One-Shot

WANTED: A TEMPORARY CAT-SITTER

The first time I saw the advertisement, I thought it was a joke.

It was pinned to the noticeboard beside the bakery's front door, wedged between a missing-cat poster and an announcement for a village harvest festival. The paper was thick, cream-colored, and decorated with a delicate black border. Whoever had written it possessed handwriting so elegant that even the address looked expensive.

Comfortable accommodation and generous payment provided.

Applicants should be patient, reliable, and unafraid of large houses.

At the bottom, someone had written the address.

Blackthorn Hill.

I stared at it while the smell of warm bread drifted from the bakery behind me.

Everyone in the village knew Blackthorn Hill. The mansion stood beyond the old forest, on a hill overlooking the northern road. Its iron gates were taller than a carriage, its windows were dark during the day, and its owner rarely appeared in public.

People told stories about the place.

Some said the family had lived there for centuries. Others claimed the servants never aged. A woman who delivered vegetables to the estate once swore she had seen a candle moving through an upstairs window without anyone carrying it.

My favorite rumor was that the master of the house slept in a coffin.

I didn't believe that one.

Probably.

"You're reading that again."

I turned to find the baker's wife standing in the doorway, flour dusting her sleeves.

"I'm considering it."

"Considering it?" She looked at the advertisement as though it might bite me. "You can't be serious."

"Why not? I like cats."

"It's Blackthorn Hill."

"I can read."

She sighed. "My grandmother said the master was already living there when she was a child."

"Then he's probably very old and needs someone to look after his cat."

"Or he's a ghost."

"Ghosts can own cats."

She stared at me.

I smiled.

The truth was less amusing. Rent was due at the end of the month, and my savings had dwindled to a handful of coins. I had tried finding work in the village, but every position seemed to require either a recommendation I didn't possess or experience I couldn't acquire without a position.

A generous cat-sitting job sounded like a blessing.

Even if the cat lived with a ghost.

I took the advertisement down before I could reconsider.

The road to Blackthorn Hill wound through a forest of ancient trees. Rain had fallen during the night, leaving the earth dark and the air sweet with wet leaves. By the time I reached the gates, my shoes were muddy, my skirt was damp, and I was beginning to regret my decision.

The mansion rose beyond the iron bars.

It was enormous, though not in the cheerful way of a grand estate built to entertain guests. Its towers were narrow, its stone walls darkened by age, and its windows tall enough to resemble watching eyes. Ivy climbed the eastern wall, while pale flowers grew among the black roses lining the path.

A carriage stood beneath the covered entrance.

I pulled the bell.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then the door opened.

A tall man in a perfectly fitted black suit stood on the other side. His silver hair was neatly combed, his posture impeccable, and his expression so composed that I immediately felt underdressed.

"Miss Lara?"

"Yes. I'm here about the cat-sitting position."

"Of course." He stepped aside. "Please come in. I am Damian, the household butler."

The entrance hall smelled faintly of beeswax, old wood, and something floral I couldn't identify. A crystal chandelier hung above a staircase that curved toward the upper floors. Portraits lined the walls, their subjects dressed in fashions several centuries out of date.

I was still admiring a painting of a woman holding a white rose when a small black creature shot across the floor.

It was warm inside.

That surprised me. From the outside, the mansion had looked as it would be permanently cold.

Damian took my coat and directed me toward a sitting room.

"Master Lucien will join us shortly."

"Master?"

"Our employer."

"Right."

I wondered whether people still used that word to address someone.

Before I could ask anything else, a small black shape shot across the hallway.

It skidded around a corner, collided with the leg of a table, and vanished beneath a curtain.

A moment later, a pale hand reached down after it.

"Come back."

The hand withdrew.

There was a pause.

"Please."

The black shape emerged from beneath the curtain and ran in the opposite direction.

I pressed my lips together.

Damian closed his eyes briefly.

"Ah," he said. "The kitten."

A man appeared at the end of the hallway.

Up close, he was almost unnervingly handsome. His features were delicate but sharply defined, his eyes a deep crimson that seemed darker beneath the chandelier. There was something old-fashioned about the way he moved, as if he had learned every gesture from a book written long before I was born,though his right hand was wrapped in a white bandage.

