Page 10

Vivienne

At Pennywise Books, Everstead’s biggest bookstore, Lucan stands near a bookshelf; Everstead is only a couple of miles from Vivienne’s hometown, Golden Creek.

He is looking over the back of a book— Raven and the Dawn of Blood— a pair of thin-framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. His amber eyes blaze with fervent zeal. Anyone can tell the summary written at the back of the book is intriguing.

Three weeks ago, he was just the man Vivienne met at Fitz’s Lit and Brew —she and Kenji’s favorite coffee shop.

Seated at the room’s back, he had stood out against the shop’s dark aesthetic.

And there was something about his pale skin that made him look like moonlight frozen in time.

She had never seen eyes as intensely brown as his—like melted amber caught in a dying flame.

And that day, those eyes truly burned right through her skin.

No man she has ever seen compared to his beauty. Dressed head-to-toe in designer clothing, his exotic and graceful carriage had caused her heart to flutter. But the dark aura surrounding him also made her afraid. He commanded power even without saying too much.

A single word, “No,” from him that day, nearly brought her to the point of collapse, her knees weak.

Their differences were glaringly apparent and she doubted they would ever cross paths again. With the darkness exuding off him, the way his eyes seemed to hold death in its depth, she wasn’t even sure she could ever handle being in the same space with him again.

But last week, as if she unknowingly dared fate, she saw him again at The Lumina Dome , where she went for a book signing.

But he was different. Not because he was a 6’5 tall man with an imposing presence yet doubling over with a panic attack. No. That wasn’t it at all. It was because compared to their coffee shop meeting, he seemed milder, and his eyes were kinder that day.

It was as if he was a different person from the one at the coffee shop. Except that he was not. It was the same man. Maybe he was having a bad day then. Perhaps he disliked interacting with strangers, thus his initial reaction was coldness.

Maybe comfort around someone was the prerequisite for his kindness.

And when he walked to Vivienne on the park bench when the event was over, she concluded that he needed to establish friendship or trust. And maybe he realized he could be kinder to her because she was there for him in what could be one of the most difficult moments of his life.

When they exchanged numbers, she really wasn’t bold enough to wait for his call.

But even if she had failed to recognize it, it was right there, a flicker of hope.

Maybe life was giving her another chance at love.

What could she say? She was a desperately hopeless romantic.

And she always sought love in the smile, laughter or eyes of every man she met…

including Ian Griswyk, the man who she has formed a habit of checking her phone for, each day should he decide to call or text.

When she received a call from an unknown number earlier this morning while at school, her fingers had trembled because it was a strange country code that flashed across the screen of her phone.

It was him.

He said he was in town. She asked if he was having a panic attack. And she had chuckled, even though he didn’t find it funny. He didn’t laugh.

He said he wanted to get some books. So he was hoping she could assist him with that. Then she offered to take him to a bookstore that literally had almost every fantasy book he could ever need on his shelf.

Five hours after the call, and here they are. She is still in her uniform because he had picked her up right from the front of the school.

“You’re staring.” His voice remains rich, deep and husky. “Is there a problem?”

His golden brown eyes have lifted from the book, locking on hers that has indeed been shamelessly ogling at him.

Heat crawls up her cheeks. “Yes.” Her voice is soft, timid, but she doesn’t care to hide her flushed cheeks behind the curtain of her wavy red hair.

She doesn’t have them in braids today, not a messy ponytail, either.

Today, she let them fall in their own, naturally wavy curls, resting on her shoulder, framing her oval face.

“Really?” He folds his arms across his chest, his brow lifted.

He is right. Everything isn’t okay.

She is standing in the same room with a man whose beauty rivals the gods, elegance that only could have been believable if it’s between the pages of a book.

Vivienne isn’t the kind of girl who meets men like him. Men who command a room without even speaking a word. Men who carry power like a second skin.

Men like him shouldn’t be found around girls like her. The cursed girls. The ones fate and time have forgotten. The ones left to suffer for the sins of their fathers.

Lucan Raskovic is a dream, though the one at the coffee shop had looked like a nightmare. But here she is, nonetheless, standing in front of him.

