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Chapter Fifteen

LUCIEN

We walked in silence—and not the comfortable kind.

Two blocks. That was all that separated The Crimson Veil from Isadora’s bar. A short, forgettable stroll any other night. But tonight, it felt like we were walking a tightrope.

There were things I needed to say— wanted to say. Except I seemed to have no words.

I’d almost kissed her. Right there on the dance floor.

Gods, I’d desperately wanted to.

But the countless eyes watching us had stopped me.

Now, normally, I didn’t give a damn about appearances.

I did what I wanted when I wanted. But I did give a damn about Isadora, and I didn’t want our first kiss to become a spectacle.

It wasn’t anyone’s business what transpired between the two of us.

Of course, that begged the question: what, exactly, was transpiring between us?

In the course of a single night, we’d gone from her storming into my lounge and accusing me of breaking into her home, to dancing, then nearly kissing.

A woman who hated you didn’t step into your arms like that.

Her breath didn’t catch the way Isadora’s had when I’d touched her.

She didn’t grip your shoulder or touch your chest like you were the only safe place in the world.

She hadn’t spoken since we’d left The Veil, and I could tell she was deep in thought. I wanted to ask what she was thinking about. Did she regret dancing with me in front of so many people? But a part of me feared her response. And wasn’t that laughable? I never feared anything.

People said communication was key when building a relationship. I just didn’t know how to communicate with her yet.

We turned the final corner, and her bar came into view.

Isadora reached into her pocket and fished out her key, but before she could insert it, the door swung open of its own volition.

Cursing, I swept an arm out and shoved Isadora behind me, ready to defend her from whoever had invaded her bar this time. But the sound of her soft laughter had me glancing over my shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s just Bernard.”

“And Bernard is…?”

A soft smile curled her lips. “My chandelier ghost.” She pointed at the same chandelier that had “threatened” me the last time I was here. “He likes to play with the doors and windows too.”

She had a ghost named Bernard.

When I didn’t move, Isadora brushed past me, her fingers grazing my arm. “It’s his way of welcoming me home, I think,” she said, stepping inside with a confidence I didn’t share.

I followed. “You know your ghost’s gender?”

She paused, a thoughtful crease forming between her brows. “No, I suppose not. But he hasn’t complained.”

Above us, the chandelier twinkled quietly, its crystals chiming against each other in an almost approving sound.

Bernard it was, then.

“Is everything good here?” Isadora asked.

“I haven’t had a chance to look yet,” I told her.

But she just shook her head and smiled again. “I was asking Bernard.”

Ah, of course she was.

Another tinkle of sound—one I presumed meant all was well.

Isadora moved deeper into the room, her boots crunching over broken glass.

“I assume the intruder came in through the front door, since it wasn’t locked.

There’s glass all over the floor here.” She pointed at the countless shards glittering in the chandelier’s dim light.

“I think the ghosts tried to scare them off. But it obviously didn’t work. ”

I followed the glass trail with narrowed eyes. The mess cut a direct path toward the stairs.

Definitely not a drunk youngster or someone just looking to cause a little mischief. This was purposeful.

“Stay here,” I told her.

She gave a delicate snort. “There’s no one else here. Bernard would have warned me if there was.”

Yeah, except I refused to rely on a ghost for that information. “Someone entered your home with intent, Isadora. We have no idea what they were after. Maybe it was you. I’d rather you stay down here, where I know it’s safe, while I check out the upstairs.”

She lifted her chin. “If Bernard says we’re safe, then we’re safe.”

That was a lot of faith to put in a ghost.

But from the look on her face, it seemed arguing was pointless. Shaking my head, I climbed the stairs two at a time, all the while listening to the patter of her feet behind me.

I focused on my senses as we moved, trying to pick up on a trackable scent, one that would lead me right to the bastard.

Unfortunately, Thorne’s little scent satchels were screwing around with my nose, and not in a good way.

Just like Isadora had said, I couldn’t pick up on anything other than lavender.

Once we reached the loft, Isadora moved in front of me, stepping into the small space. I paused in the doorway and appraised the damage.

It was definitely worse up here. There wasn’t an inch of the room untouched. My eyes landed on the jagged slash that cut right down the middle of the mattress. Yeah, this was personal.

Isadora stepped up beside me, produced something from her pocket, and handed it over.

