LUCY
Harlen is so right, I conclude, my eyes fastening on the hulk of a man waiting at my door.
There is nothing shy about the fellow.
No, not at all—at least not with the way he looks at me unabashedly. Not with the casual way he speaks to me as if we've known each other forever.
Not with the simple way he waits for me to come up and actually meet him.
And he expects me to take him into my house?
Tavric.
A fine name for a fine man.
It is intriguing enough for the mystery standing before me.
What, really, is he doing here? Does he know who I am?
Has my reprieve expired on my parents' calendar, and they've sent a scout after me?
I bite my lower lip, my mind racing.
I don't think so.
Didn't Mother say I have a year or thereabouts?
Besides, there is nothing truly scout-like about this man.
I check out his build and the aura that clings to him like a second skin. No, nothing like a scout at all.
And what is that about being thirsty?
"Hey…"
That voice again.
Gods, that deep thing shouldn't be allowed to a man, I think, mentally shrugging off the tendrils of warmth cascading treacherously down my spine.
"Didn't you—"
"I heard you," I interrupt, folding my arms across my chest. "You claimed you are thirsty."
"I am thirsty."
I swear, what comes to my mind isn't water.
And the realization alone almost makes me choke.
Whatever.
"What concerns me is why you think I would be bothered by that."
I see him cock a brow—something I hadn't thought could be sexy until now.
"You will let me thirst?" His voice dips lower, softer, carrying an amused note while pretending to be wounded. "That's unkind of you."
I snort. "Not as unkind as you following me around. If you won't state your reasons, get the hell out of my sight."
Fineness be damned. I won't be a naïve, swooning girl anymore.
"I can't, princess."
Princess?
I steel my emotions while my mind wheels.
He knows who I am.
My resolve tightens further as he turns toward me fully and begins descending the stairs.
And despite myself, despite every warning bell ringing inside my head, my breath hitches.
Traitor.
As he moves, the light from the landing catches the planes of his face, revealing a beauty that is undeniably otherworldly—the kind of perfection only a supernatural could possess.
He is wearing a crisp white shirt tucked into navy blue pants. The fabric strains across broad shoulders and fits his narrow waist perfectly, emphasizing a physique built for power.
My heart races as he draws nearer.
I take in the curve of his lips, the sharp aristocratic line of his nose, and the thick dark hair brushing the base of his neck.
Gods.
For one wild second, I consider fleeing.
But I dig my heels in, forcing myself to stay grounded.
Gods forbid I flee before a man again.
As he finally stops before me, he towers over me so completely that my head barely reaches his chest.
He is a mountain of a man. His presence is actually a physical thing.
The small stairwell suddenly feels far too cramped.
His eyes are fixed on mine, dark and searching, almost stealing my senses. I have never seen a more handsome male, and the sheer proximity makes my heart pound against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"So, you'll let me thirst, princess?"
What is this obsession with being thirsty?
There are plenty of shops downstairs to get something to drink!
"Stop calling me that. My name is Lucy."
His lips curve. "Beautiful name… princess."
Okay. This one is an annoying brat too.
"I ask again, what do you want?"
The brat smiles. Something akin to a smirk.
And I realize with great annoyance that I am amusing him.
"Princess…"
To hell with this. I'm retiring to my house.
I'm tired, emotionally exhausted, and I certainly don't have time for this nonsense.
But as I try to walk past him, his hand closes around my arm with just enough strength to stop me.
And a zap of electricity explodes across my skin…
I jerk, my eyes widening.
He jerks too, whilst his nostrils flare sharply.
And just as suddenly, he releases me as though I've become diseased.
Okay? What is going on here?
"Not thirsty again?" I tease, managing to gather the scattered pieces of my emotions.
He doesn't answer.
He just stares at me strangely, his expression unreadable.
Almost bewildered. Almost…
No. I don't know. I don't care either.
"Okay, I think I'm done here. Just stop following me around, stop showing up at the restaurant, and stop calling me Princess."
I shake my head. "I'm not that."
He doesn't even acknowledge my words. He simply keeps staring.
I tsk and start climbing the stairs again.
But just as before, he grabs my arm. Only this time—
He pulls me toward him.
I am suddenly engulfed by his scent.
Gods.
Cedarwood. Rain-soaked earth. And something wild.
Something ancient, primal. Something that makes my knees weak.
"You damn—!"
The rest of my words die.
Because his lips are suddenly on mine.
My eyes widen again. My hands fall limply to my sides.
What?
My mouth firms to cuss then, my hands lift to shove him away… but before I can attack him, his lips move against mine with desperate hunger.
Worse, when my lips part in outrage, his tongue takes advantage of the opening.
And I'm not proud to say this… I forget.
I forget the stairwell. Forget my anger. Forget my name. Forget everything.
The world outside ceases to exist.
There is only him. Only the heat of his body. Only the intoxicating taste of him.
Only the way my heart seems to forget how to beat properly.
I don't know when a sound escapes me, but the moment it does, he kisses me harder.
His arms slide around my waist and pull me flush against him.
And Gods help me—
I let him.
Without thinking, one hand settles on his chest, feeling the heavy thrum of his heart beneath the shirt. The other tangles itself in his hair.
Silk-soft. Long. Curly where it brushes the base of his neck. Beautiful.
I pull on the strands before I can even question myself. And the sound that leaves him—
Gods.
A low, deep,rough thing that makes me shiver. A sound of reckless abandon.
A sound no woman should hear and remain sane.
But perhaps that sound is what snaps him out of whatever madness has seized us both.
Because abruptly, he freezes. And then he lets me go.
Once again acting as though I am a leper.
While I stand there, disoriented and breathless, struggling to remember how lungs work, he mutters a curse under his breath.
His eyes squeeze shut. His jaw clenches. And then—
He disappears.
Not literally. Almost. Because he moves so damn fast.
One second I am breathing him in. The next, I am bereft of that scent.
I hear the sharp crack of the padlock downstairs breaking. Then the sound of the door flying open.
And then… Nothing.
Only the cool evening breeze drifting inside, lifting strands of my hair and brushing against my heated cheeks, while I stand utterly alone, still tasting him.