Lucien Ashford's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

Lucien walked fast down the street, dresses folded under his arm. He hoped the trembling would pass. Then he heard boots behind him. He looked back. The two men from the shop were following. The dark one in black. The blond in the white shirt. They grinned like the hunt had just started. "Sweetheart," the blond called. "Why run? We only want to talk." His name, he shouted, was Axel Cross. The dark one laughed low beside him. "And I'm Dante Steele. Slow down for us." Lucien did not slow. He walked quicker. His heart kicked, and the charm at his throat warmed. He hated that. It was not fear that woke his blood. It was their eyes on him. Two men, hungry, chasing. Some traitor part of the girl's body liked it. He clenched his jaw and pushed the feeling down. But they gained. Dante caught his shoulder and spun him. "There she is," Dante said, close enough that Lucien felt his breath. The charm flared hot, sharp against his skin. Too hot. Lucien's face burned. One more heartbeat of this and the change would lock forever. He ran. He darted past a wagon and cut behind a broad storage building. Long metal doors lined its side, blue and red and green, all shut tight. He ducked into the gap between two of them and pressed his back to the cold steel. He fought his breath quiet. The charm scorched his neck like a coal. Boots pounded closer. "Where'd she go?" Axel called. Lucien shut his eyes. He remembered his brothers' laughing faces. He remembered the manor, the wasteland sand, the cold at dawn. He pictured everything but the two men. Slowly the heat in the charm dropped. His blood went still as stone. The men rounded the corner. They stood ten feet off, breathing hard, scanning the doors. Dante's eyes passed right over him. But now Lucien felt nothing. No pull. No answer in his body. The charm stayed cool. He had killed the wanting, and their heat found nothing to grab. "Cold trail," Dante spat. "She's gone." Axel kicked a loose stone. "Waste of a chase." They turned and walked back the way they came. Their boots faded. Lucien stayed pressed to the steel until the street went silent. Then he slid down and sat in the dirt. His hands had stopped shaking. He touched the charm. Cold. He had done it. Not by running. By emptying himself while the danger stood right in front of him. He understood now what the year would cost. He could not just avoid men like those two. He would have to face them and feel nothing. That was the real test of a man's will. He stood, brushed off the dust, and picked up his dresses. His brothers thought him soft. Let them. He had held stone-still with wolves at his throat. That was strength they had never shown. In the end they found Lucian and he almost started to give in.