Page 43 of Necromance
I nuzzled into his warm touch, throat burning with unshed tears. “What happened?”
”You tell me,” he said quietly, gaze sharpening, and I caught the hint of something else in his tone. Anger. Not the explosive kind, but the tightly-wound sort, the kind that came from fear.
”I found you in the gallery,” he continued, his voice clipped, jaw tensing. “You were unconscious and barely breathing with no trace of how you got there or what had happened. Would you care to explain?”
I swallowed hard, my gaze dropping. Shame and guilt curled hot in my stomach.
The gallery? No…
I looked up at him again, frowning. “I went to look for clues… but… the room was different.” I hesitated, trying to make sense of it. “The castle—it tricked me. It wasn’t the gallery when I walked inside of the room. It was a room full of mirrors and there were images of me, but it wasn’t me.” I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to reason with what I had seen.
”Then you were there…” My voice trailed off as I swallowed back the tears threatening to spill over. “But it wasn’t you. It was Serena.”
Lucien tensed. “You should have waited… You should have summoned me.”
“I know,” I whispered.
There was a long, weighted silence. I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bare to see the disappointment in his eyes. I stared down at my hands, the sheets wrinkled in my fists. He looked me over, his gaze landing on my throat and his jaw tightened again.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, guilt twisting through me. Not just for going off alone in the castle, but for what I had said to him… for the secrets I was still keeping, for the truth I still couldn’t tell him… for the weight of my grandmother’s book still tucked within my things.
He studied me, a small sigh escaping him. “I don’t care what haunted room you chase next, witch, but you don’t go alone. No matter what. Promise me.”
“I promise… but that’s not all I’m sorry for,” I admitted. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him everything, but he at least deserved an apology for what I’d said to him.
“I’m sorry I called you a rake and implied that you deserved to be cursed.”
He smirked then hummed as if considering my apology. “You did wound my fragile heart, but I shall forgive you, if only because you look particularly pitiful right now.”
I shook my head at his dramatics as he threaded his fingers through mine. I leaned against him, resting myforehead lightly on his shoulder, the ache in my chest easing as he let out a quiet sigh and held me there.
”I am sorry,” I said softly. “Truly.”
His fingers trailed down my back, a ghost of a touch. “I know,” he murmured against my hair.
But the guilt didn’t fade. If anything, it sank deeper. Because I was still lying.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lucien walked beside me, our footsteps echoing softly down the corridor as we searched, again, for the place where his body might be hidden the following evening. I ignored the ache still pulsing through my muscles, the bruises throbbing around my throat…
We’d been searching for several hours with no real direction and once again, had come up empty-handed.
Where would my grandmother have hidden his body?The thought made my stomach twist into a sickening knot.Perhaps she didn’t hide it… perhaps she’d left that up to Serena.Bile rose in the back of my throat and I quickly shoved it down.
”What about a cellar?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the extreme guilt.
”I assume there is one,” Lucien agreed, shrugging as they continued to walk. “Though, I can’t exactly remember.”
Right. His memory.
I sighed as we turned another corner, stopping short. My breath caught in my throat. Lucien’s portrait stared down at us.
His eyes followed mine and landed on it, his expression tightened. It was worse. The rot had climbed higher, the decay curling like smoke over his chest and up the side of his throat. What was once a proud and regal painting had become a mockery. His features were duller, lifeless, and even the gilded frame seemed to wilt. I stepped closer, the oil paint cracked and peeled, and black, twisted veins of ruin spidered outward from the edges of his heart.
”I think it’s destroying you,” I sighed. “I’ve been thinking about it and I believe we are running out of time.”
Lucien was silent.
