Page 43 of Wicked Chains
"Perhaps. But now you don't have to deal with Helena Wickersly on top of everything else." He studies me. "You should be more careful with your magic, Rose. There is a reason the covens want it, but it’s unpredictable until you know how to control it properly."
"No shit," I mutter. "Look, thanks, I guess. But now Thorne is going to cause problems for you too."
Lucien shrugs. "I am not concerned about Helena Wickersly or the idle threats of a spoiled, immature witch."
"Well, you should be. Helena's been looking for any excuse to assert her authority over everyone. And now Thorne thinks we're..." I trail off, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
"Involved?" Lucien supplies. "And would that be so terrible?"
"That's not the point." I shake my head. "The point is, I don't need you fighting my battles for me. I can take care of myself. I've been doing it my whole life."
"Whether you want my help or not is irrelevant," Lucien says. "It will be there when you need it."
"Why?" I demand, suddenly frustrated. "Why do you care what happens to me? I thought you were just Victoria Wickersly's lapdog. Now you're Ash's. So what's your angle here? What do you want from me?"
Lucien is quiet for a moment, looking out over the campus grounds where the preparations continue. When he finally speaks, what he says surprises me.
"I honestly don't know."
It catches me off guard.
"Maybe you've bewitched me, Rose Smith," he continues with a wry smile. "Perhaps you've cast some spell that compels me."
I can't help but laugh at that. "Right. I can barely pull together a summoning. I highly doubt I've bewitched you."
"And yet." His eyes meet mine. "Here I am."
Hank chooses that moment to poke his head out of my pocket, croaking softly. Lucien glances down.
"Your amphibian companion seems to be enjoying our conversation."
"Hank's just being nosy," I say, gently nudging the frog back into my pocket. "He’s my little chaperone."
"Speaking of proper supervision," Lucien says, his tone shifting back to disapproval, "you're out here without a coat again. It's November in New England, Rose. The temperature is barely above freezing."
I roll my eyes. "Stop worrying about me. I'm a grown woman. I can decide for myself whether I need a coat or not."
"Oh, I'm very aware that you're a grown woman," Lucien says, and the way his gaze travels over me makes me feel hot all over, despite the cold air. "That doesn't change the fact that you're being deliberately careless with your health."
"You know," I say, finding my footing again, “you're weirdly fixated on how warm I am."
"You would be amazed at the things I've seen people die from over the centuries, including exposure to the cold," he replies. "Stubbornness ranks quite high on the list, as well."
Lucien checks his watch, an elegant timepiece that looks like it’s quite old, and quite valuable. "I have matters to attend to before tomorrow's festivities. Try to stay out of trouble for the remainder of the day, if that's possible for you."
"No promises," I say.
He shakes his head. "I would expect nothing less." His eyes meet mine one last time. "Don't forget about my coat, Rose. If you’re not going to wear it, perhaps you can return it to me, in my quarters. Later."
As he walks away, all perfect posture and sinewy grace, I can't help but stare. That sounded a lot like an invitation. Even as I tell myself I shouldn't be thinking about taking his coat back to his room, about what might happen if I did, I know the thought will bother me for the rest of the day.
Hank squeaks judgmentally from my pocket.
"I know," I tell him. "But in my defense, my life is a complete disaster right now, so I think I'm entitled to make questionable decisions."
Another croak.
"You're right. Let's go inside before I do something stupid like chase after a vampire working for my enemy."
