Page 47 of Necromance
”Brilliant,” I muttered, dragging myself upright with a wince. “Knocked out again. Just what every accomplished necromancer strives for… recurring head trauma.”
I turned my head just in time to see Lucien raise onedark brow at me when I frowned at him.
”We really have to stop doing this,” I said softly, wincing again from my own voice piercing through my aching skull.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not we, witch.You.I’m just the valiant savior.”
I glared at him, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, stumbling only slightly as I stood. Lucien moved to my side instantly, his arms wrapping around my waist to steady me. I sucked in a breath as our eyes met for one lingering moment before he turned his attention toward the basin of water.
”I brought you some fresh water,” he murmured, his hand tensing just slightly where it held me. “I tried to clean the blood from your hair, but—“ He trailed off with a small, apologetic smile. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
I grinned at his gentleness as he helped me sit in a chair by the basin. I could feel the scrapes along my body and the dried blood in my thick hair, crusted over now.
”Thank you,” I said quietly, unsure if I had ever really thanked him for all the times he’d saved me already. I doubted it.
A wicked gleam entered his dark eyes and the grin that spread across his perfect lips made my breath catch. “I see you’ve finally learned some manners. Next we still need to work on saying please…”
I narrowed my eyes, but couldn’t help the small smile that I tried to hide as he held his hands up in mock surrender before turning away.
My hands shook slightly as I dipped a cloth into the cool water then dabbed at the cut along my collarbone, wincing as the cloth dragged over raw skin.
When I let out a sharp hiss of pain, Lucien turned back to me, moving toward me with slow, determined strides.
“Let me do it.” His voice was quiet but firm, cutting through the heavy stillness of the room.
I turned to refuse, but he was already there, closing the space between us. His presence was all-consuming, his dark eyes pulling me in.
“I can manage,” I said, though my grip on the cloth was weak.
Lucien arched his brow. “Not if you’re going to flinch and nearly cry every time you touch it.”
I scowled, ready to argue, but then his fingers brushed mine—just the lightest graze as he took the cloth from my grasp.
My breath caught.
His hands were warm. Steady.
I didn’t stop him as he dipped the cloth into the basin of water, wrung it out, and brought it to my skin. A slow, deliciously gentle touch. I stiffened, biting back a wince, but Lucien musthave noticed because his free hand came up, fingers ghosting along my arm. Not holding me still—just there. A reassurance.
“You don’t have to be so careful,” I muttered, if only to fill the silence.
Lucien let out a quiet hum. “I think we both know that’s a lie.”
I rolled my eyes, but any retort I might have had vanished when he traced the cloth along my wound again, his touch impossibly gentle.
The room felt warmer. Smaller.
His face was so close now, the firelight casting golden shadows along his sharp features.
He shouldn’t have looked real. Not with his body lying somewhere in the castle. Not with the curse still hanging over us both like a blade waiting to fall. But at this moment, he was. So very real. And I was always painfully, helplessly aware of him.
Lucien exhaled slowly, his gaze flickering to mine. His thumb brushed against my wrist—just a whisper of a touch, but it sent a shiver down my spine.
His voice was lower when he spoke. “You shouldn’t have run after her.”
I swallowed hard. “I can take care of myself.”
A shadow of a smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, yes. I saw how well that went.”
