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Chapter Fourteen

ISADORA

I didn’t want to admit it, but Lucien’s questions had shaken me. And my nerves were already frayed, thank you very much, what with the whole storming into his club and exposing my trauma thing.

But then came the hug.

A hug .

From Lucien St. Germain, no less. This man didn’t hug—of that I had no doubts.

I’d bet any of my already-auctioned-off-in-an-estate-sale designer handbags on it.

If Thorne’s stories hadn’t already painted him as cold-hearted and cruel, my own first impression would have sealed it.

People— vampires —like him didn’t offer comfort.

They didn’t soothe or console. And they most certainly did not wrap their arms around their archnemesis of the day.

And yet, that was exactly what he’d done. He hadn’t rubbed my nose in my shame or humiliation. He hadn’t sneered and kicked me out of his office after I’d accused him of breaking into my bar. He’d simply asked questions, promised to help, and then hugged me.

Worse, I was still trying to make sense of how his damn arms had felt wrapped around me. One shouldn’t feel warm and safe in the arms of her enemy, right?

Right ?

But I had. He made me feel like I was worth caring for. And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that way. Before the scandal? No. Even before that. A year? Two years? I racked my brain, combing through my memories, but nothing came to mind.

Which, quite frankly, was even more upsetting than someone breaking into my home.

What even was my life? How had it become this?

Trystan had loved me once. Or maybe he’d pretended to love me? He was a liar, after all. He’d come from nothing. I’d had everything. Maybe it had all been a ploy to secure a comfortable life for himself. People did that, right? I just knew, at one point, it’d felt like he’d loved me.

Until the day that stopped.

It hadn’t happened suddenly. It’d been a slow, creeping decay. But unfortunately, I hadn’t noticed until he’d already committed all the crimes. That was when I finally saw the truth. And now, he was off enjoying his new life as a fugitive with, presumably, his trampy secretary at his side.

I think what scared me most wasn’t that he’d lied, but that I hadn’t noticed. That I’d stood in the middle of a dumpster fire and called it my life. That I’d fallen for someone capable of utterly destroying me.

And now, here I was again, standing next to yet another deceptively charming man with the means to ruin me. Lucien literally held my future in the palm of his hand. He could snuff out all my dreams without so much as batting an eyelash.

Why did I keep putting myself in these situations? Keep giving others that kind of power over me? I hated it. But what I hated most was that, even now, I wanted him to pull me back into his arms. And why? Because he made me feel safe?

Girl, smarten up .

I rubbed my arms, suddenly cold. “I should get back to the bar.”

Lucien’s attention instantly snapped to me. “Not alone, you’re not.”

Before I could argue—because, honestly, I wouldn’t have minded a little distance from him right now—a knock echoed through the room. Soft, perfectly timed, and entirely welcome. I definitely needed the distraction.

Lucien growled an, “Enter.”

The door creaked open, and Juliette poked her head in.

I knew that she and Lucien worked together, but it struck me as odd that she needed to knock to enter.

I didn’t have siblings, but if I did, I couldn’t imagine asking for entry into my brother’s office.

I’d barge in, toss something at his head, and leave.

You know, sibling stuff. Or what I imagined sibling stuff looked like.

She stepped fully inside, her gaze landing on me first before flicking to her brother. “Sorry for interrupting. I wasn’t aware you had a guest.”

I threw her a polite smile, even though that was clearly bullshit. I had to imagine the entire lounge knew of my presence here. “No need to apologize. I was just leaving.”

Lucien shot me a dark look. “I said?—”

“Yes, I heard you,” I cut in, my voice tight.

The last thing I wanted was for Juliette—and therefore everyone else—to learn about my most recent misfortune.

Lucien walking me home would raise questions.

Questions I most certainly didn’t want to answer.

And I wasn’t in the mood to serve Eternity Falls another scandal on a silver platter. Especially one that centered on me.

Juliette eyed us, clearly sensing the tension. Thankfully, she chose not to dig. “I just stopped by to see if you needed anything before I head out for the night. But it looks like you’re all set.”

Lucien didn’t answer her. He merely stared at me, as though trying to beam his thoughts into my head.

Juliette’s gaze ping-ponged between us, and then she arched her brows. “Right. Lucien, walk me out?”

I nearly laughed at her blatant request. She obviously wanted to speak to her brother in private.

“No,” Lucien said. One word. No room for argument.

She blinked, then quietly chuckled. “Charming. As always, Brother.” She glanced my way, wished me a soft “Good luck,” then swept out of the office, closing the door quietly behind her.

But the closed door didn’t drown out the sound of her voice as she not-so-quietly berated her brother’s stupidity, muttering something about stupid men and how dumb they were for thinking with their dicks.

I faced Lucien and raised a brow. “Well, that wasn’t awkward, not at all.”

“She’ll keep her thoughts to herself.”

I rolled my eyes, then gestured toward the door when a loud “What the hell is happening in there?” rang through the hallway.

“Yes, well.” Lucien adjusted his sleeves, then strode toward the door. “Shall we?”

“You’re serious about walking me home?”

“As the plague,” he said flatly.

It took me a second. And then… “Was that a joke?”

He didn’t answer. Just opened the door. His sister spun around mid-tirade, her face flushed red. She sputtered something incoherent, then stormed off with all the grace of a hurricane.

Lucien didn’t comment. He merely shook his head, then waited for me to step out of his office before leading me into the hallway.

We descended the stairs into the heart of Lucien’s lounge.

I hadn’t exactly stopped to take in the view while en route to his office, what with all my righteous indignation.

