Page 9 of Necromance
Lucien.
That was it, just one word. His name perhaps?
I stood straight again, meeting his warm, honey colored eyes. “Come to me,” I said breathlessly. “Come to me, Lucien,”
The response was immediate.
My magic pooled at my fingertips without warning or permission, sending a pulse of heat down my arm, straight to my core. My eyes drifted shut as the warmth spread through me. I flattened my palm over his chest then slid my hand down his torso. My palm heated further until I had to fight the urge to pull away.
“Yes, Lucien, you will come to me,” I urged, letting my magic push into him, summoning him.
Immediately, just like the night before, something pushed back against my magic. This time, however, it felt almost as if a third force… equally as strong… mingled with my magic, fighting with me instead of against, as if grasping onto me for dear life.
Warm air slid over my skin like a gentle, encouraging caress and my lips parted on a sigh at the enticing pleasure of it. It felt amazing, unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
I stared at the painting in awe. I’d experienced my fair share of haunted items, but never anything like this. It was as if the spirit was reaching for me, touching me in the sweetest, most sensual way.
I was used to being the one to call to the dead… not the other way around.
The magnetic air continued to swirl around me, slowly gliding over my body. It felt… good. Daringly, I pushed a little more of my magic into the painting, the edges starting to glow faintly as I did. More… I pushed, bringing my magic from my core now. It shot to my fingertips eagerly, until a burst of blue light sprung from my hand, illuminating the man’s beautiful features.
A soft exhale reverberated through the castle and then without warning, blackness consumed me.
I stumbled back, stunned as something hard and fast whipped around me. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust in the darkness. Ispun around, an endless black hallway swallowing me in deep shadows. I stepped carefully, reaching for the cold stone of the wall, using it to guide me. Exhaustion overcame me from using my magic. It had been reckless to do so again so soon. I moved slowly, my limbs feeling like iron weights dragged them down. I couldn’t stay in the hall, unwarded, and vulnerable.
I cursed under my breath as the shadows before me moved and twisted unnaturally up the walls like tangling vines. I kept my eyes on them as I moved down the corridor. My pulse quickened as I followed the hallway back to my room and just as I stepped over the salted threshold, a gut-wrenching scream echoed through the castle. My door slammed closed, startling me and I clutched my hand to my chest.
I truly wasn’t usually fearful of spirits, unsettled at times perhaps, but I had to admit, I was just alittleafraid.
CHAPTER FIVE
The moment I awoke, the air in the room felt different, charged with something I couldn’t place. A warmth washed over me, one that wasn’t of the room or fire. It was more… intimate, enveloping, and I immediately felt the pull of it like something unseen had wrapped its arms around me.
A strange, intoxicating scent lingered in the air… vanilla, smoke, and something rich, spicy. It sent a shiver down my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I felt my magic stir faintly, almost as if warning me of a presence, but it didn’t feel frightening… it felt… excited?
Slowly, I blinked my eyes open. The room was dark, save for the dwindling firelight, but that warmth, the presence, was still there. I turned my head to the foot of my bed…
There hewas. The man. The one from the painting.
He stood, casually leaning against one of the ornate bedposts, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His posture was relaxed, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t look like a ghost at all. He was corporeal, more real than I could have imagined. His figure was tall, muscular, and that grin of his… it was slow, deliberate, like he knew something that I didn’t, something only he was allowed to know. His eyes, those dark, endless eyes, were fixed on me, an intensity in them that made my heart race and my breath hitch in my throat.
His scent seemed to emanate from him, strangely comforting and equally unsettling.
”You summoned me?” He said casually, his voice low, smooth, and rich like a velvet whisper that brushed against my skin.
I had to force myself to sit up. My heart was thudding wildly in my chest, and a part of me wondered if I was still dreaming, or perhaps this was some sort of delirium brought on by the exhaustion from using too much of my magic. But everything about him felt too real, too tangible. I reached for the edge of the bed, steadying myself.
I glanced at my doorway, noting the pristine line of salt still intact and let out a breath. At least he could mean me no harm.
”Who… who are you?” I stammered, my voice coming out more breathless than I’d intended, betraying my nervous curiosity.
He pushed himself off of the post, standing to his full height. Even in the dim light, I could see the sharp lines of his jaw, the hard cut of his features, the faint glow of something ancient in the way he held himself. He was even more handsome than the painting, even more commanding. There was something dangerous in his beauty, something that made my pulse race even faster and my thoughts scatter. His grin deepened as he took a step closer, the room seeming to shrink with his presence.
”Lucien Wescraven, Duke of Ravenspire,” he said, bowing slightly before locking his gaze back on me with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “And you are?”
”Mia. Mia Arden.” My voice faltered for a second. The heat in the room seemed to intensify, and the shadows around him deepened, making him seem too real, too present. “You’re the man from the portrait?”
His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes softened just a touch as he tilted his head. “The very same.”