He held another bandage in his left hand.

I looked at his hands.

Then at the kitten, which had stopped near the staircase to lick one paw.

"This is Miss Lara," Damian said. "She answered the advertisement."

The man looked at me.

"Lucien," he introduced himself.

His voice was low and formal, as though he had practiced introducing himself in front of a mirror.

I curtsied awkwardly, remembered that I wasn't wearing a dress, and settled for a small bow.

"Lara. It's nice to meet you."

He glanced toward the kitten.

"I apologize for the condition of my hands."

"Did you have an accident?"

"The kitten disagrees with my approach to friendship."

The kitten sat down.

Lucien looked at it.

The kitten yawned.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

"May I?" I asked.

Lucien seemed uncertain about what I was requesting until I crouched and held out my hand.

The kitten approached immediately.

It sniffed my fingers, rubbed its cheek against my knuckles, and climbed into my lap as though we had known each other for years.

Lucien stared.

I looked up at him.

"Perhaps it likes you," I offered.

"It has a peculiar way of demonstrating affection."

The kitten began chewing the ribbon on my bag.

"What is its name?"

"Morrow."

"That's a lovely name."

"I thought so."

Morrow abandoned my bag and tried to climb my sleeve.

He extended a hand toward the kitten.

Morrow immediately hissed.

Lucien stopped.

We stared at one another.

The kitten wriggled free of my arms, landed on the floor, and sprinted behind my legs.

I could not help myself.

I laughed.

It was not a particularly dignified laugh, and I tried to disguise it as a cough. Unfortunately, Lucien had already noticed.

For a moment, I thought he might be offended.

Instead, he looked at Morrow with the solemn disappointment of a man whose most trusted adviser had betrayed him.

"I see," he said. "You have made your choice."

Morrow climbed higher.

"Would you like me to teach you how to hold it?" I asked.

"Is there a correct method?"

"It helps if you let him come to you."

"I did."

"You reached for him."

"That is generally how one picks something up."

"He's a kitten, not a book."

Damian turned toward the window.

I suspected he was hiding a smile.

Lucien looked at me for a long moment, then glanced at the kitten.

"Very well, Miss Lara. I would appreciate your expertise."

That was how I began working at Blackthorn Hill.

.

"Of course," I said. "I'll be here around two."

"Two," he repeated, as though committing the number to memory.

Then he hesitated.

"Would you care for tea before you leave?"

I had expected another conversation about Morrow's feeding schedule. The invitation caught me off guard.

"Tea?"

"Yes. Unless you dislike it."

"I like tea."

"Excellent."

He led me into a sitting room overlooking the garden.

The tea room was smaller than I expected.

Heavy curtains framed tall windows overlooking the garden. A silver kettle rested beside a tray of pastries, and porcelain cups painted with tiny blue flowers waited on a table polished so brightly that I could see the candlelight reflected in it.

Lucien sat opposite me.

Morrow sat on my lap.

Lucien regarded him with quiet disappointment.

"He has never sat with me like that."

"Have you tried sitting somewhere comfortable?"

"I am sitting comfortably."

"Then perhaps he dislikes your personality."

Damian, who was pouring the tea, coughed into his hand.

Lucien looked at me.

For a terrible moment, I wondered whether I had just insulted the man who employed me.

Then he said, "That is a troubling possibility."

I laughed before I could stop myself.

His expression softened, just a little.

The tea was excellent. So were the pastries, which Lucien insisted I try with the solemnity of a man offering a rare treasure.

"You enjoy tea," I observed.

"I do."

"How long have you been drinking it?"

He considered the question.

"A very long time."

"That sounds mysterious."

"It was not intended to."

"You're not very good at small talk, are you?"

"No."

At least he was honest.

I began looking forward to my visits to Blackthorn Hill.

My duties were simple: feed Morrow, clean his litter tray, brush his fur, and ensure he didn't destroy anything too valuable. The last task proved impossible. Morrow attacked the curtains, slept in empty cardboard boxes, and developed a particular hatred for Lucien's shoelaces.

He also developed a talent for stealing food.

One afternoon, I caught him dragging a pastry twice his size across the drawing room carpet.

