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Chapter Thirteen

LUCIEN

Isadora didn’t move, but everything about her changed. Her scent soured into fear, her shoulders stiffened, and her breaths grew shallow. She was frightened—and I hated it.

Normally, I would revel in an adversary feeling fear. It was part of the game. But not with Isadora. I never wanted anything to frighten her, not after everything she’d been through. She deserved a safe space. Someone to protect her.

The thought of an intruder breaking into her home and destroying what little security she’d built for herself filled me with such rage I could barely see straight. Whoever had done this had combed through her personal belongings like a damn vulture, determined to hit her where it hurt.

I could kill whoever did this.

No.

I would kill whoever did this.

Her gaze flicked to mine and I watched as she collected herself.

She didn’t need to put on a brave face with me, but she didn’t know that, thanks to my own manipulations and games.

I, myself, hadn’t made her feel welcome or safe.

That bar was her home. And in the span of two days, two people had invaded it, myself included.

I stopped and took a moment to assess my intentions here.

Because where she stank of fear, I stunk of fury.

And I knew she could smell it. My own emotions rode too close to the surface.

I liked to think I was more political than violent, but this scenario awakened instincts in me I’d never experienced before. I wanted to kill anyone who harmed her.

It was strange to feel so strongly for someone I had just met. I truly had no idea why she mattered so much to me and so quickly, but she did. In the few days since we’d met, she’d burrowed into my head, and I couldn’t get her out.

Breathe , I told myself. Calm down . She didn’t need to deal with a raging male right now. She needed stability and common sense.

“You said you didn’t tell anyone you and Thorne would be spending the day in town today,” I said, my voice quiet but sharp.

She nodded.

“Okay. And what about your previous life? Are you still in contact with anyone? Anyone at all.” I didn’t mention her ex-mate’s name in case it upset her again.

I’d learned my lesson once already today, and I liked to think I was intelligent enough to apply said lessons. My mother would argue otherwise.

“No,” she said. “I cut everyone off when I left.”

I cocked a brow. “Even your parents?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “They don’t count.”

“Have you spoken with them since arriving in Eternity Falls?”

She shook her head, her midnight dark hair spilling over her shoulders.

I paused and thought this through. Logically, it made sense to assume someone local must have committed the crime for two reasons.

First: Isadora was Eternity Falls’ only new resident.

If someone else had arrived, gossip would have spread faster than wildfire.

And second: Isadora hadn’t spoken with anyone from New Orleans since arriving.

The only local I could think of was my mother.

And that thought didn’t sit well with me.

Clearly, she had an emotional connection to the Laurents.

Shredding someone’s clothing was personal.

Emotional. I hadn’t spoken with her since early this morning, but I made a mental note to drop by the family estate and gauge her recent shenanigans.

Part of me didn’t think it was my mother, though.

And not because of familial loyalty, but because of the clock tower.

It still bled a deep crimson color and had since earlier this evening.

The clock tower wasn’t a sentient being, but rather, enchanted.

The town’s founders had designed it as an early security system to alert them if humans ever breached our boundaries.

However, in the many years since, the Ravenspells had added to the enchantment, growing the security system into a kind of magical barometer.

The spectrum of colors alerted us to the “aura” of the town.

It couldn’t communicate to us what was wrong, only that something was off.

Red certainly meant danger, and here Isadora stood in front of me, her home invaded, her possessions destroyed.

The other option—and this one I liked less —was that someone from New Orleans had followed her here. Given how little time Isadora had spent in Eternity Falls so far, and the personal nature of this crime, I was inclined to believe this angle more.

“I’ll find out who did this,” I promised.

Her brow furrowed. “What? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” I said.

She pursed her lips, seemingly unconvinced by my little proclamation.

“You don’t believe me?” I asked.

“I don’t know what to believe, Lucien. I came here tonight because you were the only person I could think of who might be responsible. You’re the only person who’s been a thorn in my side. Now, you’re offering to help me. I’m getting whiplash from your mood swings.”