But now, with my temper cooled and Lucien looming behind me like a devilishly handsome bodyguard, I actually had a moment to take in The Crimson Veil in all its glory.

It was every bit as overindulgent as Thorne had said. Booths hugged the walls, each one separated by rich crimson drapes, to give the illusion of privacy without really offering it. The main floor was an open space intended for dancing, and currently occupied by a dozen, if not more, couples.

In the far corner of the room, a stage shimmered beneath a single golden spotlight.

And beneath the spotlight stood a siren, who crooned a smooth jazz number into a microphone.

She wore a slinky black dress that twinkled in the light, as did her smile.

Her band stood behind her—an upright bass, piano, and violin.

Together, the four of them wove a spell that lured me three steps closer to the stage before I even realized it.

“Like it?” Lucien asked.

I turned and found his attention riveted not on the siren or the band, but on me. His gaze somehow felt heavy, as though my opinion actually mattered to him.

I softly cleared my throat and said, “It’s very you. Maybe a little pretentious.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Only a little?”

“I’m being generous because, gods, she’s remarkable, isn’t she?” I said, turning my attention back to the siren.

A touch pressed against the small of my back and I turned to find Lucien standing closely behind me. Very closely. Oh boy.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “What, here? In front of people? You know they’ll see us, right?”

And they absolutely would. Every last person in attendance would go home with a juicy story they were foaming at the mouth to tell. I could only imagine the headline: Disgraced Laurent seduces St. Germain heir on his own turf .

His gaze didn’t waver. “Frankly, my dear,” he murmured, his lips curving ever so slightly. “I don’t give a damn.”

Oh. Oh, no.

That was…hot.

My stomach did a triple backflip into an aerial cartwheel dismount with a twist of self-sabotage. This was a bad idea. A spectacularly bad idea. I knew it. He knew it. The entire lounge likely knew it.

And still—I reached for his offered hand like some bewitched debutante and let him lead me out onto the dance floor.

The crowd parted without a word, and he pulled me into his arms with a confidence that should’ve annoyed me but didn’t. One hand slid to my waist, warm and steady, while the other found mine and laced our fingers together.

It was too much. Dancing had always been a weakness of mine. Two bodies pressed together, moving seamlessly to the music. Who wouldn’t that affect? But he couldn’t know that about me, right?

We started to move. Slowly. Intimately. His body fit perfectly against mine—which seemed almost criminal—and I matched his every step, like we’d done this a thousand times before.

I tried to focus on the music, on the sultry sound of the singer’s voice and the haunting swell of the instruments, but Lucien made that impossible.

Every breath I took smelled of him. Dark, expensive cologne with the faintest trace of bloodwine.

His hand tightened around my waist, and I tensed.

“Relax,” he murmured.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I shot back, but it came out softer than I’d intended—too breathy to sound convincing.

His chuckle was low and sinful. “Of course not.”

We kept dancing, our bodies swaying together in perfect unison. Considering who Lucien was, it surprised me that he wasn’t showy. He didn’t dip or twirl me or try to draw any attention whatsoever. He just held me close, and I… I let myself lean into it. Into him .

I knew better. This was the part in every romance novel where the heroine made an extremely hot and ill-advised decision. But pressed against him, his hand anchored against my waist, I couldn’t seem to force myself to walk away.

Lucien was trouble. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that. I just didn’t care anymore.

See? Dancing was dangerous .

The song tapered off and a ripple of applause swept through the lounge. Whether they were applauding the band or us, I had no idea.

Lucien and I stopped moving, but neither of us let go. For one second, we just stood there, his hands still holding me close, and mine now resting against his chest. I couldn’t remember moving it there.

I lifted my head. He lowered his.

And everything stilled.

The room around us vanished until he was the only thing I was aware of. The feel of his chest rising beneath my palm, of his breath brushing my face, of his dark eyes boring into mine.

For one stupidly glorious moment, I thought he would kiss me.

But then he let out a quiet breath, almost like a regretful sigh, and stepped back.

Just enough to break the spell.

Sound returned with a snap, like someone had hit play on reality again.

I stole a quick glance, only to find us, not the band, the center of attention.

Lucien cleared his throat, and everyone’s focus moved on, as though they suddenly remembered they had better places to be.

I turned back to him and watched as he straightened his cuffs like a man who hadn’t just fried all my common sense.

“I believe you said you needed to return to the bar,” he said.

It took me two attempts to speak. “Right. Yes. That I did.”

He offered me his elbow and waited for me to rest my fingertips against it. It took me a few moments to reciprocate the gesture, but the second I touched his arm, an internal scream shook my bones.

“Then, shall we?” he asked.

I nodded slowly, my nerves coiling with every step we took. He’d almost kissed me. Kissed me . In public. I had a feeling our audience had been the only thing that stopped him.

So, what did that mean?

Because we were about to take a walk through the quiet, shadowed streets of Eternity Falls. Just the two of us. And my bar? Oh, that was even worse. There very much would not be an audience there. Unless the ghosts counted—and somehow, I suspected they did not.

Would he kiss me there?

Did I want him to?

Duh, girl. Of course I did.

Every part of my logical brain told me to smarten up. I’d been down this road before. Spent a hundred years believing someone loved me, only for him to rip my heart out and stomp it into itty-bitty pieces.

A smarter woman wouldn’t put herself through that again.

A smarter woman would pack her bags—not that she had any left—and leave town.

But, apparently, I was not a smarter woman.

Because here I was, walking beside Lucien while my heart learned how to beat again and my brain screamed in Morse code for me to run for the hills.

And yet…I didn’t.

Gods help me.