"Morrow!"

He froze.

I froze.

He looked at me.

Then he seized the pastry and ran.

I chased him through the hall, around a table, and past Damian, who watched us with the weary expression of a man who had accepted that his household would never know peace again.

Lucien appeared at the far end of the corridor.

Morrow ran straight between his feet.

Lucien looked down.

The pastry lay abandoned on the carpet.

"Has he been hunting again?"

"Yes."

"Was he successful?"

I picked up the pastry.

"He would have been, if he hadn't been interrupted."

Lucien nodded thoughtfully.

"I shall inform the kitchen that we have a promising new predator."

It was difficult to remain intimidated by a vampire-looking aristocrat who took his kitten's crimes so seriously.

I was not yet aware that he was, in fact, a vampire.

I only knew that I liked him.

And that, I suspected, was going to become a problem.

The trouble began with a piece of paper.

It happened on an otherwise ordinary afternoon.

I was sitting on the floor of the sitting room, sorting Morrow's toys into a basket. He had recently developed an interest in stealing objects from places where they were not supposed to be, and I had spent the better part of the morning retrieving a glove, two ribbons, and a small wooden spoon from beneath the furniture.

Morrow disappeared behind an armchair.

Something rustled.

I glanced over.

He emerged dragging a folded piece of paper between his teeth.

"Where did you get that?"

He ignored me.

The paper was old, thick, and covered with faint markings. I could see a dark border and what looked like a pattern of delicate lines, though Morrow had already chewed one corner.

I reached for it.

He pulled back.

"Morrow. Give it to me."

He crouched over his prize.

I tried distracting him with a ribbon. He considered the offer, decided the paper was better, and began tearing at it with his claws.

"No, no, no!"

I lunged.

Morrow sprang sideways. The paper split with a dry ripping sound.

He looked delighted.

I did not.

I managed to catch the remaining piece before he could chew through it completely.

"Morrow, that is not a toy!"

He swatted at my fingers.

The sitting room door opened.

Lucien stood in the doorway.

"What is happening?"

I turned toward him, holding the torn paper.

"Your cat is destroying something."

"That is hardly unusual."

"This time, I think it might actually be important."

Lucien's eyes fell upon the paper.

He stopped moving.

It was a small change. Anyone else might have missed it. His shoulders stiffened, and his expression became perfectly still, as though he had suddenly heard a sound from a great distance.

Then he crossed the room.

"May I see that?"

I handed it to him.

He examined the remaining fragment without speaking. His thumb moved along the torn edge, careful not to damage it further.

For a moment, his crimson eyes seemed almost bright in the dim room.

Then he folded the paper and slipped it into his waistcoat.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

The answer came too quickly.

I glanced at Morrow, who had begun attacking the ribbon again.

"Your cat seems to disagree."

Lucien looked at the kitten.

Morrow rolled onto his back and kicked the ribbon with both hind legs.

"I shall have to discuss his poor judgment with him."

"Good luck."

Lucien turned toward the door.

"Miss Lara."

"Yes?"

"Please do not mention this to anyone."

His voice was quiet, but the seriousness in it made my smile disappear.

"All right."

He inclined his head and left.

I watched the door close behind him.

Morrow climbed into my lap, apparently satisfied with the afternoon's work.

I scratched behind his ears.

"What have you done now?"

He purred.

I had no answer.

And when I asked Damian about the paper later, he merely adjusted his cuffs and said that the master preferred to keep certain matters private.

It was not an answer.

It was, however, the first time I began to suspect that the strange stories about Blackthorn Hill might contain more truth than I had thought.

-

Lady Eveline arrived on a Thursday evening.

I knew something was different before I saw her.

The household seemed to grow quieter. Damian instructed the servants to prepare the drawing room, the silver was polished, and Lucien spent an unusually long time selecting his coat.

When I arrived for my shift, he was waiting near the entrance hall.

"Miss Lara."

"Good evening."

"I need you to do something for me."

His tone was polite, but there was an unfamiliar tension in his expression.

"Of course."

"My aunt will be visiting shortly. I would prefer that you remain out of sight while she is here."

I blinked.

"Why?"

