Page 27

Chapter Twenty

ISADORA

The next few days passed in a flurry of paperwork, paint swatches, and protective older brothers.

Renovation prep had consumed almost every waking hour.

Thorne and I spent our days ankle-deep in permits, elbow-deep in designs, and drowning in bureaucratic nonsense.

We’d composed no less than three different proposals to pitch to the Eternity Falls town council, which, according to Thorne, would be our greatest challenge yet.

She described them as a pack of savage, pencil-pushing wolves—an ironic metaphor, considering she shared blood and a surname with at least two of them.

The only break we’d allowed ourselves was when Thorne took me shopping, insisting we replace my wardrobe. She’d insisted on paying, because apparently, she was tired of smelling my vampire funk. I’d laughed and accepted her offer for the exact same reason.

Still, amidst the chaos, I’d begun to develop a rhythm.

My new normal, as it were. After several long nights of furniture rearrangements and endless scrubbing (thank goodness for vampiric strength and endurance), the place had begun to feel less like a haunted ruin and more alive. Or at least less dead.

My ghostly roommates had even begun to help us out.

Almost as though they’d accepted their new fate.

In brief, energy-consuming bursts, they’d swept up broken glass, righted overturned chairs—which was hilarious to watch, especially when they grunted like spectral weightlifters—and even wiped down the bar a few times.

Bernard, bless him, had finally ventured out of the chandelier. He’d taken a particular liking to rearranging our paperwork pile whenever we’d left the bar unattended. I’d even managed to catch one or two glimpses of him, usually when he was distracted and sorting through the papers.

Thorne had growled at him once and sent him skittering back into the chandelier, but she’d quickly retracted that growl and apologized profusely when she’d deemed his organization skills superior.

Now she left the piles to him while slyly referring to him as our “unpaid, posthumous assistant.” A part of me wondered if he’d been an accountant in his previous life. Or a Virgo.

Meanwhile, Rue and the Wolfe brothers had reached a mutual understanding regarding security.

They’d established a rotating watch, with someone always keeping an eye on the bar.

And me. Lucien had stipulated that last part in a tone that had brooked no argument, delivered in his usual iron-fisted tone.

The brothers hadn’t taken kindly to a St. Germain bossing them around, but after cracking a few knuckles and muttering a few choice words, they’d agreed that protecting me—and their sister’s investment—was a shared priority.

Afterward, they’d gone about intimidating every poor soul who’d dared come within fifty feet of the building. Apparently, muscle-flexing, scowling, and looming menacingly at pedestrians was their love language.

I eventually had to ask them to tone it down—nicely, of course, with promises of treats and booze if they complied.

We had contractors to meet, with our first slotted to arrive within the hour.

We couldn’t have every vendor fleeing in terror at the sight of three monstrously large werewolves and…

whatever Rue was. I still wasn’t clear on her.

But sometimes she glowed. A lot. And glared even more.

Our first contractor arrived at noon. The bar door swung open, letting in a gust of warm air and a man clad in a slate-gray three-piece suit. Eyes that resembled amber chips turned to us, and he smiled, his entire face transforming into something friendly.

“Ladies,” he greeted politely in a voice smoother than aged blood-scotch. “Thorne. Always a pleasure.”

“Zayd,” Thorne said with a dazzling smile. She slid off her barstool and strode over, taking his hand in hers and leading him inside.

According to Thorne, Zayd was a djinn—something I’d never encountered before, not even in New Orleans.

Thorne assured me that was normal, as they were a reclusive breed.

But one that specialized in supernatural compliance, spatial warding, and could see interdimensionally.

Basically, he was here to ensure we didn’t accidentally trip a ley line or awaken anything slumbering beneath the foundation that needed to stay asleep.

Or dead. Standard renovation stuff, she’d said.

Seeing as how I’d never given either of those the slightest thought, I was once again grateful for Thorne’s involvement.

Zayd turned to me next. “And you must be Miss Laurent.”

I nodded and offered him my hand, which he happily took.

The moment our palms touched, a pulse of something hot and magical surged between us, and I instinctively jerked my hand away.

It wasn’t uncomfortable per se, but I hadn’t enjoyed it either.

It was nothing like the jolt I felt when I touched Lucien.

“My apologies,” he said quickly, bowing his head. “Touch grants me a read of one’s energy and their desires. I use this to gauge their intent and trustworthiness.”

“None taken,” I said, though I wasn’t sure how I felt about his gauging my desires. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Most don’t,” he said with a knowing smile. “But I find in my business, partnerships are less regrettable when one knows what motivates the other party.”

True. But deeply unsettling that he knew that much about me now.

He turned back to Thorne. “Now, then. I’ve reviewed your proposal. There are six points of magical concern we’ll need to address before you can proceed with these permits.”

Thorne groaned. “Six? Seriously? That seems excessive.”

“We mustn’t rush the process,” he said smoothly, unclasping his briefcase on the bar and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “Especially not when spatial stability and spectral cooperation are on the line.”

“Well, maybe we could rush it just a little,” she muttered, thumbing through the documents with an aggrieved sigh. Then she stopped and leaned closer. “A ley line convergence? Seriously?”

Zayd hummed his agreement. “Indeed. Located at the back of the bar. It’s weak, but there, nonetheless. I presume the two of you would prefer you not open an interdimensional rift during cocktails?”

I blanched. “No, certainly not.”

“Very well. Then we must take the appropriate steps to ensure we leave it undisturbed.”

Yes, that sounded like a very good idea.

