazy vision crossed my mind… one I couldn’t quite grasp. The woman’s face materialized in my mind as if in a dream—blurry, but so real. I could see her in my study. I could feel the tension as we spoke. The memory played and I watched until it vanished.
“Portia, can you tell me more? My memory seems to be missing.”
Portia seemed to shrink away at the question, glancing toward the door, eyes wide and filled with dread. “I don’t know,” she muttered softly, almost pleading. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me everything you know,” I said, but she shook her head quickly.
