And the worst part? Trystan had never made me feel that way. At least, not that I could remember anyway—and I had a long memory. Sure, there’d been attraction with Trystan—I never would have agreed to be his mate otherwise. But my attraction to Trystan was a faint flicker in the dark compared to the flood Lucien unleashed inside me. He was lightning in a bottle. It was like comparing a firefly to fireworks. Cute versus cataclysmic.
Gods, what would Thorne say when she found out I’d just made out with Lucien? A sworn enemy of her family, and the one person she’d explicitly warned me to avoid.
Scratch that—what wouldn’t she say?
My relationship with Thorne was new. It didn’t have the stability that came with a decades-long friendship. What if she walked away from me—and the bar—because of this? Had I just put everything at risk…for a kiss?
Still. She deserved to know. About the break-in, at the very least. As for the kiss? Well, I wasn’t sure if I should mention that yet. I could lock that moment in the Vault of Poor Choices for now. Let it marinate there until I had a better sense of what I wanted.
Lucien had made his intentions clear. He’d blatantly said he wanted me. Zero hesitation. And that he wanted to earn me—whatever that meant.
Oh boy.
Suddenly, his attempt to buy the bar from me earlier made a hell of a lot more sense. Because when attracted to someone, wiping out their livelihood didn’t exactly foster the best relationship. No wonder Juliette had stared at him like he’d grown a second head. From what Thorne had told me, he didn’t do mercy. He was renowned for his ruthless business decisions, no matter the cost. Profits over people, always. Juliette had probably expected him to sit down at the table and obliterate me without batting so much as an eyelash.
Instead, he’d offered to buy me out and give me a chance at a fresh start and a comfortable life.
The damned fool.
Clearly, he hadn’t understood that I didn’t want someone to take care of me. Been there. Done that. It’d nearly destroyed me. I wanted to stand on my own two feet now, depend only on myself and no one else.
As for Thorne, I would call her first thing in the morning. Right now, my plans consisted of lying on my slashed bed and staring at the ceiling for the next eight soul-crushing hours, while I figured out what I was even doing with my life.
Because it was late. I was exhausted, and completely and utterly confused. And, oh yeah, someone had vandalized my entire loft who clearly hated me. The list of suspects wasn’t long, but Lucien didn’t fit that description anymore. At least that was one name—the only name—I could scratch off my list of possible perpetrators.
I scrubbed my hands down my face and groaned. “What a night.”
I hadn’t expected a response, but Bernard offered a soft chime overhead, the twinkling chorus oddly sympathetic. I smiled despite myself. When I’d first come to Eternity Falls, I truly hadn’t expected to befriend a ghost—or a werewolf for that matter. I certainly hadn’t expected to find peace. Yet here I was.
My life looked nothing like it had in New Orleans, and I was perfectly okay with that. Maybe it was a good thing. I liked my bar, my ghost, and my friend.
As for Lucien…
Yeah, I liked him too. I could admit that much, at least. He’d caught my eye the second he’d walked into my bar. He was too handsome not to be noticed. Thankfully, I was old enough to know better than to let an attractive face distract me.
But everything had changed tonight. When I’d stormed into his bar and accused him of breaking into mine, he could have thrown me out on my ass. Instead, he’d comforted and reassured me. I’d practically called him a criminal, and rather than sending me on my way, he’d danced with me, then walked me home and inspected the premises to make sure I was safe.
Clearly, there was a lot more to Lucien St. Germain than what he let the world see.
A soft knock on the door jolted me out of my thoughts. I stiffened, every muscle in my body coiling. I spun on my stool and stared at the door, anxiety clawing at my chest.
When I didn’t immediately respond, another knock followed. Then came a voice. “Miss Laurent? Mr. St. Germain sent me…”
With a soft breath, the tension drained from my body, and I crossed the room. I hadn’t actually locked the door yet, like Lucien insisted. Ah well. I twisted the doorknob and pulled open the door wide enough to peek out.
A man stood on the other side—neatly dressed, not imposing, but clearly a vampire. He smiled warmly at me, and I found myself smiling back.
“My name is Elias,” he said. “I’m Mr. St. Germain’s personal assistant. He asked me to deliver this”—he held up a box, one clearly full of bottled blood—“and to introduce you to Rue, the head of our security team.”
He angled his body and gestured across the street.
A woman stood in the shadows. She leaned casually against a building, arms and legs crossed, and one boot resting on the wall behind her. Her long, ashen hair caught in the moonlight, and her bright eyes practically glowed in the darkness. She clearly was not a vampire, and the power she emanated practically suffocated the entire street.
“Rue’s the best,” Elias said. “You won’t see her again unless she wants you to. But rest assured, nothing gets past her. You can sleep knowing that. In the morning, we’ll reassess.”
I nodded, though my gaze didn’t stray from Rue. I was too busy trying to figure out what she was. Magical, certainly. Almost ethereal.
She dipped her head in a polite nod, then vanished an instant later. Just like that, gone.
