Chapter 139: Alone
Chapter 139
Lucian’s head tilted, his gaze tracking the movement of her lips before he finally processed the words. "Your... assistant?"
The confusion in his voice was genuine. He, a Sovereign who had commanded legions and seen the rise and fall of empires, was being recruited to help with the morning’s culinary endeavors.
Yes, he had made her breakfast before—but he had been in charge then. He was no one’s assistant. In any other century, the suggestion would have been an insult; this morning, it felt like a death sentence wrapped in a velvet ribbon.
Isabella didn’t let go of his arm, her smile widened, a mischievous spark lighting up her golden-white hair.
"Yes, an assistant. You can’t just stand around looking all dark and mysterious while I’m trying to flip pancakes, Lucian. It’s distracting. Besides," she added, her voice dropping into that playful, teasing tone.
"I think you need to learn some modern skills. Starting with how to not finish the salt on eggs."
Lucian looked down at Isabella, he could have rejected the idea with a single, sharp word—reminded her that a King does not play at being a sous-chef, or simply pulled his arm away and retreated into the icy, distant silence that had been his armor for centuries.
But as he looked at her, he saw the faint, lingering shadow behind her playful smile. He remembered the look on her face yesterday in the kitchen—the split second of raw hurt and confusion that had flickered in her eyes when he had practically shoved her away from that kiss.
He had wounded her pride, and perhaps her heart, in his desperate attempt to save her life. The guilt was a different kind of fire, one that didn’t burn like the marks on his chest, but ached with a dull, persistent weight.
He owed her this. He owed her a version of himself that wasn’t a monster or a statue.
"Very well," he finally managed to rasp, the word feeling like a surrender.
"Since you seem to believe my presence is ’distracting,’ I shall endeavor to be... useful." Isabella’s face lit up with a triumph so bright it almost made him forget the hunger.
She let go of his arm, but instead of moving away, she patted his chest—right over the inflamed scars.
Lucian’s breath hitched, a sharp hiss of air escaping through his teeth as the celestial fire flared.
"You okay?" she asked, her hand lingering for a second too long, her brow furrowing as she felt the unnatural heat radiating through the silk of his shirt.
"I am... eager to begin," Lucian lied, his voice a low, vibrating hum as he caught her wrist and gently but firmly moved her hand away.
He couldn’t let her feel the dampness of the weeping wounds. "Do not keep your ’assistant’ waiting, Isabella. My patience is an ancient thing, but it is not infinite."
Isabella laughed, "Right. Give me five minutes to change. And don’t you dare sneak off to talk to Marco about ’important King business’ while I’m getting ready."
She disappeared into the dressing room, leaving Lucian standing in the center of the room.
The moment the door clicked shut, Lucian didn’t waste a single heartbeat, he moved in a burst of supernatural speed that left the air in the room swirling, he was gone, crossing the threshold into the adjacent suite.
He tore the blood-soaked silk from his chest, the fabric sticking momentarily to the inflamed, weeping ridges of the mark. He didn’t allow himself to look at the ruin of his own torso; he couldn’t afford the distraction of the pain.
He snatched a fresh shirt from the wardrobe—a jet-black silk identical to the one he had just discarded—and shrugged it on, his fingers fumbling with the buttons in a rare show of agitation.
The fresh silk did nothing to hide the heat still radiating beneath it. With another flicker of motion, he was back in the master suite, the discarded shirt hidden away, the air barely having settled from his exit.
He slumped forward, his hands gripping the footboard of the bed, closing his eyes and hanging his head low as he fought the internal storm.
His fangs pricked the sensitive lining of his lower lip, and he forced them back, forcing the red haze to recede until his vision cleared into the cold gray of the morning.
He was going back to that kitchen. Back to the island where her scent was most concentrated—a siren’s call he was biologically unequipped to ignore.
He would have to stand at her shoulder, breathe in the heat of her life-force, and pretend he wasn’t dying for a single taste of her.
"A death sentence," he whispered to the empty room, a ghostly, self-deprecating smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Wrapped in a velvet ribbon indeed."
He straightened his back, smoothing the cool black silk over the burning marks of his ruin, adjusting his cuffs just st as the dressing room door opened.
Isabella stepped out, dressed in another of Lucian’s shirts. She really needed clothes of her own at this rate—not that he seemed to mind.
The clothes made her look far too small and far too precious. She looked at him and smiled, momentarily pushing back the shadows in his mind.
She didn’t hesitate; she walked right up to him and looped her arm through his, leaning her weight slightly against his side. Lucain’s body went rigid for half a second before he forced himself to relax into the contact.
"Ready, Assistant?" she teased. Lucian looked down at her, offering her a stiff, almost imperceptible nod.
"As ready as I shall ever be, Isabella,"
Together, they walked out of the room, their footsteps echoing on the polished floors. As they reached the top of the grand staircase, the click of heels against the marble floor signaled Clara’s approach.
She rounded the corner, her sharp white eyes immediately landing on Isabella, then shifting downward to the way the girl was looped around Lucian’s arm.
Clara paused, her gaze flickering to Lucian with a weight of unspoken concern. She saw the rigid line of his jaw and the way he held himself.
"Going somewhere?" Clara asked, her voice neutral, though her eyes were busy scanning Lucian for any sign of a fresh bleed.
Isabella grinned, tightening her hold on Lucian’s arm. "Kitchen. I’ve officially hired a new assistant for breakfast duty. He’s a bit grumpy, but I think he has potential."
Clara’s eyebrows rose, a faint, knowing shadow passing over her face. She looked at Lucian, who met her gaze with a warning flash of gray.
He was daring her to say something—to break the fragile domestic peace they had just managed to cultivate. "A bold career move, Lucian," Clara remarked dryly.
Then, her expression shifted into something more professional and urgent. "Actually, I was coming to find you both. I have to be out for the day. I have a new spell I want to test out with my hound."
She looked back toward the foyer where Marco was already waiting with the sentinel. "I’m going to need Marco’s help. I’ll be taking him with me for the duration of the day."
Lucian stiffened. With Clara and Marco gone, the mansion would be silent. Empty. It would just be him and Isabella, trapped in the intimate, scent-heavy confines of their home with no one to act as a buffer or a distraction if the "red haze" returned.
"Is that wise?" Lucian asked, his voice a low, vibrating rasp. "To leave the grounds understaffed?"
"We aren’t staffs." Clara countered, her eyes boring into his, silently telling him she wasn’t asking him for permission. She was just informing him.
"You are more than capable of guarding this house, Lucian. Unless, of course, you’ve forgotten how to handle a single morning without a guard at your back."
It was a challenge. A test of his will. Lucian’s fingers twitched against his side, but he gave a stiff, formal nod.
"Very well. Take him. Ensure the perimeter is clean. We shall be... occupied here."
"Good," Clara said, offering Isabella a small, encouraging nod that felt like a silent wish for luck. "We should be back by nightfall. Try not to burn the house down in our absence."
With a final, lingering look at the way Lucian was vibrating with suppressed tension, Clara turned and headed toward the front doors.
A moment later, the heavy thud of the main entrance signaled their departure. The silence that followed was immediate and absolute. The sprawling mansion suddenly felt much smaller, the air between Lucian and Isabella crackling with a new, dangerous electricity.
"Well," Isabella whispered, her voice sounding loud in the empty hall. She looked up at him, her eyes bright with a mix of excitement and a sudden, soft intimacy.
"Looks like it’s just you and me, Your royal Highness."