Page 69 of Wicked Chains
"Removed is a kind way of putting it," Soren says. "She was imprisoned. Locked away because even the coven couldn't control her."
"What did she do?" I ask.
Lucien's expression darkens. "There are rumors that she experimented. Taking magic from other witches, not just through contracts like the Accord, but by… consuming them."
"Consuming them?" My voice comes in a squeak. "Like, literally?"
I take their silence as a yes.
"The coven elders deemed her methods too vile," Lucien continues. "Even for them. Helena was given leadership instead, and Jasmine was confined."
“And then Victoria took that leadership away from Helena,” I say. Talk about a dysfunctional family. "But if she's locked up, why would Helena be worried about her?" I ask.
"That," Lucien says grimly, "is an excellent question."
I run my hands through my hair, trying to process this. "So seeking her help would be a terrible idea?"
"The worst idea," Soren confirms. "Jasmine doesn't help anyone but herself."
"Great." So much for that plan.
"You need protection," Lucien states.
"I need freedom," I say. "But protection would be a good start."
"We can protect you," Soren says, his eyes sliding briefly to Lucien before returning to me.
"And how's that going to work?" I ask. "You two can't even be in the same room without sniping at each other. And neither of you can be with me 24/7."
"We could try," Soren says, a hint of his usual suggestiveness returning. "I'm sure we could work out a schedule."
Lucien makes a sound suspiciously like a growl.
This is all so strange, Soren and Lucien, seemingly united in their concern for me. The incubus and the vampire, both looking at me like I'm something they're afraid of losing.
Lucien's gaze lingers on me, intense and focused, while Soren watches both of us with knowing eyes. I feel the weight of what's unspoken between us all, the memory of Lucien's fangs at mythroat, the memory of Soren's body moving against mine, the shared moment between us, with Drake.
Soren notices the way Lucien looks at me, and something like understanding passes across his face. At the same time, Lucien's nostrils flare slightly, and I wonder if he can smell Soren on my skin, in my bed, even days later.
The moment stretches between us, and no one speaks.
"Well," Soren says. "I think this is where I make a graceful exit."
"You don't have to go," I say quickly.
"Oh, I think I do." His smile is knowing, almost sweet. "You two have things to discuss." He moves to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "Just remember, little witch, my services are always open to you. Literally and metaphorically."
Lucien's jaw clenches, but he says nothing.
“I'll be around when you're ready." He glances quickly at Lucien, then back to me. "Enjoy your evening."
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with Lucien. Hank has fallen asleep on his lap, apparently unconcerned with the sexual tension in the room.
Lucien and I stare at each other, and his eyes hold mine without blinking. I can still feel the phantom pressure of his fangs on my throat, the memory of his mouth drawing my blood, the way my body responded.
"So," I say, going for nonchalance. "Now what?"
Thirty-One
