Page 2 of Claimed

I blink at him. His lips didn’t move but I heard the words. “Kinda creepy,” I laugh, leaning forward as he kisses me. “Does it let me read your mind?”

“Definitely not,” Lucien says sternly.

“Well that’s a shame because you promised to explain everything,” I remind him, my voice stronger than I expected. “Last night, you said⁠—”

“I know what I said.” His eyes meet mine, flecks of crimson dancing in them as candlelight catches his face. “And I will keep my word.”

I glance at the windows. I can’t help wishing we could fling open the curtains and allow the morning sun to filter into the room. Stay lazily in bed together the way a normal couple would.

But even as I think it, I remind myself I’d rather have what I have with Lucien than ‘normal’.

I had normal once.

Except it wasn’t.

Steven and I had lazy Sunday mornings in the beginning, but they turned into prickly silence and loneliness.

I mean, that silly romance stuff doesn’t last, does it? So, why should it matter that Lucien can’t go walking with me hand in hand by the river on a sunny day or wrap his arms around my waist as I stare out at the blossom on a spring morning?

I inhale slowly. He’s been talking to me but I was lost in my own thoughts.

“Luna?”

As he says my name, I notice something odd in my peripheral vision. The shadows in the corner of the room seem to shift, responding to the flutter of anxiety in my chest. When I turn to look directly at them, they settle back into place – as if they’d never moved at all.

Lucien follows my gaze, his expression unreadable. Then he says, “The shadows?”

“Do you see them too?”

He nods.

“They’ve been doing that. Moving when they shouldn’t.” I sit up straighter and set down my coffee next to his. I move to take his hand, but flinch as I do. I look down and notice my arms are bruised, but I know the marks aren’t from Lucien; they’re from Trent. Remnants of last night.

“You’re hurt.” Lucien growls as he gently lifts my arm to inspect the bruises. A shiver of rage makes his jaw twitch. “Let me help you.”

“I’ll be okay.” I want to tell him to carry on talking about the shadows. I don’t want him to use this as a distraction or a tactic to delay telling me what I need to know.

“Luna.” He fixes his gaze on mine. “Let me fix this. This isn’t part of you. This isn’t your pain to carry. It was Trent’s. He inflicted it on you and it doesn’t belong here.”

I bite my lower lip. The extra level of pain is making it hard to think straight, but I don’t want to reach for my painkillers; especially as I know they won’t really touch the sides of the way I’m aching.

Slowly, I nod and whisper, “Okay. Thank you.”

Raising his wrist to his mouth, Lucien bites down on it hard. Instantly, blood pools beneath his lips and the scent does something to me. It makes my cheeks flush and my thighs tingle. I watch, transfixed, as Lucien strokes his fingers through the deep red liquid, then tells me to lie down.

I lie back on the pillows.

“Pull the sheets down,” Lucien instructs me.

I do as I’m told, and my nipples stiffen as they meet the cold air.

Lucien notices, and a smile quirks his upper lip. Playfully, in a movement that surprises me, he smears some blood onto my left nipple. My eyes widen, and he grins. Then he sucks it off, making me sigh with pleasure.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ll focus.”

This time, as if he’s massaging oils into my body, he gently rubs blood onto each bruise, and scratch, and blemish.

As they fade, so does the ache.