Page 63 of Claws for Celebration
"You're brooding," she said without turning around. "I can practically feel the storm clouds gathering over there."
His panther stirred restlessly beneath his skin, responding to the underlying tension in her voice despite her attempt at lightness. "Can you blame me?"
She turned then, leaning against the bookshelf with her arms crossed, and the sight of her nearly undid him. She wore one of his flannel shirts over leggings, the fabric hanging loose on her smaller frame, and the domesticity of it hit him. This could be their last night together like this. Their last night of pretending that tomorrow wouldn't change everything.
"Come here," he said, his voice rougher than intended.
She padded over in her stocking feet, settling onto the arm of his chair with an ease that spoke of growing intimacy. Her hand found its way to his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands in a gesture that had become second nature to both of them.
"Talk to me," she murmured. "What's going through that complicated head of yours?"
He caught her hand, pressing it flat against his chest where his heart hammered against his ribs. "I keep thinking about all the things I should have said. All the time we might have wasted being careful with each other."
"Lucien." Her voice carried a warning, but he pressed on.
"No, let me say this." He shifted, pulling her down into his lap, needing her closer. "I know we agreed not to make this about fear, but I can't pretend I'm not terrified of losing you."
She cupped his face in her hands, thumbs tracing the sharp line of his cheekbones. "You're not going to lose me."
"You can't promise that." The words tasted bitter. "Tomorrow, when you're channeling that much power, when you're opening yourself up to energies that could tear you apart from the inside..." He stopped, jaw clenching as his panther snarled in protest at even voicing the possibility.
"Then we make tonight count," she said simply.
For a long moment, they just looked at each other. The bookstore felt like a sanctuary around them, filled with the accumulated wisdom of centuries and the quiet magic that haddrawn them together from the very beginning. Here, surrounded by leather-bound volumes and the faint scent of sage and old paper, they had built something precious.
"I have something I need to ask you," Moira said suddenly, her voice taking on a careful quality that made every muscle in his body tense.
"I don't like the sound of that."
She took a shaky breath. "If something goes wrong tomorrow. If the ritual doesn't work the way we hope, and I don't make it back..." She held up a hand when he started to protest. "I need you to promise me that you'll find happiness. That you won't close yourself off from the possibility of love again."
His panther roared its rejection so loudly that for a moment, he couldn't speak past the fury rising in his throat. When he finally found his voice, it came out as a low growl.
"No."
"Lucien—"
"No." He stood abruptly, setting her on her feet, and began pacing the narrow aisle between bookshelves. "You don't get to ask that of me. You don't get to sit there and plan out my life after you're gone like you're already dead."
"I'm trying to be practical?—"
"Practical?" He spun to face her, and she took a step back at whatever she saw in his expression. "There is nothing practical about asking me to replace you. There is nothing reasonable about expecting me to move on like you never mattered."
"That's not what I meant." Her voice was small, uncertain in a way that made his protective instincts surge.
He closed the distance between them in two strides, backing her against the bookshelf with careful intensity. His hands braced on either side of her head, caging her in without touching her, letting her feel the barely leashed power in his frame.
"Let me make something very clear," he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made her breath hitch. "I didn't spend thirty-four years avoiding emotional entanglements just to stumble into something casual with you. What we have isn't replaceable. You aren't replaceable."
Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated with something that might have been fear or arousal or both. "I just want to know you'll be okay?—"
"I'll be okay when you come back to me." His thumb traced her lower lip, and she shivered. "Not before. So instead of asking me to plan for a future without you, how about you promise me you'll fight like hell to make sure that future never happens?"
"Lucien..." She was trembling now, and he gentled his touch, his hands sliding down to rest on her waist.
"Promise me," he said again, softer but no less intense. "Promise me you'll use every ounce of power, every trick you’ve been taught, every stubborn bone in your body to come back to me."
"I promise," she whispered, and the words seemed to settle something wild in his chest.