"It would be better that way."

"Is she allergic to cats?"

"No."

"Does she dislike people?"

Lucien hesitated.

"She is particular about the company I keep."

I glanced down at Morrow, who was trying to climb my skirt.

"Please," he said. "Stay in the adjoining room until she leaves. Keep Morrow with you, and do not come out."

I wanted to ask more questions.

Instead, I nodded.

"All right."

I took Morrow and went outside.

The mansion's doors had closed behind me, and I couldn't stop thinking about the expression on Lucien's face.

He had looked almost afraid.

I had never seen him afraid before.

A sound came from the other side of the garden.

Morrow had slipped away.

I followed it along a narrow path beside the house, past a row of ivy-covered windows and a small stone fountain. The kitten darted through an open side door.

"Morrow, come back."

It ignored me.

Naturally.

I entered the corridor and followed the sound of its tiny paws. The hallway was dim, lit by a few wall lamps. At the far end, I heard voices coming from behind a closed door.

I stopped.

I had no intention of listening.

I only wanted my kitten.

Then Lady Eveline spoke.

Her voice was clear and calm, almost affectionate.

"Do try to enjoy the time you have left, Lucien. When the final bell rings, there will be no place left for you at the table."

Silence followed.

I stood perfectly still.

I didn't understand what the final bell meant, or what table she was talking about. But I knew a threat when I heard one.

Before I could move, Morrow rubbed against my ankle.

Morrow had slipped away again.

At the bottom stood a glass door.

Beyond it, the greenhouse glowed with pale moonlight.

I pushed the door open.

The air was warm and damp. Strange flowers grew in ceramic pots, their petals opening beneath the moon as though the night itself had called them to life. Vines climbed the glass walls, and tiny white blossoms shone among the leaves.

Morrow sat beneath a bench, attempting to eat a leaf.

"Of course."

I scooped him up.

"Do you ever do anything normal?"

He purred against my chest.

I was about to leave when I noticed a figure approach me from behind.

Lucien.

"Miss Lara."

I jumped.

"You really must stop appearing in dark corners."

"I was standing in the middle of a greenhouse."

"That makes it worse. You have no excuse."

He looked faintly amused.

"I see you have found my favorite room."

"Your favorite?"

"One of them."

I glanced at the flowers.

"What are these?"

"Night-blooming varieties. Some of them only open after sunset."

"Do they have names?"

"Several. Most of which I cannot pronounce in the local language."

I laughed.

He stepped closer to inspect the plant Morrow had been chewing.

"That one is poisonous."

I immediately moved the kitten away.

"Why do you have poisonous plants?"

"They are beautiful."

"That is not a good reason."

"It has been a sufficient reason for centuries."

I stared at him.

He smiled slightly.

I was beginning to suspect that Lucien's sense of humor was more dangerous than his appearance.

We left the greenhouse together. As we walked through the corridor, I noticed a portrait hanging beside the staircase.

It depicted a young man with dark hair, pale skin, and crimson eyes.

Lucien.

He wore an elaborate coat and held a silver cane. The painting was clearly old, its surface cracked in places, yet the man in it looked almost exactly like the one walking beside me.

I stopped.

"Lucien?"

He followed my gaze.

"Yes?"

"How old is that painting?"

He looked at it for a long moment.

"Very old."

"You look exactly the same."

"An unfortunate habit of portrait painters. They tend to preserve their subjects."

"That isn't what I meant."

"I know."

He continued walking.

I stared after him.

There were moments when I felt as though I had nearly reached the edge of a secret, only for Lucien to step away before I could see what lay beyond it.

-

One afternoon, Morrow led me through a half-open door into a quiet bedroom.

The curtains were drawn. The air smelled of lavender and old wood. A large bed stood against the wall, covered with a dark blanket.

Lucien lay on it.

His hands rested neatly over his chest.

His eyes were open.

I stopped breathing.

For a terrible moment, I thought I was looking at a corpse.

"Lucien?"

He didn't move.

I stepped closer.

"Lucien?"

His crimson eyes stared toward the ceiling.

I was already imagining the explanations I would have to give Damian when Lucien suddenly turned his head.

"What are you doing here?"

