Page 33 of Wicked Chains
"I'm sure your familiar is very capable," he says dryly. "Nonetheless, you should be more cautious. The campus is busy with preparations for Family Day, and there will soon be many unfamiliar faces around."
"Family Day?"
"It's an annual event," Lucien explains, finally taking a seat on the bench beside me, though he maintains a careful distance. "Parents visit the academy, tour the facilities, meet with faculty. It's quite the production."
"Sounds like a nightmare," I mutter. I can't imagine anything worse than a bunch of rich, entitled carbon copies of the students here.
"It will be this year," Lucien agrees. "The first Family Day under new management. Helena is determined to make it a spectacle, to solidify the Blood Moon's position and convince the influential families that the change in leadership is for the best."
A cold gust of wind sweeps across the grounds, and I shiver. My hoodie is decent for indoor wear, but it's not exactly November-in-New-England appropriate. Mrs. Bright and I never thought to conjure up a coat for me.
Lucien notices immediately. "You're cold."
"I'm fine," I say automatically.
"You're shivering," he points out, his tone hardening. "Why didn't you wear a proper coat?"
"I don't have one," I snap.
He stares at me for a long moment, then stands, shrugging out of his black wool overcoat. Before I can protest, he's draping it around my shoulders.
"That's not necessary," I say, even as I instinctively pull it tighter around me. It smells like him, mint and vetiver, refined and expensive.
"It is entirely necessary," Lucien says firmly. "Your stubbornness will get you sick, and then what good will you be to anyone?"
"Is that all you care about? My usefulness?" I challenge, even though the warmth of his coat is seeping into my bones, making me feel better than I'd like to admit.
"Don't be dull, Rose," he says, his hands lingering on my shoulders as he adjusts the coat around me. "If you insist on hiding out here rather than attending class, the least you can do is take proper care of yourself. We’ll discuss your choice of breakfast later."
He's standing in front of me now, leaning down to ensure the coat is properly settled, and suddenly we're face to face, inches apart. The crimson of his eyes deepens, and for a second, I swear they're glowing.
His hands are still on my shoulders.
"I—" My voice catches in my throat. He's so close, and despite everything, despite all the reasons I should hate him or at least distrust him completely, I can't help but notice how his dark hair falls across his forehead, how sharp the line of his jaw is, how his lips...
"Ribbit."
The sound breaks the moment. Hank hops up onto my knee, croaking loudly as if to remind us both that he's still here. Lucien pulls back, straightening to his full height.
"Your guard toad seems concerned," he says, and I swear there's a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Frog," I correct. "And his name is Hank."
"Hank the Frog," Lucien repeats, with a slight emphasis that makes the name sound ridiculous.
"Hey, don't judge. He chose me, not the other way around."
"Indeed." Lucien's gaze drops to Hank again. "You know, in France, frog legs are considered quite the delicacy."
My eyes widen, and I scoop Hank protectively into my hands. "You wouldn't."
"With proper garlic and herbs," Lucien continues, his expression deadpan, "they can be quite succulent."
"That's disgusting," I say, but I can tell he's teasing me now. "Don't listen to him, Hank. I won't let the mean vampire eat you."
"I assure you, I have no interest in consuming your familiar," Lucien says, fighting a smile. "My tastes run to more refined fare."
The way his gaze moves briefly to my neck makes my heart skip a beat.