That was a fair point. She didn’t know me or understand my motivations. And while we’d been in each other’s presence three times now, two of the three hadn’t been what I would call pleasant experiences.

I would find who did this—that much I could promise.

But in the meantime, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt for Miss Laurent to get to know me a little.

She clearly had no intention of relinquishing her bar, and no matter what my mother thought on the matter, I had no desire or intention to destroy Isadora.

Which meant, like it or not, our paths were now intertwined.

Her with her bar, and me with mine, regardless of the consequences.

“Drink?” I asked, pointing at my cart.

If I wasn’t mistaken, hunger sparked in her eyes, but she quickly blinked it away.

Curious.

Elias’s dossier had reported on her desperate financial status, but I hadn’t stopped to consider what that meant for her.

Did she lack the funds to properly feed herself?

If so, that was unacceptable. I made a mental note to look into that—along with the exact nature of her partnership with Thorne—then strode to the cart.

Without waiting for her permission, I poured us each a glass of bloodwine, then turned and held one out to her.

Her gaze instantly dropped from my face to the crystal glass I held in my hand.

Without a word, she reached out and took my peace offering.

The second our fingers brushed, my whole body jolted as though struck by lightning.

I stretched out my neck and shook it off, unsure what it even meant.

I’d never had such a reaction to a simple touch before.

If Isadora noticed, she kept her comments to herself and instead lifted the glass to her mouth. Her gaze held mine as she took her first sip, but her eyes fluttered shut the moment the bloodwine touched her lips.

I hid a pleased smile behind the rim of my glass.

Yes, my bloodwine was quite remarkable. I’d spent years working with a local vintner family, growing the perfect grapes and balancing them with just the right amount of aged blood without overpowering it.

She drained the glass in three swallows, reinforcing my need to explore her financial situation a little deeper. Now wasn’t the right moment to question her about that though. I wanted her to trust me first.

“Another?” I offered casually, pretending not to notice her hunger.

She hesitated, likely debating proper social protocol.

While she racked her brain for an appropriate response, I took her glass and poured her a second drink. I handed it back with very little fanfare, then strode across my office to the window. With my back turned, it gave her the privacy to devour the drink without an audience.

Yes, I believed I was starting to understand Miss Laurent very well.

A few moments later, she crossed the room and came to stand beside me. Close enough that her arm brushed mine. I shot her a side glance but quickly turned my focus back to the view outside my window, lest I frighten her away.

“That tower,” she said. “It glowed purple the night I arrived. Now, it’s red. Is there a significance to that?”

“Has Miss Wolfe not explained the significance of the clock tower to you?” I asked.

Isadora shook her head. “She’s been too busy introducing me to the townsfolk and working on mock-ups for the bar.”

Ah. They were full business partners then. Another detail to file away.

I lifted my glass and gestured toward the tower. “The Luminara Clock Tower,” I told her. “The colors reflect the state of the town. Much like any security system, red means danger.”

She shot me an alarming glance, and I gave a sage nod.

“Would it be na?ve of me to hope its current color has nothing to do with me?”

“Not na?ve, no,” I said, disliking the self-deprecation in her tone. “Optimistic, perhaps. I will say that I haven’t seen it this red in a long time. I think it would be foolish of us to assume this has nothing to do with you.”

I placed my glass down on a nearby table, then turned to face Isadora.

It was time to address the oversized elephant in the room.

“In my four centuries of life, I have experienced many things. And I can unequivocally tell you that when someone shreds another person’s clothes and possessions, it’s deeply personal to an unsettling level.

I can’t imagine you’ve had time to offend anyone so deeply in your two days since arriving”—other than my mother—“which leads me to suspect someone from your past life has followed you here.”

She shook her head. “No one from New Orleans would follow me here. Trust me on that.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I stated, my gaze sweeping over her.

She was beautiful in every sense of the word.

From her long legs and full hips to the generous curve of her breasts—which I imagined would fit perfectly in the palms of my hands—to her delicate face, pouty lips, and lovely hazel eyes.