I nearly screamed.

"You were sleeping!"

"Yes."

"Your eyes were open!"

He blinked.

"Ah."

He sat up, looking faintly inconvenienced.

"I sometimes sleep that way."

"That's horrible."

"Is it?"

"Yes!"

He considered this.

"I shall take your opinion under advisement."

I stared at him.

He looked back at me.

Then Morrow leapt onto the bed and curled up beside him.

Lucien stroked the kitten's head.

"At least someone appreciates my habits."

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm my heart.

"You could have warned me."

"Would that have made the experience less alarming?"

"Yes!"

"Then I shall endeavor to remember."

He looked so perfectly serious that I wasn't sure whether he was teasing me.

I decided that I didn't care.

"Come downstairs," I told him. "You need tea."

"Do I?"

"You nearly frightened ten years off my life. You owe me tea."

He rose from the bed.

"That seems a reasonable arrangement."

We went to the sitting room together.

For once, I didn't begin with a joke.

Lucien noticed.

He poured the tea and placed my cup before me.

I discovered that Lucien preferred black tea in the afternoon, with a little milk and no sugar. He liked delicate pastries, particularly those filled with fruit, and he believed that tea tasted better when served in porcelain cups rather than ordinary mugs.

He also believed that every cup had a proper purpose.

"This one is for black tea," he explained one afternoon, holding up a narrow porcelain cup decorated with blue flowers. "That one is better suited to lighter blends."

"They're both cups."

He looked wounded.

"They are not the same cup."

"Do you think Morrow knows the difference?"

At the mention of its name, Morrow jumped onto the table and placed one paw directly inside the empty saucer.

Lucien closed his eyes.

"I refuse to answer that question."

I laughed so hard that I nearly spilled my tea.

After that, Lucien began to ask me questions about the village. He wanted to know which bakery made the best pastries, whether the market still sold the little honey cakes he remembered, and why the town had replaced its old clock with a newer one that chimed at the wrong time.

There was something strange about Lucien's loneliness. He had a beautiful home, a devoted butler, and enough books to keep me occupied for several lifetimes. Yet he behaved as though the smallest ordinary kindness was a gift he had forgotten how to receive.

When I brought him a packet of tea from the village, he examined it with the same seriousness he gave his antique porcelain.

"You remembered," he said.

"You told me you liked this blend."

"Yes, but that was several days ago."

"Lucien, it was three days."

"Precisely."

He put the packet away carefully.

I pretended not to notice how much it meant to him

"Have you come to investigate something else?"

"I came to ask whether you're all right."

He looked surprised.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Your aunt."

His expression changed.

I sat in the chair opposite him.

"You don't have to tell me everything. But I can tell something is wrong."

Lucien was silent for a while.

It was easy to forget the strange portraits, the locked doors, and the woman who had threatened him.

It was easy to forget that I was an employee sitting in the library of a man I barely understood.

Then Lucien reached for his cup, and I noticed a thin scratch across the back of his hand.

"You're injured."

He glanced down.

"It is nothing."

"Give me your hand."

He looked at me.

I held out mine.

After a moment, he placed his hand in it.

The scratch was small, barely more than a red line. I took a clean handkerchief from my pocket and gently wiped it.

"Was this Morrow?"

"Yes."

"What did you do to him?"

"I attempted to brush him."

I looked up.

"Without letting him sniff the brush first?"

"I was unaware this was a requirement."

"It is when you're dealing with a creature who believes everything in the world is trying to eat him."

He laughed softly.

The sound surprised me. It was quiet and unfamiliar, as though he rarely allowed it to escape.

I finished cleaning his hand but did not immediately release it.

His fingers were cool against mine.

"Why do you keep coming back here?" he asked.

I looked up.

"Because it's my job."

"That is not what I meant."

I knew that.

I looked down at our hands.

"When I first came here, I wanted the money. I needed it. And Morrow is adorable, even if he's a menace."

"Naturally."

"But now..." I hesitated. "Now I look forward to seeing you."

The words seemed to hang between us.

Lucien went very still.

I could feel my cheeks growing warm.

"You don't have to say anything," I added quickly. "I know this is strange. You're my employer, and I'm your cat-sitter, and perhaps I'm being foolish, but-"

"Lara."

