Page 78 of Luna

The bed itself is a not the old fashioned four poster bed I’ve been using, but a low platform frame in dark wood, topped with sheets so black they seem to absorb light. The bedding looks sinfully soft, a mix of high thread count cotton and what appears to be silk.

Lucien strides over to the wall opposite the bed and presses a button on a small remote. A set of sleek black-out blinds raise up, casting interesting shadows across the room. When they are all the way up, a floor to ceiling window offers a panoramic view of the grounds, currently obscured by the night and the rain.

Lucien is standing by a minimalist desk of glass and chrome that sits in one corner. He is watching me carefully.

“This is your room,” I say. It’s not a question.

Lucien nods. “It is.”

I try to fold my arms then remember how much my shoulder hurts.

“You’re bleeding,” he says as his tongue moistens his fangs. “I can taste it in the air.”

“My foot.” I gesture to my dirty feet. I’m still shivering.

“I’ll run you a bath.” He moves toward a large, frosted glass screen and I step sideways so I can see what’s behind it. Of course, it’s a sunken bathtub. Gloriously deep. He turns the taps and steam instantly fills the room. “Then I’ll fix you up.”

“Shouldn’t we talk?” I sit on the edge of the bed, unable to keep standing for much longer.

“About?”

“The shadows.” I tuck a strand of dripping wet hair behind my ear. “What they did when you rescued me.”

Lucien’s eyes flicker with those familiar red freckles. “You saw.”

“Of course, I saw.”

“You’ve seen them do that before? Move unnaturally? Do things they shouldn’t?”

I bite my lower lip. “Maybe.”

“We will talk,” Lucien says dismissively. “But not now. First, we fix you.”

He stands in front of me, then peels off his clothes. I try to look away but can’t help the way my body reacts to the sight of him – naked, and damp, and beautiful.

Because that is the only word for it; beautiful.

When he drops his pants, I move closer and ask him to help me undress.

He unfastens my jeans, then stoops down as he eases them over my hips and helps me step out of them. My panties are next, and he pauses at the top of my thighs, his face tantalizingly close to my pussy.

Less than an hour ago, I hated him. I’d vowed never to talk to him again. To remember he’s a liar, and a monster, and that he can’t be trusted. But like this – close to him – I don’t know how to resist him.

The memory of the way he spoke to me is fading. This seems like the real Lucien.

When Steven was nice to me, it was fake. It felt like a mask, a game, an act. I knew what lay beneath his smile. When my father treated me with kindness, it was because he felt guilty for hurting my mother or for shouting at me.

Their kindness was fake.

With Lucien, it seems the other way around; as if he’s been trying to act like the big, tough vampire all this time when really he just wants to be loved.

I close my eyes and almost laugh at myself. For fuck’s sake, Luna. Can you hear yourself?

When I open them, he is studying my sweater as if he’s unsure how to remove it without hurting me. “Turn around,” he says.

I obey him without hesitating, doing an excellent job of remembering that he is an evil monster who kidnapped me.

I feel his fingers on the hem of the sweater. They take hold of the fabric, then pull in opposite directions. Holy hell. He is ripping my sweater off me.