Page 49 of Necromance
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, just a minor inconvenience—I won’t be able to tell what’s real and what isn’t until the effects wear off.” I tilted the vial idly between my fingers. “And there’s just one other thing...”
I blushed. His jaw tightened.
“One of the side effects is physical arousal.” I added lightly.”
Lucien exhaled slowly through his nose, running a hand through his dark hair as though he were reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment.
“That sounds like a terrible idea,” he said flatly, but a spark of heat entered his eyes.
I lifted a shoulder. “Most things worth doing usually are.”
“Mia.”
My name again, heavier this time. I ignored the unspoken warning in his voice and set the vial on the bedside table before he could snatch it from my grasp. It flickered softly like ghostly candlelight.
“I have no other choice,” I reasoned. “I need answers.Weneed answers. And the spirits in this castle aren’t exactly lining up to have a friendly chat.”
Lucien didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. His eyes darkened. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I’ll be watching. Making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”
I hesitated, my smirk faltering slightly. “And what if I start to see you as a scary monster?” I asked
Lucien stilled. The fire crackled, the storm rumbled in the distance, and the space between us felt suddenly too small.
Then, quietly, he said, “I’ll take my chances.”
I stared at the vial, a moment of hesitation, before lifting it into my hand. The liquid inside hummed against my skin, its shimmering depths holding both promise and danger.
Lucien’s gaze never left me, sharp and assessing, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t have to say it—I could feel the disapproval radiating from him.
“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice softer now, edged with something I couldn’t quite place. “We can find my body another way.”
I let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “And then what?” I lifted my gaze to meet his. “Even if we find your body, I still have no idea how to break the curse, Lucien. I need more than just a crypt—I need to know how to bring you back.”
A flicker of something passed over his expression. “Mia—”
“I need to see your memories,” I pressed, voice tight with frustration. “A clue, a sign, anything that tells me what she did to you. What if I’m missing something?”Something likemy grandmother causing your curse…
Lucien’s jaw tensed. “And what if you don’t find anything?”
I hesitated, fingers tightening around the vial. The question lingered between us, weighty and cruel. For all my bravado, I couldn’t deny the truth—there were no guarantees. No certainty that drinking this wouldn’t be for nothing. That I wouldn’t just lose myself in meaningless visions, stumbling blindly through the past with no way forward. But doing nothing was worse.
I straightened, leveling my gaze with his. “We won’t know unless I try.”
Lucien dragged a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like this,” he muttered.
A smirk tugged at my lips despite the tension knotting my chest. “So you’ve said.”
He dropped his hand, watching me with those penetrating eyes. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, with a sigh that sounded almost resigned, he murmured, “then I’m staying the entire time.”
Lucien shifted closer, the firelight casting his features in sharp relief—the elegant cut of his jaw, the storm in his eyes, the barely restrained worry etched in the crease of his brow.
“If you do this,” he said, voice quiet but firm, “I’m not leaving your side.”
Something in my chest twisted.
I found myself gripping the vial tighter, my pulse quickening at the weight of his words. Because for all his brooding and sharp edges, Lucien was afraid. Not for himself. For me.