I stopped.

He was still holding my hand.

"I am glad you come here."

His voice was so quiet that I almost missed it.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then Morrow leapt onto the table, knocked a spoon onto the floor, and began attacking the corner of a book.

I burst out laughing.

Lucien closed his eyes.

"I see the moment has passed."

"I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize. I suspect it would have happened eventually."

He rescued the book from Morrow and placed it safely on a higher shelf.

When I finally left the library, he walked me to the door.

"Good night, Lara."

"Good night, Lucien."

I hesitated.

Then I smiled at him.

He returned it.

It was a small thing.

I would remember it for a long time.

-

The following week, Lucien asked me to stop coming to the mansion.

He did it at the beginning of my shift.

I had barely taken off my coat when he appeared in the entrance hall, looking as though he had not slept.

"Lara. We need to speak."

I immediately knew something was wrong.

"All right."

He glanced toward Damian, who stood several paces away. The butler inclined his head and disappeared into another room.

Lucien waited until we were alone.

"I would like you to finish your current duties, but after today, you need not return."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"I will arrange your payment in full."

"Why?"

"It is better this way."

"For whom?"

He said nothing.

I felt something unpleasant tighten in my chest.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No."

"Then why are you firing me?"

"I am not dismissing you because of your work."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I know."

I waited for him to explain.

He did not.

I wanted to be angry. I wanted to tell him that he could not invite me into his life, make me feel that I mattered, and then send me away without even a reason.

Instead, I looked at the floor.

"Fine."

His expression tightened.

"Lara-"

"No. It's all right. I'll finish my shift."

I walked past him before he could say anything else.

Morrow greeted me by attacking my shoelaces.

I crouched and picked him up.

"At least someone is happy to see me."

He rubbed his face against my cheek.

I nearly cried.

I did not.

I had work to do.

I fed him, changed his water, cleaned his litter tray, and brushed his fur. I performed every task with the determination of someone who intended to leave with her dignity intact.

Everything took longer than usual.

Lucien stayed out of my way.

When we crossed paths in the corridor, he stepped aside. When I entered the sitting room, he found a reason to leave. The few words we exchanged were polite and painfully formal.

By late afternoon, I could no longer bear it.

I was sitting on the floor with Morrow in my lap when Lucien appeared in the doorway.

He looked at the kitten.

Then at me.

"I wanted to explain."

I kept brushing Morrow.

"Then explain."

His mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

I waited.

He looked as though he was fighting a battle with himself, and I hated that I could still recognize the signs of his discomfort.

Finally, he said, "There are things about this household you do not understand."

"Then tell me."

"I cannot."

"Won't."

He flinched.

The tiny movement hurt more than I expected.

I set the brush aside.

"Lucien, I don't need you to tell me every secret you've ever had. But you can't keep asking me to trust you while refusing to trust me at all."

His eyes met mine.

For a moment, I thought he would finally speak.

Then a crash shattered the window behind him.

Glass exploded across the room.

Lucien moved before I could even turn my head.

He seized my arm and pulled me down as a dark figure vaulted through the broken window. A blade flashed in the fading light.

Lucien shoved me behind the sofa.

"Stay there!"

The stranger attacked.

Steel struck steel with a sound that made my teeth ache. Lucien had produced a narrow blade from somewhere inside his coat, and he met the intruder with a speed that seemed impossible.

The stranger was dressed in dark clothing, his face concealed beneath a mask. He moved with trained precision, driving Lucien backward toward the fireplace.

I crouched behind the sofa, clutching Morrow against my chest.

My mind had become a collection of useless observations.

The window was broken.

The curtains were burning.

Lucien was bleeding.

The curtains were burning.

Lucien was bleeding.

Then the intruder's blade struck Lucien's side.

He staggered.

My breath caught.

"Lucien!"

His head turned toward me.

It was a mistake.

The attacker lunged.

Lucien twisted aside, caught the man's wrist, and drove him against the wall. The sound of the impact shook a painting loose from its hook.

The stranger tore free and raised his blade again.

Before either of them could move, three sharp knocks sounded at the front door.

