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Vivienne’s stomach flips, the familiar, yet rich word echoing in her mind.

This isn’t fair. He is treading on dangerous territory with the sweetly reckless way he has thrown the word at her—oblivious to the fact that she is a stupid, hopeless romantic who is capable of falling in love with a man who offers her nothing but a smile, let alone calling her something so personal and passionate.

She grips the book in her hand tighter, desperate to feel something solid before she will collapse.

“What about death?” she asks, searching for something that might crack his composure. “Most are afraid of death.”

Lucan’s lips curl slightly. It isn’t a smile. Not quite. But it makes her spine go rigid.

“Vivienne,” he drawls lazily and her lips part. This is the first time he is calling her by her name. And it sounds so foreign and exquisite.

“Death and I have come a long way, you know,” he continues, flipping through the pages of the book he picked up earlier. It’s House of Death and Ash.

His golden eyes flicker to hers. “I have no reason to be afraid of my oldest friend.”

Vivienne barely processes his words. She is still stuck in the way her name sounded on his tongue.

The rustle of papers and the sound of his footsteps heading away, though, snaps her back to reality. He is by the next shelf, another title in his hand.

“Let’s take that,” she says, picking another copy of the book, making sure it’s the right one. “I haven’t read it. But the buzz has been all over all the book blogs I follow. People say it’s great.”

Her heart still pounds, and his scent is still all over her. But she tries her very best to ignore him. She is quickly developing a massive crush on him, and she can no longer pretend she hasn’t thought about what it will feel like to kiss those full lips of his.

And those thoughts make her feel a tiny level of guilt in her heart.

Every time her heart skips a beat, she will think about Ian, and feel like a horrible person that she is.

Somehow, thinking of moving on from a man who has clearly made it obvious that it’s over between them, feels like she is doing something really terrible.

But she is a girl obsessed with the idea of being held with a gentle hand, sweet forehead kisses, and a wild sex filled with passion and unspoken words of affection.

She is a girl constantly desperate for the attention and devotion of a man.

She is insatiable, always hungry for that love and care.

And staying nearly a month without it makes her body feel wrong.

She wants to move on. But the guilt of ruining Ian Griswyk’s life is holding her back.

She feels like she doesn’t deserve to move on to another man. Not until she has found a way to put Ian’s life back in order.

But she isn’t sure how long she can resist this man before her. Because if he as much as makes it obvious that he is into her today, Ian Griswyk will surely become a nearly forgotten memory.

The soft snap of a book being shut jolts her out of her thoughts again. Her brows furrow. He is returning the book back to the shelf.

“Why?” she asks.

“Reviews are subjective.” He walks to the next side of the shelf, scanning it.

“Um, okay?” She reaches over and plucks out the book he returned.

“The reviewers aren’t you.”

Vivienne blinks, still confused. “And?”

“I came here so I could get books based on your recommendation, not some reviewers in your favorite blogs.” His fingers graze over the spine of other titles on the shelf, then his gaze falls on her again. “So I can’t read it until you confirm it’s worth my time.”

Her heart skips again, her cheeks flushed red. Is he flirting with her or something? Does he have an idea that this is him flirting?

“Okay, how about we both grab a copy each and buddy-read?” she suggests, thrusting a copy into his hand. “We start on the same day, same time and race to the finishing line.”

Lucan exhales through his nose, a thoughtful look crossing his expression as he turns the book over and over in his hands.

“I have never done that before.”

“Me neither,” she beams. “If we like it, we can do it again. Might even become our thing.” She pauses to gauge his expression. “How about that, Snow white?”

The nickname makes something warm settle in his gaze.

When she called him that at the bookfair, she didn’t think she was going to stick to it.

She didn’t really think they would meet again, to be honest. It was the first thing that came to her mind the moment her eyes fell on him.

Icy hair, icy eyebrows, icy lashes, and pale skin.

“Okay,” he murmurs, his hand clenching around the book. “We can do that.”

They continue to surf shelves. And an hour later, their cart is filled with over fifty books, most which Vivienne already read and loved. And she can’t wait for him to experience that thrill she felt when she read them for the first time.

