"All the more reason to learn. You have potential, Lizzie. I sensed it last night—a spark of something untamed. Chaos magic, perhaps. Or elemental. We'll have to test it." Her green eyes gleamed with an enthusiasm that was frankly alarming. "But that can wait. For now, eat. Then I'll give you a tour of the parts of the manor you're allowed to visit."
"Allowed to visit," I repeated. "Right. Because I'm a prisoner."
Selene's expression softened. "You're not a prisoner. You're... in protective custody. There's a difference."
"Does the difference include being able to leave?"
She hesitated. "Not yet. But it will, eventually. Once Darius is certain you won't run to the authorities or fall into the hands of our enemies. He's cautious, but he's not cruel. Give him time to trust you."
I wanted to argue, but the pastry was too good and the coffee Selene pushed toward me was rich and dark and exactly what I needed. So I ate, and I listened as she explained the basic layout of the manor: the east wing was residential, the west wing housed offices and meeting rooms, the north wing was off-limits (she didn't elaborate, and I didn't ask), and the south wing contained the library, the greenhouse, and various common areas.
"You're free to explore the common areas," Selene said. "The library is particularly lovely. Azrael spends most of his time there when he's not... working. He's quite knowledgeable about a staggering array of subjects."
"Azrael," I said slowly. "The demon."
"Mm. He's not what you'd expect from a demon. Reserved, yes. Intense. But there's a gentleness to him that most people miss." She sipped her coffee, her gaze turning thoughtful."He's been alone for a very long time, I think. Longer than even he realizes."
I filed that information away, unsure what to do with it. "And Lucien? The werewolf who wants to kill me?"
Selene laughed, bright and musical. "Lucien doesn't want to kill you. He wants tounderstandyou. You confuse him, and he hates being confused. It's quite entertaining to watch, actually."
"He held a knife to my throat."
"He holds knives to everyone's throat. It's his love language." At my horrified expression, she added, "I'm joking. Mostly. Lucien is... complicated. He's been with us for decades, but he still struggles with the wolf. It makes him volatile, especially when he's caught off guard. And you, darling, caught him very off guard."
The memory of his amber eyes, the way his nostrils had flared, the rough timber of his voice—you like the danger—sent heat creeping up my neck. "I booped him."
"Youboopedhim." Selene's grin was wicked. "I would have paid good money to see his face. No one touches Lucien. Not casually, not affectionately. He doesn't allow it. And you just... reached out and booped his nose like he was a grumpy cat." She shook her head, still smiling. "You've made quite an impression, Lizzie Saltz."
I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a death sentence. Possibly both.
After breakfast, I left Selene to whatever mysterious witch business she had to attend to and set out to explore the manor on my own. The common areas were easy enough to find—the library was a cathedral of books, with floor-to-ceiling shelves and rolling ladders and cozy reading nooks tucked into every corner. I spotted Azrael in one of them, a massive leather-bound tome open in his lap, his white hair catching the light likespun silver. He glanced up as I passed, and our eyes met for a fraction of a second. Something flickered in his golden gaze—recognition, curiosity, maybe even warmth—before he returned to his reading.
I didn't interrupt him. Something told me Azrael was best approached slowly, like a wild animal that might spook if you moved too fast.
The greenhouse was next, a sprawling glass structure attached to the south wing. Inside, the air was warm and humid and thick with the scent of living things. Rows of plants stretched in every direction—some ordinary, some distinctlynot. I recognized rosemary and lavender and mint, but there were also flowers that glowed faintly blue, vines that seemed to sway without any breeze, and a small tree with silver bark and leaves that chimed softly when I brushed against them.
A woman I didn't recognize was tending to a bed of blood-red flowers near the back. She looked up and gave me a polite nod, but didn't speak. Staff, probably. Selene had mentioned that the manor employed a number of people—some human, some not—who kept things running smoothly.
I wandered back inside and found myself in a sitting room off the main hall. It was dark and heavy, furnished with black leather sofas and dark wood tables, the curtains drawn tight against the morning sun. A massive ashtray on the coffee table held the remnants of what looked like burned paperwork. The air smelled faintly of smoke and old magic.
It was, in short, depressing as hell.
"This place needs help," I muttered, looking around. "It's like a vampire's man cave. Which, I guess, it literally is."
An idea sparked. A terrible, wonderful, absolutely chaotic idea.
I spent the next hour raiding every storage closet I could find. Selene had said the manor's common areas were mine toexplore, and I took that as permission toimprove. I found soft blankets in rich jewel tones, dusty but salvageable. I found throw pillows in burgundy and navy and gold, abandoned in a trunk in a forgotten corner. I found a set of airy cream curtains in a linen closet, still wrapped in paper, and I dragged them to the sitting room along with everything else.
By the time I was done, the room was transformed. The heavy drapes were tied back, letting sunlight stream through the windows. The black leather sofas were softened with colorful blankets and plush pillows. I'd found a few candles—normal ones, not the magical kind—and arranged them on the coffee table and mantelpiece. I even managed to wrestle a vase of fresh flowers from the greenhouse (the staff woman had given me a bemused look but hadn't stopped me) and placed it on a side table.
It wasn't perfect. It was mismatched and slightly chaotic and definitely not what the original decorator had intended. But it feltwarm. It felt lived-in. It felt like someone actually gave a damn about the space.
I was standing back, admiring my handiwork, when a voice behind me said, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
I spun around. Lucien stood in the doorway, arms crossed, scowl firmly in place. He was wearing a black t-shirt that clung to every ridge of muscle and dark jeans that sat low on his hips. His hair was damp, like he'd just showered, and the scent of him—leather and steel and that wild, rain-soaked forest smell—hit me like a physical wave.
"Decorating," I said, refusing to let him see how much he affected me. "This room was depressing. Now it's cozy. You're welcome."
