Page 19 of Exorcise Me
“I cannot force you back to the path, Noah. Faith must be chosen freely.” He moved toward the door, then paused. “But I can warn you. Whatever entity has attached itself to you—this Lucien—it does not have your best interests at heart. Demons cannot love, Noah. They can only corrupt and destroy.”
He’s wrong,I thought immediately, remembering the tenderness in Lucien’s touch, the vulnerability in his eyes when he’d almost confessed his feelings.He’s wrong about Lucien.
But I said nothing, merely nodding to acknowledge I’d heard him.
Father Finnegan sighed, hand on the doorknob. “When you’re ready to come back—to truly commit yourself to your calling again—my door is open.” His eyes softened slightly. “Until then, I’ll pray for your protection and clarity.”
With that, he left, closing the door quietly behind him.
I stood in the middle of my apartment, a strange hollowness expanding in my chest. For the first time in my life, I felt truly alone—cut adrift from the institution that had shaped my entire existence, separated from the mentor who had guided me through my most difficult questions.
And without Lucien, I had no anchor to this new, uncertain territory I found myself exploring.
Almost without conscious thought, I moved to the shelf where I’d placed the honey jar. The late afternoon sunlight caught it, turning the golden contents into liquid amber—the exact shade of Lucien’s extraordinary eyes.
I held it up to the light, heart pounding.
“Lucien,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Then, louder: “Lucien.” A deep breath. “Lucien.”
For a moment, nothing happened. The apartment remained still and silent, and a cold fear gripped me. What if it had been a joke? What if he’d never intended to return?
Then the air shifted, a familiar scent of cinnamon and smoke filling the room, and Lucien was there—standing by the window as if he’d been there all along, golden light painting his sharp features, his amber eyes fixed on me with an intensity that stole my breath.
Chapter 11
“You called?” Lucien said softly.
Relief crashed through me so powerfully that my knees nearly buckled. “You came.”
His smile was gentle, lacking its usual sardonic edge. “I promised I would.” He tilted his head, studying me. “Though I expected you’d need more time.”
“I had a visitor,” I explained. “Father Finnegan.”
“Ah.” Understanding dawned in his eyes. “And how is the good father? Still convinced the world is overrun with evil spirits who live to corrupt innocent humans?”
“More or less.” I found myself moving toward him, drawn like a magnet to its polar opposite. “He sensed you’d been here.”
Lucien’s eyebrow rose. “Did he, now? Impressive for a human.”
“He’s been doing this a long time,” I said, stopping just short of touching him, suddenly uncertain of my welcome. “He could feel your… presence.”
“My presence,” Lucien repeated, a hint of his usual mischief returning. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Despite everything, I laughed—a short, surprised sound that seemed to please him. He reached out, his fingers brushing mine, and that simple touch sent electricity racing up my arm.
“I missed you,” I admitted, the words emerging before I could consider them.
Something softened in his expression. “Did you? Even while questioning if I’ve been manipulating your mind and corrupting your soul?”
I winced. “You know me too well.”
“I’m trying to,” he said simply.
I laced my fingers with his, drawing strength from the contact. “I have been questioning—everything. My faith, my calling, what I’ve been taught about demons…” I met his gaze directly. “What I feel for you.”
Lucien’s thumb traced gentle circles on my palm. “And what conclusions have you reached in your scholarly ruminations?”
“That I don’t have enough information.” I squeezed his hand. “That I need to learn more. Experience more.”