They are outside now. He came with two soldiers. One handling the wheel, while one acts as the assigned guard. The one behind the wheel is still there, waiting for the command to hit the road running, while the bodyguard is by the trunk, putting the books away.

The sun is waning now, casting a long shadow across the parking lot. The wind brings along the buttery scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery.

Lucan turns to her as they stand by the opened door of the backseat. Something warm flickers in his eyes, a barely-there softness that makes her stomach twist.

Then he murmurs, low and quiet, “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asks, tucking her phone into her jeans pocket, ignoring Kenji’s text to not forget they have a movie date by 6pm.

“For helping me get some books.” There is no smile, no visible shift in his stoic expression. But there is a genuine sincerity in his voice.

Her fingers itch to lift and brush away the strands of hair the wind has combed against his face.

“Anything for a friend.”

The word friend suddenly feels like needles pressing into her tongue. You don’t think about kissing your friend. You don’t burn for their touch. And your heart must definitely not race at the thought of having a relationship with them.

This has to be the fastest way she has ever developed a crush on any man. Calling him a friend feels…painful, wrong.

“Should um…” she murmurs hesitantly, shyly tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “Should we grab coffee over there?”

Lucan glances at the café across the street, his expression unreadable, as if weighing something heavier than just a coffee date.

Lifting his hand, though, he turns his wrist to glance at his wristwatch, then his gaze flickers back to her.

“Of course—” He is saying until a low guttural sound rips from his lips—part growl, part agonizing howl. His hands fly to cradle his head as if something inside there is tearing him apart. He staggers, his body buckling.

Vivienne’s pulse spikes, everything happening in a blur of motion; the soldier by the trunk pushing past her to steady him, the one by the wheel leaping out to hold him.

In his soldiers steady arms, Lucan groans, veins straining against his neck and temple. And his breaths are sharp and ragged.

Vivienne’s heart pounds, her legs shaking.

What is happening?

“No, no, no,” he whispers, barely audible, his voice thick with pain. “No, not now, not now.” He sounds broken, desperate.

The soldiers begin to usher him to the car, one of them bumping into Vivienne, who has barely lifted a foot, causing her to nearly lose her footing.

“Stop!” Lucan yells, his voice trembling as he braces his hands against the door like a wild animal resiting a cage.

“Leave me here,” he says, his body trembling. “Take her home.”

“But boss—”

“—Get inside the car, Vivienne!”

Vivienne freezes, the order striking harder than it should have. And his eyes. God, his eyes. The warmth in those golden eyes from earlier have nearly vanished, almost replaced by something else entirely. A distant storm churns in them, unruly, like a tempest on the verge of breaking loose.

“Get inside the car.”

Before she can move, he breaks past his soldiers and reaches for her. His fingers curl around her shoulders—not the gentle touch from earlier at the bookstore, but firm and desperate, his talons digging into her skin.

“Please, d-don’t call me, okay?” His voice cracks, fear woven into every word. “Don’t call at all. I’ll—I’ll call you, alright?”

Fear slides down her spine, ice-cold and unrelenting. She doesn’t understand what is happening, and the sheer panic in his voice terrifies her. Lucan is afraid, not for himself, but for her.

Why? What is he afraid of? What or who is going to hurt her?

To his plea, she nods anyway, and one of the soldiers, the one behind the wheel, comes forward and pulls her into the car. The door slams shut, locking her in.

The engine comes to life immediately, tires screeching as they pull out of the parking lot.

Through the tinted window, Vivienne watches. Lucan is on his knees now, the soldier gripping him tightly. His mouth moves, but his words are muted due to the distance between them. And he looks like a man being torn apart from the inside.

Vivienne’s heart keeps pounding. Not for once did her gaze break away from them. She watches until the images blur. And even long after he is out of her sight, his sound of agony still echoes in her ears.

What exactly is happening?

And why is he so afraid, desperate to get her out of sight as if danger is coming, as if the danger will aim for her and her alone?