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CHAPTER THREE

T hough Lucius did his best to hide his sadness, his return home evoked too many unwanted memories—a time before someone captured and imprisoned him like a venomous creature.

“I know the place is a bit dusty,” he said, waving his hand around the parlor. “But please, sit. Make yourself at home.”

Tavia eyed the large, faded sofa. The once-bright ruby tone had dulled with age. She patted the cushion, sending dust mites into the air. Coughing as she cleared off decades of grime, she finally sat down.

Her squirrel companion scurried around the sofa before disappearing, most likely to inspect the house.

Moving toward the bar, Lucius perused the various bottles, their shapes, and labels hinting at their age. He selected a vintage wine and gathered two glasses, blowing the dust off the rims before pouring a drink for himself and his guest.

Bringing her the glass, he sat in the armchair across from her, not bothering to remove the dust before sitting down.

She took the goblet from him, raised it to her lips, and murmured, “Thank you,” before sipping.

He nodded, taking a sip himself, relishing the warmth it brought.

How many years had passed since his capture?

Lucius wondered as he sifted through his memories.

Had it been a year?

Much longer?

Would his previous contacts and clients still be alive? These questions lingered, unanswerable, even by his guest.

“So, Tavia,” he said, needing to break from his disappointing thoughts, “why were you tracking that caravan?”

Her gaze dropped to the floor as she drank. Her left leg bounced as if the answer caused her distress.

“I assumed they had gold. Lots of it,” she said, before drinking again and draining the rest of her glass. She set it on the side table next to the couch.

“I know you're a thief,” Lucius said evenly. “But why waste all that skill on one caravan? Surely someone with your capabilities would be part of the Thieves Guild.”

She frowned.

“This isn't a permanent job,” she said curtly. “I'm only doing this to gather enough coin.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Lucius pressed her. “Go on.”

“I don’t know you,” she replied sharply. “And I'd rather not share my darkest secrets.”

Lucius smirked, leaning back, relishing the way her cheeks flushed.

“We don’t need to get that acquainted—yet. But,” he said, standing and grabbing her empty goblet, “I do think we should have a better understanding of each other if we’re going to work together.”

“Why do you need me? ”

He didn’t want to explain all the details.

His mind was still dusty from all the events that had taken place, and he didn’t want to relay the truth to this fae. Though Tavia seemed formidable, it was a female who had betrayed Lucius’s trust, and he would not be so trusting again.

Bringing her a refilled glass, Lucius returned to his seat, running a finger along the goblet’s rim.

While the wine’s dry notes of cinnamon and cherries teased his senses, it did little to ease the hunger burning in his chest. The two humans he had fed on earlier had not been enough, and he would need to venture into the woods tonight to find some helpless creature—before his fangs ended up in his guest’s delicate neck.

“Tell me, Tavia,” Lucius said, breaking the silence. “What news is there?”

Her gaze narrowed as she tilted her head slightly.

“Well,” she began, “it’s the hundredth anniversary of the Rift being closed.”

That gave Lucius pause.

A hundred years? That is much longer than I anticipated.

The Rift’s closure marked the beginning of his captivity. The world had been celebrating, and he had been eager to join in the festivities—joining with a feisty fae who had loved the finer things in life as much as he did.

Instead of focusing on how dreadful the past hundred years had been, he focused on the future—if only to keep himself sane.

“A hundredth anniversary,” he murmured. “Which means there will be a magnificent celebration.”

Lucius leaned forward, an idea forming. “If the person I’m searching for is alive, they wouldn’t miss the grandest party of the year. Which means you and I will be attending. Help me retrieve what was stolen from me, and you will have enough coin to last you years.”

He stood abruptly and walked to the window, not wanting to answer any inquisitive questions from his guest.

The first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon. Soon, the markets would open, and he could start gathering information. But first, he and his guest would need disguises.

Turning back to Tavia, he smiled faintly. “You and I will need a change of appearance.”

“What?” she asked, standing .

Though her cloak hid her figure, the tight leathers revealed her curves. Lucius noted she would look perfect in a dress. She would have to leave her weapons and crossbow behind, but they wouldn’t need them—at least not yet.

“Come with me,” he said.

Tavia followed him in silence as they left the parlor and entered the main foyer, where a grand staircase curved up to the second floor.

Though smaller than some estates, Lucius had chosen this place for its quiet seclusion in the woods.

He had no need for servants; his collection of rare art and artifacts, locked safely in the basement, required no upkeep beyond his own occasional attention.

He led her to one of the guest rooms. Despite his solitary lifestyle, Lucius maintained an extensive wardrobe for female visitors. Cobwebs draped the room's four-poster bed, and dust blanketed the furnishings. However, the walk-in closet was untouched by time.

Lucius stepped inside and began rummaging through the garments. He bypassed the more extravagant brocade gowns, selecting instead a simpler turquoise dress that would match Tavia’s eyes. Holding it up, he turned to her .

“I think this is the right size,” he said, handing her the dress.

Her eyes widened in fear. “What is this?”

“We need to go into town,” Lucius explained. “And I don’t want anyone to remember me. So, you and I are getting a makeover.”

Tavia stared at the dress, holding it with uncertainty.

“There are shoes in there,” Lucius said, pointing to the floor, “and shawls. Once you’re dressed, come back to the parlor.”

“You need to explain to me what we’re doing,” she said. Though she appeared appalled by the idea of wearing a dress, Lucius noticed a flicker of longing in her gaze.

“In any reconnaissance,” he replied, heading toward the door, “it’s always best if two people appear to be wed.”

“Wed?” she repeated, her fear returning.

“Oh yes, my pretty dove,” Lucius said with a smirk. “You and I are going to pretend to be married.”

Out of all the bargains she expected to make with this vampyre, marriage never even crossed her mind.

Marriage?

I’ve never even been kissed . . .