A watch. A very broken watch.

“This too,” she said.

This must have been the watch she’d mentioned in my office, the one her mother had given her. Clearly, it meant a great deal to her, considering the hitch in her voice and the way she gripped it. Anger pricked my nerves that someone had dared destroy something so important to her.

“We can fix it,” I told her. I would hire the best watchmaker in the world, if that was what it took.

She gave a sad laugh. “Nothing will fix it.”

I knew what she meant. We could repair the watch, but it would never be the same. It would never represent what it once had—safety, normalcy, a sliver of the life she hoped to rebuild.

The need to touch her overwhelmed me, so I cupped her arm and pulled her a little closer. “Hey, I will find out who did this. I promise.”

“And then what?” she murmured. “You’ll punish them?”

Punishment suggested mercy and consequences. No. I had no intention of punishing anyone. I would end them. Simple as that. I didn’t say that aloud, but based on her expression, I didn’t need to. She could see the truth written on my face.

With a tired sigh, she slipped the watch back into her pocket and strode to the stairs. “I can’t look at this again tonight. I’m going to go back downstairs.”

I watched her leave. Then I turned back to the mess and began inspecting her ruined loft. The fractured mirror, the slashed mattress, the ruined clothes… Someone wanted to frighten her. Wanted her to know they were watching her. I just didn’t know who they were, and it was driving me insane.

I made quick work of the place, righting what I could, brushing aside splinters and glass, tossing the satchels, and filing away every detail I noticed.

While working, I considered my next steps.

Among them was reporting this intrusion to the Sentinel Watch.

Eternity Falls didn’t have a traditional police force, but rather a peacekeeping unit—an elite group that stepped in when things became volatile.

Alistair Drake led them. A former enforcer for my family and one of the few vampires I didn’t entirely dislike.

He had a talent for discretion and a nose for violence.

When he’d grown tired of cleaning up St. Germain messes, he’d reinvented himself and took up the role as captain.

He’d dealt with situations such as magical gambling rings, enchanted moonshine smuggled into town by one of the Wolfes, and even a blood ritual that had ended poorly.

And yet—I didn’t call him.

Because I didn’t want justice.

I wanted vengeance.

Alistair would ask questions. He’d open files, follow procedures. He’d require reports, documentation, possibly even press charges. All things that would interfere with my ability to ensure the person responsible never so much as breathed near Isadora again.

Legal action came with limits.

I didn’t want that. This wasn’t a job for a peacekeeper. This was personal. And I intended to handle it accordingly.

Temporarily satisfied, I turned and headed back downstairs to rejoin Isadora.

She sat at the bar, one elbow propped up on the counter, her hand cradling her cheek. The other toyed with a half-rotted coaster. She hadn’t poured herself a drink or anything. She just sat there, staring off into space.

The air seemed to move around her, and I wondered if she knew that all the resident ghosts had surrounded her. A show of support, perhaps? Protection? So long as they didn’t harm her, I didn’t really care about their purpose.

She didn’t look up as I crossed the room. “Find anything?” she asked, her voice devoid of her usual bite.

“Nothing you didn’t already know, I suspect,” I said.

“Yeah.”

She didn’t sound surprised. Or angry. Just…tired. I watched the way her fingers traced the coaster’s edge, over and over again, like she didn’t realize she was doing it.

“I don’t have any bloodwine,” she said after a moment. “There are a couple bottles of something behind the bar, but I’m not entirely sure if they’re drinkable. Feel free to help yourself, if you’re brave enough.”

Well, that confirmed my suspicions about her blood supplies. I made a mental note to send Elias over with a decent inventory, then crossed the floor and pulled up the stool next to her.

“You should stay somewhere else tonight,” I said.

“No.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

“It’s not your decision.”

“Isadora.”

“Lucien,” she mimicked. Then, after a long sigh, she said.

“I don’t have anywhere else to stay”—she lifted a hand before I could interject—“and even if I did, I wouldn’t.

I won’t let anyone frighten me off. I’m not a weak, newborn vampire.

I know how to defend myself.” She stared at me for a long beat. “I don’t need protection.”

Before I could argue, she reached behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of something purple. The fact that it was unlabeled and murky did not inspire confidence.

“Is that…grape scotch?” I asked, genuinely horrified.