I haven’t seen another human being in days—since Ain drove me back from Clary. When we got here, I asked him to take a few days off and have most of the household do the same. With pay, of course. I kept a skeleton crew: a part-time groundskeeper, two security guards, two watchman who monitor traffic.
Since then I’ve been feeling…strange.
I can’t settle. Not hungry. Can’t sleep. I don’t want to shower, lift, ride, shoot, or even check my phone. I’ve been getting texts, snaps, and emails—and ignoring them all.
I drop the towel around my waist and pull on black lounge pants. I think of Lucy as I reach for the decanter on the bathroom counter.
I see her bruised face as I take a nice, long pull of whiskey. It’s Maith, a local brand that is my favorite. I can’t feel it really, but the twitch around my left eye settles, so I guess it’s done its job.
I rub the towel over my hair, walk into my room, and lie on my back across my bed, facing the canopy. It’s dark green, like a forest. I shut my eyes and try to see a forest, not her face.
I should really try to sleep…
Instead, I hear Lucy’s ghost voice in my ear. Strange how I miss her. As if I know her. As if she knows me. Loneliness is strange, though.
I’m not calling. Not anymore. It’s better not to, with what’s going on.
In lieu of human contact, I navigate to Audible and select a book: The Necessary Death of Lewis Winter by Malcolm Mackay. It’s a relief to hear another person’s voice, after hours of nothing but birds outside my window and the swish of fabric. I let my eyelids sag as I follow the narrator’s words. So I’m confused when I hear someone else’s voice come over his.
I push up on my elbow. My eyes settle on the speaker in the wall beside my dresser. I hear static, but whatever was said to me, I missed.
I get down off the bed and press the button. “Yes?” I ask. My voice is scratchy from disuse.
“Prince Liam. There you are! You have a visitor.”
“I…what?”
“A young lady. She says you’re friends.”
*
Lucy
Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! I am such a moron.
Why am I here?
What am I doing?
I’ll tell you what I’m doing: I’m sipping tea from a dainty, off-white teacup while Grey licks his paws on the rug beside me.
Yes, that’s right. My cat and me, just chilling here at Haugr Castle. Why is it called that, anyway? What the hell does it mean? It sounds like the lair of some evil, part-gargoyle overlord.
I look around the room, which has obscenely tall ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows adorned with flowing, gold curtains, and, in between the windows, ornate bookshelves. I’ve been glancing over them, and I haven’t seen a paperback spine yet.
Obviously not, Einstein. They’re royals. They’re going to have hardbacks.
I take a sip of my tea, which the man wearing navy blue dress pants and a stiff, starched shirt told me was flavored with local honey.
I should leave now. Would they let me leave? They probably would. I give Grey a wide-eyed look, and he meows.
I’m not sure why, but this makes me laugh. It sounds strange and over-bearing in the pinprick silence. I rub my forehead, feeling like a lunatic, and cast my gaze to the rug. It’s oriental. Real, of course. I like the colors: robin’s egg blue, cream, brown, and red. It doesn’t strike me as new, but its hairs—what are the damn things? Not hairs. Fibers?—look shiny and soft, as if it’s been well cared for.
Grey shifts, curling into a ball, and I cringe a little. When—if—Liam gets here, will he be upset I brought my cat inside?
He seemed so nice that night, but I don’t really know him. Not at all.
This is why you don’t have one-night stands. Not without a birth control implant. Nitwit.
I rub my damp palm on my dress and let my gaze rise to the ceiling. There’s a gorgeous, crystal—or diamond—chandelier hanging from the center of the room. My eyes rove the walls again, noting that the bookshelves aren’t built-ins. They’re real: thick and sturdy, made of glossy mahogany. Just above them is the walls’ crown molding: thick and pale gray.
As my heart begins to pound again, Grey jumps onto the couch, arching his back.
“You want to go?” I murmur.
He blinks.
Done.
I scoop him up. I set my teacup down. I’ll come back another day. I can tell Liam…something. It’s too soon to tell him I’m knocked up.
I suck a breath in. My head spins. As I take a step toward the row of open doors that led me from the hallway into this room, I hear footsteps.
I turn just in time to see him come into the rear doorway.
Prince Liam.
A bolt of heat sears through me as my eyes run up and down him. Gorgeous body. Black lounge pants hanging from his hips, a ratty white t-shirt stretched across his chest. And that face. That regal-perfect face. His luscious lips pressed flat in surprise, heavy brows drawn low over his beautiful eyes. His hair is swept up on his head, still long, still that gorgeous cinnamon color streaked with honey.
After the confused frown, his eyes widen in shock. He shakes his head, walking toward me as a grin spreads over his face.
“Lucy…”
He laughs, a hearty chuckle that reverberates through the library. Then he’s coming toward me and I’m too surprised to move. He wraps an arm around my back and pulls me to him. I smell something spicy, almost like liquor, before I feel the sturdy heat of him. His squeeze is gentle. Caring. I feel his face against my hair, feel the tenor of his low voice echo through my belly as he murmurs, “You smell good.”
His fingers thread through my pony-tail, fingertips pressing lightly against the back of my head. When he pulls away, he’s grinning like he just got crowned king.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Lucy?”
I feel my face flame. “I…was in the neighborhood?”
He shakes his head, laughing that low, rich, sexy laugh before his brows scrunch thoughtfully. “Are you okay? You look okay.” His lips press flat. “Sit down.” He urges me toward the couch, then does a funny little smile-smirk when his eyes land on Grey. “Is that your cat?”
“Um…yeah. I’m sorry. I hope you’re not allergic to cats.”
“No.” He kneels down, hand outstretched toward Grey. “Girl or guy cat?”
“Guy. Grey is his name.”
His eyes flicker to mine. “The book?”
“The Oscar Wilde one.”
“Dorian Gray?”
I nod.
His brows lift, and I can’t help laughing. “That’s not true. It’s for the Fifty Shades of Grey books.”
He shakes his head, looking amused. “You are a surprise, Lucille Rhodes.”
“A surprise visitor.” I give him a shaky smile as Grey arches up against Liam’s big hand. “I wanted to skip town for a little while. I thought I’d go to Ireland and Scotland, but then I decided to tour Gael first. I thought it might be a little more under the radar.”