Thankfully, Thorne agreed. Then the two of them launched into a spirited debate about local ley line ordinances, hex-mapping, and the ethics of anchoring sigils to load-bearing beams. My head spun. I didn’t understand a lick of what they said.

“We’ll also need to reinforce the southern wall with an arcane buffer,” Zayd said, tapping a blueprint with an elegantly long finger. “There’s also a high concentration of ghost activity on these premises. Higher than usual, even for Eternity Falls. I find that concerning.”

“You find everything concerning,” Thorne replied. “Maybe they just like the ambience.”

“Or perhaps something is drawing them here,” Zayd countered. “A forgotten tether, an unclosed circle. Have any of them attempted to speak with you yet?”

Thorne glanced at me. I shook my head. “They tend to communicate more physically, less verbally.”

Zayd frowned. “Ah. Hmm. Well, that’s concerning.”

Thorne smirked and arched a knowing brow.

“Isadora.”

The voice cut through the ambience in the room like a poisoned dagger.

I blinked, then turned to find Lucien standing in the open doorway, framed by the sunlight. Our gazes met before he deliberately stepped inside and closed the door with an audible click.

Ah. Yeah. Probably should have closed that.

Thankfully, he didn’t comment on it, and instead, just strode inside. He glanced at Thorne and Zayd and gave them both a nod.

“Mr. St. Germain,” Zayd said politely. “It’s good to see you. How is The Crimson Veil?”

“Profitable, thank you,” was all he said.

Thorne choked on a snicker, then shot me another glance, as though to ask, “Really? This guy?”

I merely chuckled.

“Go on,” Thorne said, waving a hand at me like I was a pesky cat. “Zayd and I can manage without you.”

Well, that much was true, considering I had no experience in these matters.

“You sure?” I asked.

“Unless you want to discuss arcane zoning restrictions with a werewolf and a djinn?”

I very much did not.

Thorne grinned knowingly, then seized Zayd by the elbow and guided him toward a table near the back. One of the few without a broken leg or cracked surface.

Shaking my head, I turned to Lucien, who— surprise! —was watching me.

And not with a scowl. Nor with one of his carefully curated expressions of indifference or strategic calculation. No. This was something else entirely.

Something heated. Hungry.

His gaze moved over me, slow and deliberate, as though he was mapping and committing every inch of me to memory.

It started at my neck, where a new lavaliere necklace rested at the hollow of my throat, then swept downward.

His attention lingered at my waist, cinched by a narrow belt, then down to the tailored black trousers that hugged my hips with criminal precision.

The ensemble, along with everything else now tucked away in my closet upstairs, were courtesy of Thorne. During our shopping spree, she’d insisted I buy outfits worthy of the Laurent name, because in her words, I needed to look the part if I expected the council to take me seriously.

So, here I stood. Back in full heiress form. And Lucien looked like he was seconds away from combusting. Based on the heat simmering in his gaze, it seemed he wholeheartedly approved of the results.

“You look…” He paused, as though he needed a moment to consider his next words. “Like trouble.”

My lips curved. Of all the things he could have said, that was perfect. I liked causing him trouble.

He took a step closer. Just one. But enough that I caught the faint smell of sunlight on him. His scent curled into my lungs and sent a shiver straight to my core.

Lucien opened his mouth, his gaze still locked on me, likely ready to say something that would no doubt make me blush like a schoolgirl, when Thorne’s voice rang out from the back.

“Can you two take your disgusting affection elsewhere?” she called. “Some of us are trying to work, and your unresolved sexual tension is curling the wallpaper.”

I stared at Lucien, my cheeks igniting for an entirely different reason.

But he simply rolled his eyes, clearly unaffected. “As blunt as ever, Miss Wolfe.”

Without another word, he reached for my hand and laced our fingers together.

“Shall we?” he asked in a low, seductive voice that practically had my toes curling in my new boots.

Before I could answer, he gave me a gentle tug, and I found myself following him toward the stairs.

Just like that, my nerves short-circuited.

Because shall we implied our going upstairs . And not to inspect my ransacked room or exorcise the demonic toilet demon still residing in my attached bathroom.

No, it meant shall we go upstairs to be alone .

And that turned my brain into mush.

Because I hadn’t been alone with a boy that wasn’t Trystan in over a hundred years. And Lucien was far from a boy. He was centuries old, practiced in charm, and fluent in seduction. He was a predator in a three-piece suit and mature in a way that Trystan had never been.

So, yes, my nerves were on fire. I didn’t know how to do this. How to date or touch or even just care about someone again. And especially not with someone like him.

I wanted to, though. Desperately. Not because I was lonely, or simply because he made me feel desirable. But because in less than one impossible week, Lucien had made me feel more than the entire century Trystan and I had been together.

And that terrified me more than anything else.

Looking back, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d missed Trystan when he was gone.

Or yearned to see him. Or felt joy when he returned.

I couldn’t recall craving his touch or longing to hear the sound of his voice.

I’d simply been coasting through life, supposedly at his side.

Except if I’d truly been at his side, then wouldn’t I have noticed the signs?

Seen the corruption? Known he was going to screw me and my family over in the worst possible way?

I’d felt numb with him. And I’d thought it was normal. That indifference was simply what love became after enough time had passed.

It wasn’t.

And I knew that now. Because with Lucien, I felt things I had never felt for Trystan. With Lucien, I was awake. Electrified. Terrified. And now, I never wanted to go back to sleep.

So, I followed him up the stairs.

One step. Then another. My hand in his.

And prayed I wasn’t making another huge mistake.