CHAPTER TWELVE:A LITTLE CLOSER
1302 Words
The following morning, the castle breathed with an eerie calm. A gust of cold breeze moved like shadows through the corridors, silent and swift, never lingering, never whispering. It was as if the mansion itself had absorbed the tension from the night before, holding its breath.
But Aurelia was different.
She moved with purpose, her eyes searching, her hands folded tightly at her chest to hide the trembling. Her dreams had been chaotic—a swirl of crimson eyes, whispered words, and the chilling sensation of Lucien’s heartbeat-less chest beneath her palm.
Or rather, the absence of it.
She’d seen him without his mask last night. Not just the supernatural truth of what he was, but the man underneath. Fractured. Alone. Wounded, in ways she couldn't yet understand.
And she wasn’t going to walk away from that.
Not again.
She found him where she expected—seated at the long obsidian table in the study, a decanter of deep red liquid glinting beside his hand. Whether it was wine or blood, she didn’t dare ask.
Lucien didn’t look at her when she entered. He barely acknowledged her.
But she approached anyway, silent, until she stood right across from him.
“I told you to stay away,” he said finally, the words sharp, though his voice lacked real venom.
“You say a lot of things you don’t mean,” she replied softly, not breaking eye contact.
He looked up slowly, gaze narrowing. “You think you understand me?”
“No,” she admitted. “But I want to.”
Lucien’s jaw tightened. He poured a glass from the decanter with elegant, practiced movements, then lifted it to his lips.
“You want to understand a monster?”
“I don’t believe you’re a monster,” she said.
“Then you’re a fool.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
There was silence.
Then he set the glass down with a soft clink, his eyes burning into her. “What do you want from me, Aurelia? My secrets? My history? My blood? What exactly are you trying to pry from my chest?”
She took a shaky breath, then walked to his side.
“No,” she said. “I just want to be near you.”
He stared.
Not with anger this time, but with something unreadable—an emotion buried too deep to surface, flickering behind those crimson eyes like a dying flame.
“Why?” he asked again, lower now.
“Because I see you,” she said. “Not just what you are, but who you are. You hide from everyone, but not from me. I see the pain in your eyes. The loneliness. You push people away because it’s easier than hoping they’ll stay.”
Lucien stood sharply, his chair screeching back. “You know nothing of me.”
“I know what it feels like to be thrown away,” she said, voice rising. “To be used. My father didn’t see me as a daughter—he saw me as currency. You think I was given to you? No. I was sold, Lucien. Sold like I meant nothing.”
He went still.
She stepped closer. “I know what it’s like to be starved for warmth. For a touch that isn’t cruel. For a voice that doesn’t bark orders.”
He turned his head, as if her words burned.
“And yet you still seek kindness from me,” he said bitterly. “A man who denied you food for working too slowly. A man who parades his mistresses before your eyes.”
“Because I think even monsters deserve love,” she whispered.
That silenced him.
The air between them turned thick, charged with something unspoken.
And then—without warning—Aurelia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Lucien stiffened.
It was not a sensual hug. It wasn’t seductive or calculated. It was the desperate embrace of someone who had lived too long in coldness, who found a fire—even if it burned—and clung to it.
Her cheek pressed to his chest, just over the spot where a heartbeat should’ve been. Her arms curled around his waist.
She was trembling.
Lucien didn’t move.
“Don’t push me away,” she whispered. “Please. Just for a moment… let me pretend we’re not strangers. That I belong here. That someone wants me here.”
His arms hung at his sides, useless, like he’d forgotten how to use them.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t beg. She just held him, breathing slowly, grounding herself in his unnatural stillness.
And finally… finally… his arms lifted.
Not tightly. Not fully. But enough.
One hand settled gently on her back. The other at her waist.
He held her like she might break. As if she were glass and he hadn’t touched anything fragile in centuries.
“You’re insane,” he murmured.
“I know,” she breathed. “But maybe I’m insane enough to stay.”
He let out a slow breath. “You’re clinging to shadows.”
“You are a shadow.”
He closed his eyes, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I’ve killed people, Aurelia.”
“I know.”
“I’ve torn families apart. Ruled over corruption. Manipulated empires.”
“I know.”
“I’ve tasted blood sweeter than wine. I’ve destroyed women who wanted me.”
“I know, Lucien.”
“I will never love you.”
She smiled faintly. “Then don’t. Let me do the loving.”
His chest tightened—strange, considering it did not beat.
He stepped back then, slowly peeling her arms from him.
“You don’t belong here,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
“Then throw me out,” she challenged.
He didn’t.
Instead, he turned and walked to the fireplace, placing a hand on the mantle.
“There are things in this house you don’t understand. Rules that are not meant to be broken.”
“I’ll follow them,” she said.
“You already haven’t.”
“I’ll keep breaking them,” she said with a shrug.
He turned, a hint of frustration flickering across his face.
“You’re so… persistent.”
“And you’re so lonely.”
They stared at each other again, the firelight catching on the sharp lines of his face.
Then he laughed—low, dark, amused.
“You’re like a stray cat that keeps returning, even after being kicked.”
“I bite too,” she said.
He arched an eyebrow. “Do you?”
She stepped forward, only inches away now. “Try me.”
He tilted his head, curious. “Why me, Aurelia? Of all people?”
She faltered for the first time.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Maybe because I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel more alive than the man who’s technically dead.”
His expression flickered.
“Stay out of my room,” he said finally.
“No,” she replied simply.
“I could chain you up in the cellar.”
“You won’t.”
His lips curled into a reluctant smirk. “You’re dangerous.”
“So are you.”
And then she did something that made his breath—if he had any—catch.
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
Not passionately. Not seductively. But softly, reverently, like it meant something.
Then she turned and walked toward the door.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” she said.
Lucien watched her go, his hand brushing the spot on his cheek as if confused by the sensation.
When the door closed behind her, he stood alone in the silence.
But for the first time in centuries… he didn’t feel quite so alone.
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- Writer
