Page 55 of Wicked Ends
“Thank you,” I finally manage.
Lucien guides me to the table with a strong hand on my back, pulling out my chair. Soren pours wine into my glass, while Drake takes the seat across from me, smiling and ruddy-cheeked. Unbelievable.
“To Rose,” Lucien says, raising his glass. “For bringing something unexpected into our lives.”
“To Rose,” the others repeat, and my cheeks get hot.
The food is delicious. We have roast duck with crispy skin, potatoes that are golden and crisp, winter vegetables, and fresh bread still warm. Lucien tells us that these dishes were the traditional Yule foods of his childhood.
“The pudding was always my favorite,” he says. “My mother would hide a coin in it. Whoever found it would have good fortune in the coming year.”
After dinner, we move to a seating area near the fireplace. Lucien stokes the fire while Soren arranges a tray of chocolates and more wine. Drake sits beside me on a plush sofa, his arm around my shoulders.
“This is nice,” I say, looking around at the three of them.
We talk for hours, the conversation flowing easily. Soren tells outrageous stories from centuries past, some of which I’m sure are exaggerated. Lucien occasionally corrects historical inaccuracies, leading to good-natured arguments. Drake is quieter, but he looks happier than I’ve ever seen him, the ever-present traces of melancholy gone.
I’m warm with wine and happiness, feeling more at home than I have in a very long time, when suddenly the mark on myarm burns ferociously. I nearly drop my glass at the unexpected feeling.
“Rose?” Drake notices my reaction. “Are you well?”
I rub at the mark, feeling it throb again. “Yep, absolutely. Just a few too many chocolates, I think. I’m just going to step out for some air real quick.” I immediately feel guilty about the lie.
Lucien frowns. “It’s freezing outside.”
“I won’t be long.” I stand, setting my wine glass aside. “I just need to clear my head a bit..”
Soren gives me a look. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
I don’t pretend not to understand. “I’ll be back soon.”
Drake stands. “I’ll come with you.”
I touch his arm. “I need to do this alone.”
He doesn’t look happy, but he nods. “Be careful.”
I grab my coat on the way out, pulling it tight around me as I step into the cold night. The mark throbs again, and knowing where to go, I cross the quad, pass the main building, and find myself in a small, secluded garden, surrounded by an iron fence, the gate wide open.
Ash is waiting, standing perfectly still in the center of the space. Snow dusts his dark hair and shoulders, as if he’s been here for some time. He turns as I approach.
“You came,” he says, sounding almost surprised.
“You called.” I stop a few feet away from him, suddenly uncertain.
“Yes.” He looks down for a moment, then back at me. “I didn’t know if you would answer.”
I cross my arms. “What do you want?”
“Our last conversation.” He frowns. “I was harsh.”
“You were an asshole,” I correct.
We stand in awkward silence for a moment. The garden is beautiful in the moonlight, with snow covering stone benches and the dormant flowerbeds.
“Why did you call me here, Ash?” I ask again.
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out something small. “I wanted to give you this.”