Everyone stopped.

Even the intruder seemed startled.

A calm voice came from the entrance hall.

"How discourteous. One would think my family had taught you better manners."

Lady Eveline stepped into the room.

Behind her stood two more figures dressed in black.

Her crimson eyes moved from the broken window to the scattered glass, then to Lucien's bloodied side.

Finally, she looked at me.

"Ah. The stray is still here."

Lucien's expression became murderous.

"Leave her out of this."

"Then perhaps you should have sent her away when you had the opportunity."

Eveline stepped farther into the room.

"The family has grown tired of waiting, Lucien. You have refused the succession, withdrawn from our affairs, and hidden in this house as though the world has forgotten you. Yet you remain a legitimate obstacle."

"I have no interest in it."

"Your interest is irrelevant."

"I will not take the seat."

"Then someone else must ensure that you never have the opportunity."

The meaning settled over me like ice.

This was not a family argument.

It was an execution.

The first attacker moved again.

Lucien met him head-on.

He should not have been able to move like that.

No ordinary man could.

I watched him cross the room in a blur, seize an attacker by the collar, and throw him into a table hard enough to splinter its legs.

My heart hammered.

What was he?

The question was drowned by another crash.

A second attacker had circled around the furniture. He saw me behind the sofa and changed direction.

I tried to move.

There was nowhere to go.

He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the open.

"Lucien!" I screamed.

Lucien turned.

For the first time since the fight began, I saw fear in his face.

He crossed the distance between us before the attacker could raise his weapon. The blade meant for me struck Lucien instead.

He staggered, but his hand closed around the attacker's throat.

The man released me.

I fell to the floor.

Lucien threw him aside, but the movement cost him. He dropped to one knee, one hand pressed against his wound.

Blood darkened his shirt.

The room went silent except for the rain.

Eveline regarded him without sympathy.

"Look at you. All these years spent pretending you could abandon your nature, and you still bleed like the rest of us."

Lucien struggled to stand.

"Get out."

"Not without an answer."

"I have given you one."

"Then die with it."

The remaining attacker raised his weapon.

I saw Lucien try to move.

He was too slow.

I did the only thing I could think of.

I grabbed a heavy candlestick from the floor and struck the attacker across the side of his head.

The impact sent a shock through my arms.

The man stumbled.

Lucien seized the opportunity, knocking the weapon from his hand and driving him backward.

"Stay away from her!" Lucien roared.

I had never heard him shout before.

The sound seemed to shake the room.

For a heartbeat, the attackers hesitated.

Then one of them lunged again.

Lucien fought him off, but his movements had grown unsteady. His strength was failing. Blood dripped from his fingertips onto the carpet.

I scrambled toward him.

"Lucien!"

He turned, and I saw something in his eyes that made me stop.

His crimson irises had become brighter, almost luminous. His teeth were longer than they should have been, and the shadows around him seemed to move with his breathing.

He looked at me as though he had been waiting for this moment his entire life and dreading it just as long.

"Lara," he said. "You need to get away from me."

"Not a chance."

"You do not understand."

"Then explain!"

He looked toward Eveline. She was watching us with cold fascination.

Then he looked back at me.

"I am not human."

The words fell between us.

I stared at him.

Behind him, one of the attackers began to rise.

Lucien's expression twisted with pain.

"I am a vampire."

For a moment, the world seemed to stop.

The old portraits. The strange sleeping habits. The pale skin. The crimson eyes. His impossible speed.

Every rumor I had dismissed came rushing back.

I should have been terrified.

I was terrified.

But Lucien was bleeding on the floor, and the people trying to kill him were still standing.

"What do you need?" I asked.

He looked at me as though he had not understood the question.

"What?"

"You're injured. What do you need?"

His gaze dropped to my throat.

Then he immediately looked away.

"No."

"Lucien-"

"No. I will not."

He struggled to stand, but his knees nearly gave way.

"I need blood," he admitted, his voice rough. "It would restore my strength. But I cannot promise what will happen if I take yours."

The room seemed colder.

"You mean you want to drink my blood?"

"Yes."

He closed his eyes.

"But I will not force you. If you refuse, I will find another way."

I looked at the attackers.

