DARK CRAVINGS

CHAPTER ELEVEN: QUESTIONS

Aurelia’s fingers hesitated on the ornate brass handle of Lucien’s door.

It was late—beyond the hour when the castle turned into a ghostly, silent tomb. The flickering lanterns had already begun to dim in the hallway, their shadows stretching long across the marbled floor. Yet something inside her burned with a mix of defiance and desperate curiosity.

She had heard the rumors. Whispers that crawled like shadows across the halls. Lucien Virell was not merely cruel—he was something else. Something unnatural. Something feared.

And yet, she couldn’t stay away.

He had humiliated her. Made her feel less than human. Called her a servant. Denied her meals. Watched her scrub floors until her delicate hands bled—still, she clung to a strange thread of fascination that tied itself around her soul like a shackle.

Aurelia pushed the door open.

The room was dim, lit only by the flicker of a blood-red candle on a wrought iron holder. The air inside was cool, scented with clove and something darker—something intoxicating. Shadows seemed to ripple across the walls, not moving with the flame but rather curling inward, as if hiding.

Lucien sat by the fire, not dressed in his usual tailored suits but in a black silk shirt, open at the collar. His pale chest gleamed like moonlight, and his raven hair cascaded down his shoulders, damp as if he’d just come from a bath.

He did not turn to face her.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said coldly, the words as precise as the crack of a whip.

Aurelia stepped inside anyway.

“I have questions,” she said, closing the door behind her.

His chair creaked as he slowly turned, eyes glowing faintly in the low light. They were the color of ancient garnets—dark, full of stories too old for any mortal to know.

“Questions?” he repeated. “And what makes you think you deserve answers, girl?”

Her breath caught in her throat. His voice—deep, smooth, and edged with a predator’s amusement—always made her tremble. Yet tonight, she did not step back.

“Because I’m not a slave,” she said quietly, chin raised. “I’m not an object to be thrown around whenever you feel the urge to punish someone. I was brought here against my will, sold like cattle—and if I must live under your roof, I have the right to know what you are. Who you are.”

Lucien stood in a single fluid movement, tall and terrifying in his elegance. His steps were soundless on the floor as he approached her.

He circled her like a hawk, gaze sharp, amused, almost entertained by her fire.

“You have spirit,” he murmured. “More than I expected.”

She turned her head sharply, meeting his eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

A pause. Silence stretched between them like the tension of a drawn bow.

Then, he leaned close.

“You want to know what I am?” he whispered against her ear, his voice a caress. “You already suspect. Don’t you?”

Aurelia swallowed. Her heart pounded in her chest. She remembered the maids’ warnings, the way even the head maid flinched at nightfall. She remembered the eyes that glowed red in her dreams—eyes that looked far too much like his.

“Are you…” she hesitated. “Are you even human?”

Lucien laughed then—not a cold chuckle, but a low, dark sound that wrapped around her spine like velvet.

“Do I seem human to you, Aurelia?”

Her name on his tongue sounded sinful. Dangerous.

“No,” she admitted softly. “You don’t.”

He smiled, slow and cruel. “Good. Then you may yet survive.”

He walked back to the fireplace and poured himself a glass of something deep and crimson. Wine—or something far more sinister. He took a long sip and leaned against the mantel.

“You think you’ve had a hard life?” he said finally. “Because your father sold you to a monster in exchange for profits? You know nothing of hardship, little girl. Nothing of hunger, of centuries spent in darkness.”

She blinked. “Centuries?”

His smile vanished. “Leave. Now.”

But she didn’t move.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because if I leave now, I’ll never stop being afraid of you. I’ll never stop wondering why you hate me. Why you push everyone away.”

Silence. Then:

“You mistake cruelty for hatred,” he said. “I feel nothing toward you at all. You are a servant in this house because that’s what your worth has bought. Obedience earns you survival. That’s all.”

Aurelia stepped closer, fists clenched. “Then why do you look at me like you want to devour me?”

His eyes flared—truly flared—and for a moment, the illusion of humanity slipped from his face. His lips peeled back, showing a hint of sharp white fangs. But he did not touch her. He merely stared.

“Because,” he said coldly, “you smell like temptation.”

The room spun. Her breath hitched.

He turned away again, as if her presence exhausted him. “You’re lucky I don’t give in to indulgences anymore.”

“Anymore?” she echoed.

His shoulders tensed.

She walked up behind him, her small hand brushing the back of his shirt. He went still.

“Who hurt you?” she asked.

Lucien’s voice was hollow. “Don’t be foolish. I am the one who hurts.”

“I don’t believe that,” she said, stepping in front of him now. “I think there’s something buried in you. Something… broken.”

For a long moment, he stared at her like she was the most confusing thing in the world.

Then he grabbed her wrist.

Not hard—but firm.

“You think you’re ready for the truth?” he asked. “You think you want to know the monster that sleeps beneath your roof?”

She nodded.

He pulled her hand to his chest. “Feel it,” he commanded. “Do you feel a heartbeat?”

Aurelia pressed her palm against his skin.

Nothing.

No thud. No rhythm.

Just silence.

She gasped, stepping back.

“You’re…”

“A corpse with a crown,” he said. “A predator in a silk suit. That’s all I am.”

But Aurelia didn’t run.

She looked at him—truly looked—and something inside her twisted. Not with fear, but with sorrow. He looked so tired. So cold. So hollow.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said softly.

“You should be.”

She walked toward the door. “I’ll come back tomorrow. You don’t have to talk. But I’m not letting you push me away anymore.”

And with that, she left.

Lucien stared after her long after the door clicked shut, glass still in hand, untouched.

For the first time in decades, the fire didn’t warm him.

But her presence had.

And that terrified him more than anything.

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