“I highly doubt it because it’s kind of a romantic-fantasy and you’ve made it so obvious with the books you’ve picked so far that you’re anti-romantic,” she says. “But by any chance, have you read Runes and Starlight ?”

He shakes his head, the dim bookstore light reflecting off his silver-white hair, which is neatly pushed back into a half-bun, a few loose strands brushing over his perfectly sculpted face.

“You kinda remind me of Draven Forrest.” A shy smile is drawn across her lips.

“I mean, he was the bad guy, but he was so cool and unhinged and the way the author described his look made him have more fangirls than the so-called, slimy, pretentious, self-righteous Jude Archangel.” She makes a disgruntled face, then her gaze flickers back to him.

He is watching her. Those fiery eyes boring into her soul, burning right through the fabric of her defense, stilling her breath as her heartbeat staggers.

She forces herself to break away from the curse of his stare, then clears her throat.

Her fingers tremble as they glide through the shelf she is standing next to.

She can still feel his eyes on her, unwavering, unrelenting.

They make her nervous. They make her feel like with time, she will melt in front of him.

She pulls out a book from the shelf. By the skull and roses on the cover, it is without doubt, a dark romance novel.

“Don’t you wanna try something outside your usual genre?” She holds the front of the book to him, a cheeky grin on her lips.

Lucan glances at the book and his lips press into a firm line.

“No.”

“Oh, come on.” She persists, ignoring the faint tick of his jaw. “It’s good to try something new, you know.”

Without a word, he covers the short distance between them, plucks the book from her hands and tucks it back into the shelf she pulled it out of.

“No,” he says again, this time, more firmly.

Vivienne blinks, dumbfounded by his action. She has never seen someone show so much resistance to change.

“Hmm, are you neophobic, Commander?” she asks casually, her step falling faintly behind his heavy and calculated ones as he heads away from the shelf toward another one.

He pauses mid journey without warning, and Vivienne bumps right into his muscular back.

She knows his pale appearance rather speaks of elegance and immortality, and not of the fragility of a China doll, but she wasn’t expecting him to be this strong. The force of the impact is almost enough to send her barreling backward and landing on her ass.

“Are you okay?” He flips around with a swift motion, his hand gently grabbing her shoulder.

Her breath catches as the heat of his touch sears her skin. He is close to her. Too, too close. And his intoxicating scent—sandalwood and rose with a hint of earth—invades her nostrils, clings to her skin, making her feel dizzy.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper.

Her heart is still racing. And when she looks up at him, he is staring at her, as if not convinced enough, as if searching for any sign of danger. His movement to hold her must have forced a curl loose from the bun as a silvery white strand rests over his left eye.

Vivienne can’t breathe. The image—white hair clashing with amber eyes—burns right into her vision like fire meeting eyes, a collision of opposites, as if the moon were moments from eclipsing the sun.

There is no way she is not recreating this unforgettable image in her tablet tonight.

The realization that he is still holding her shoulders flickers in his eyes. And with a soft clearing of his throat, he lifts off his hands, taking a step away from her.

He leans against the shelf they are standing by, like a man completely at ease, his hands thrusting inside the pocket of his designer pants.

“I don’t have a fear of trying new things.” He cranes his neck slightly, voice quiet yet still heavy.

She beams, nodding. “Every man must have a fear no matter how indomitable he thinks he is.”

She turns and pulls a book from the shelf. “I’m guessing yours is reading romance books.”

She knows one of his fears. And it is crowded places.

It will be too ignorant of her not to notice it.

However, it will be too heartless of her to mention it, too.

He is a soldier. They aren’t meant to show weakness in public.

And that day at the event, he must have been so embarrassed.

He was falling apart under the gaze of strangers.

That must have been traumatizing. He must have buried the memory. Bringing it up wouldn’t be nice.

“But, darling,” he murmurs, and as if a book suddenly catches his eyes on the opposite shelf, he lifts his body off the shelf he is leaning against, then crosses over, pulling out the book. “I am not every man.”

Darling.

He called her darling.