His library was extensive with books in both English and Mandarin, but the fastidious tidiness hinted the long hours were held at bay by finding things to polish, wax, and wipe.

“What are you doing down there?”

I squeaked and looked up, my gaze skimming up a pair of black-clad long legs.

Lucien towered over me, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His long hair kissed his upturned collar, slightly messy as if he’d run his hands through it before coming to find me.

Holding up the thin rag I’d been using to pull through the tiny gaps of his intricately carved coffee table, I blinked innocently. “Doing what you told me to do.”

Stepping back a little, he commanded, “Get up.”

My heart kicked, drenching my system in a rush of adrenaline.

A steady pounding pressed against my temples the longer I looked up at him. The more he glowered, the more my pulse flurried beneath his fierce attention.

Swallowing hard, I begged my body to behave as I scrambled upright and balled my hands.

As expected, I had a few seconds of feeling okay before my vision went black, my ears rang, and the need to fall back down again made me sway.

I tripped.

Strong, warm hands locked around my elbows, keeping me upright. His thumbs dug into my forearms, his intake of breath ever so close as he stepped into me. “What’s wrong with you?”

My vision rushed back but the pain in my head grew worse, thanks to him touching me.

How long had it been since another human, male or female, had put their hands on me? My father’s distracted squeeze a few days before he died? My mother’s hurried kiss as she rushed to the lab?

Apart from them, no one had touched me in almost a decade.

And yet, this man...he’d been on top of me—if only for a few minutes. He’d had his hand on my throat more than once—if only to let me go. He’d touched me with violence, annoyance, wariness, and hate, but right now...right now his touch shook just a little, his fingers digging painfully tight.

Our gazes locked but he didn’t let me go. His thumbs pressed a little harder as if blaming me for this uncomfortable connection. The corners of his mouth turned down as if he didn’t know what to feel.

He’d asked me a question, but I forgot how to answer.

Time webbed around us as my heart palpitated.

In the outside world, he’d be classified as the villain through and through. He’d killed multiple women and held my life in his palm, and yet...I couldn’t see him as the bad guy—not entirely at least.

Clearing his throat, he finally muttered, “Are you going to fall down if I let you go?”

I swallowed and shook my head, wincing a little at the pressure.

Unlocking his hands, he released me, stepping back as if our closeness stung him.

Squeezing the back of his nape, he sucked in a breath as if to speak then just shook his head and prowled off.

I watched him go, unable to take my eyes off his lean, lethal body. At some point, he’d donned his coat. Unbuttoned, it flared around his legs like black wings, snapping at the furniture as he moved past.

Disappearing into the kitchen, he returned a moment later with something in his left hand.

Whisper jumped down from the couch where he’d been napping all afternoon. Yawning and revealing glistening ivory teeth, he grunted and headbutted Lucien’s hip as he moved past the dopey jungle cat.

Lucien’s lips flicked into a smile before he smothered it with another scowl.

Marching barefoot back to me, he held out his hand. “Here.”

Whisper trailed him, looking between both of us as if trying to understand where the sudden tension had come from.

I narrowed my eyes and made no move to take whatever Lucien wanted to give me.

Exhaling heavily, he grabbed my wrist and shoved the earthen jar into my palm. “Your reward for surviving such gruelling labour.”

My skin sparked and warmed beneath his hold, greedy for touch even if it was from him. Letting me go, he rubbed his fingers as if he’d felt the same tingle then shoved both hands behind his back.

Running a finger over the label, I whispered, “Pear-blossom wine?”

“You smelled of it when you—” He cleared his throat and looked away. “When you helped me the other night.”

My nipples pebbled, remembering the icy shock of wine soaking into my shirt as Whisper knocked me down and dragged me into Lucien’s bedroom.

“I assumed you liked it,” he added softly.

“You assumed correctly.”

He nodded stiffly as if this was the first time he’d ever given something to someone that wasn’t a grave. “Good. Then take it.”

I fumbled for something to say. To ask why he’d rewarded me, but all I could think about was how he’d looked that night in his room. How pain etched his skin, and agony drenched him in sweat. How he’d burned and groaned and clutched me as if I was the only thing keeping him alive.

My skipping heart forgot entirely how to beat as my gaze tangled with his, drifting down his throat to lock onto the black shirt hiding the silver disc embedded in his chest. “Do you feel pain like that often?”

He bared his teeth. “Why? Next time will you try to kill me instead of help me?”

“Your lack of trust that I’m not here to kill you is getting old.”

“You’re annoyed at me for protecting myself?”

“I’m annoyed at your paranoia.”

Anger flared in his eyes. “Is it paranoia when everyone proves me right?”

I sucked in a breath.

How would that feel? Living in a world where everyone he’d ever known had betrayed him?

My heart hurt and I deliberately changed the subject. “How did I help you?”

He braced himself as if the question stabbed right in his vulnerability. His jaw worked as if he contemplated refusing to answer but then he admitted, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

He shook his head. For a second, it looked like he’d say something else—to give me the answers I was desperate for—but he coughed and cut around me. His voice sailed like snow over his shoulder. “Leave.”

The word landed heavy and final.

He vanished down the corridor leading toward his bedroom.

Whisper gave me a feline version of a shrug, then stalked after his master, leaving me alone with my hard-earned wine and a heart full of questions.

Chapter Twenty-Six

SOMEHOW, ANOTHER TWO WEEKS PASSED.

Another fourteen days of being summoned in the morning, given tasks to complete around the palace, and constantly aware of Lucien watching me.

He was everywhere, even when he was nowhere.

I sensed him around every corner, in every shadow.

His very existence seemed tethered to my own. There was something about him that was too much—too dark, too depressed, too cold and quiet and calculating. But there was also something else too...something that only grew stronger, deeper, and harder to ignore the more time I spent with him.

On the rare moments where I managed to look at him without him noticing, I’d catch sight of his ever-present hatred and rage. He ached with his imprisonment. He throbbed with helpless frustration. But beneath all of that, he hurt.

He hurt every second of every day and my wariness of him somehow switched over those two weeks from fearing for my life to fearing for his. Whenever he thought I was in another room, obeying his command to sweep and mop and dust, I’d occasionally sneak back to see what he did on his own.

The first time I’d spied on him, I’d had to slap both hands over my mouth to prevent myself from asking if he was okay. He’d been sitting on the window seat—one of his favourite spots—and his face turned white. His lips pressed tight together; his hand clutching his heart as if he could rip out the silver disc embedded in his chest. He groaned low and long, sweat rolling from his hairline and glittering on his cheeks.