One was struggling to stand. Another had recovered his weapon. Eveline remained near the doorway, watching as though she were waiting for a performance to reach its conclusion.

I looked back at Lucien.

The man who had poured tea for me. The man who had bought an absurdly expensive bed for a kitten who preferred cardboard. The man who had smiled at me in the library and then tried to send me away because he was afraid of what his family might do.

He was still Lucien.

Whatever else he was.

"Will it hurt?"

"Yes."

"Will you be able to stop?"

His eyes met mine.

"I will do everything in my power to stop."

It was not a comforting answer.

It was an honest one.

I reached for his hand.

His fingers were cold.

"Then trust me now."

He stared at me.

"Lara, you do not know what you are agreeing to."

"Neither do you."

A faint, broken laugh escaped him.

I squeezed his hand.

"I trust you, Lucien."

He bowed his head.

"Thank you."

He leaned toward me slowly, giving me time to pull away.

I did not.

His lips brushed my skin.

For one strange moment, nothing happened. Then I felt a sharp sting beneath my jaw, followed by a warmth that spread through my neck and into my chest.

I gripped his coat.

Lucien held me carefully, one hand resting against my back. He drank only for a few seconds, but time seemed to stretch around us.

Then he stopped.

He drew away immediately, his breathing unsteady.

"I'm sorry."

I touched my neck.

My fingers came away with a little blood.

"Are you all right?"

He stared at me.

Of all the questions I could have asked, that was the one that seemed to break something inside him.

He pressed his forehead briefly against mine.

"I should never have let you come here."

"Probably not."

A weak smile touched my lips.

"But I'm here now."

His eyes closed.

When he opened them, the crimson light in them was brighter than before.

He stood.

The change was immediate.

The pain vanished from his expression. His shoulders straightened, and the trembling in his hands ceased. He looked less like an injured man and more like something ancient that had finally remembered its own strength.

Eveline's smile disappeared.

"Lucien."

He turned toward her.

"Leave."

She lifted her chin.

"You cannot undo what has begun."

"No," he said. "But I can end this."

The last attacker charged.

Lucien met him in the center of the room.

I could barely follow the fight now. He moved with terrifying speed, disarming one man before the second could strike. He turned aside a blade, drove its wielder backward, and sent him crashing through the already damaged doorway.

The first attacker tried to flee.

Lucien caught him by the collar and threw him toward the entrance.

"Tell the family," he said, his voice low and cold, "that I have refused the succession once. I will refuse it again."

The man scrambled away.

Eveline stood motionless.

Her eyes moved from Lucien to me.

There was something calculating in her expression, but beneath it lay a thin thread of anger.

"You have made an interesting choice, nephew."

Lucien stepped between us.

"Do not threaten her."

"I have not threatened anyone."

"You have done enough."

For a moment, I thought she might attack him herself.

Instead, Eveline smoothed the sleeve of her gown.

"This is not over."

"No," Lucien replied. "It is not."

She turned and walked toward the entrance. Her remaining companion followed her, and soon their footsteps disappeared into the storm.

The front door closed.

Silence fell over the mansion.

The world I had understood yesterday no longer existed. I had learned that monsters could drink tea, that kindness could hide behind cold manners, and that the people who seemed most frightening were not always the ones who meant to hurt me.

I did not know what Eveline wanted from the family.

I did not know why she had sent that strange paper into the mansion, or what she intended to do next.

And I did not know what Lucien's bite would mean for me.

But I knew that when he had asked me to trust him, I had chosen to do so.

Perhaps that had been foolish.

Perhaps tomorrow I would regret it.

Then I turned back toward the vampire beside me.

For a moment, we simply looked at each other. Then I reached for his hand.

“You're going to need more than tea to make up for this.”

He stared at me, then let out a quiet, exhausted laugh.

Morrow appeared from beneath a fallen chair, apparently unimpressed by the destruction. It padded over and climbed into Lucien's lap.

He stroked its head.

“Even now, it prefers you.”

“Perhaps you should try harder.”

“I have been trying for some time.”

“With the kitten?”

He looked at me, and I smiled.

Lucien held my hand as Morrow curled against his chest.

For now, that was enough.