Page 54 of Necromance
“Please,”she murmured against my lips. “I’m so hot, Lucien. I need… something.” She whimpered, eyes unfocused, and her skin flushing further.
That word sucked all of the self control I had out of me. I could imagine what the elixir was doing to her, the intense need that she couldn’t even put into words.
She ran her hands over her breasts, moaning as her eyes fluttered closed again, and her head fell back slightly.
I let out a deep breath, running my hand down my face. Every muscle in my body tensed as I watched her desperate attempt to soothe her ache. When her hand slipped under her nightgown, between her thighs, and a breathy gasp escapedher, I gripped her wrist, cursing again.
“Mia, don’t,” I warned, even though I should let her… should allow her to pleasure herself and put us both out of our misery. Instead, I lifted her into my arms as I stood, then placed her back into her bed before trying to move away. Before I could turn away, she grabbed the front of my shirt and tugged me closer, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Don’t go,” she pleaded, her body still writhing slowly, urgently seeking touch.
I raked a hand through my hair, my breath shuddering with the small thread of control I was clinging to for dear life. I leaned over her, brushing her hair from her temple and pressing my lips to her forehead. “When the potion fades,” I murmured against her ear, “if you still want me, I’ll be yours. Gladly. But not like this, witch. Not when it’s not truly your choice.”
I straightened, striding to the door before I changed my mind, and left the room. I didn’t leave her, but simply sat by her door until the sun rose and I faded into the void.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I awoke slowly, my limbs heavy and my mind drifting between memory and reality, tangled like a web. The memories, the visions, were already starting to slip from me like silk through my fingers, but I clutched at them, dragging them back into focus.
And then came another memory—sharp, clear, and very real.
Lucien. My hands in his shirt. My lips on his. My body pressed shamelessly against his. Even now, just remembering it sent a molten hot sensation to my core.
Seven hells.
I had kissed him… And worse, I had begged for more. It was a new low for me, begging a ghost to kiss me… to make love to me…
I groaned, dragging the pillow over my face in sheer mortification. “I cannot believe I did that.”
No. That was a lie. I could believe it. I had drunk a memory potion withan aphrodisiac side effect.What did I think would happen?I’d decided to throw myself at a cursed duke, that’s what. A cursed duke I happened to be falling in love with… I pushed that thought far, far away…
I let the pillow fall away and sat up slowly, my head still fogged and heavy. His final, parting words washed over me, sending a fresh wave of heat through my body.
“When the potion fades, if you still want me, I’ll gladly be yours.”
I let the words replay through my mind over and over. The memory of his dark eyes shimmering with lust just before he’d turned to leave, made my breath catch now. I closed my eyes, allowing myself one moment to savor that memory before letting it go.
The real weight pressing on me wasn’t from the potion. It was from the things I’d seen. The memories.
The first came back in flashes—Serena’s letter, elegant and desperate, ink smudged by a single teardrop that had dried into the parchment. She had written it to Lucien and I’d felt her desperation to keep him… deep, obsessive emotions. A pang of guilt settled in my stomach. Lucien had been right. She had written the letter… not some wicked lover.
But the memory shifted into something much darker.
I’d stood in the corner of a lavish ballroom, hidden in shadow, and watched as Serena stormed through the crowd in a blood-red gown. Lucien was dancing, smiling even, with a girl I didn’t recognize. And Serena… she threw her drink straight at the poor girl, glass shattering on marble. Gasps rippled through the room. Lucien turned in fury, his jaw clenched.
Then another vision swept over me. Lucien alone in his study. Serena sat opposite him, her face tight with rage and disbelief. He wasn’t yelling. His voice was calm. But firm.
“I don’t love you,” he’d said. “I never have.”
She slapped him. He didn’t flinch.
The vision blurred, shifting again, this time to something colder. More frightening.
My grandmother.
She stood in a candlelit chamber, hunched over an easel. A half-finished portrait sat before her, and in it, I saw Lucien. Still, beautiful, lifeless. Her hands trembled as she mixed the paint. She looked older than I remembered, wearier. And frightened. She kept glancing behind her, toward something in the shadows. A figure I couldn’t quite see. Then she whispered the incantation. The curse crackled over the canvas. And Lucien’s painted eyes closed.
It hadn’t been Lucien’s memory at all… my grandmother had shown it to me. Her memory.
