“What?”
“Markus came to me. He stopped me from crushing your windpipe.”
She shook her head. “You wouldn’t have. You would have woken up first. I know it.” She swatted his hand away when he feathered the tips of his fingers down her throat. She needed to distract him. “Did you, uh, take advantage and visit with him? Did you tell him how much you miss him? Did he tell you not to let his death do this to you? Did he? Did you talk to him, Lucian? He would have told you. If he loved you, he would have told you not to hurt yourself by sending me away.” She wanted to cover his face. “You are, aren’t you? I can see that look in your eyes. Don’t send me away. Please. I don’t want to leave you.” She didn’t. Not ever. “I thought I did, but I don’t.”
She shoved off him and stumbled to her feet, her body starting to shake.
“Please, don’t. You don’t know how many times I’ve seen that look in my lifetime. I hate it. I hate it. What did I do to have it aimed at me so often?” She coughed the lump out of her throat. “I don’t want to see it in your beautiful eyes.” She shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself as she spun away when it didn’t leave those amber depths she wanted to look into every day for the rest of her life. “Don’t send me back, Lucian. I love you, and I know I can help you. Please let me. Please,” she begged roughly, her throat aching with the need to cry.
She allowed him a full minute, finding encouragement in his silence.
“I love you,” she repeated in a stronger tone, finding it easier to say the second time. “What happened is something we’ll get past. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you through this. If you’ll let me.”
Aside from Miranda, she’d never said those three words to a single soul. She turned to see what Lucian’s reaction was to them.
She was alone.
TWENTY-SIX
A few hours later, Lucian stood in the open doorway of the castle, cold air pouring in from outside. He watched Sorin bring Yasmeen down the last few steps and across the foyer, and nodded sharply when Sorin said he’d wait in the car.
Yasmeen didn’t say anything. She just stood there and looked up at him with an expression that never should have entered her eyes, but must have so many times in her short life. The evidence of his violence against her was covered by a silky black scarf that perfectly matched her black outfit of boots, leggings, sweater, and wrap. She appeared to be in mourning. Weren’t they all?
He bent and pressed his lips to her forehead, taking only a small portion of her scent in because his breathing was oddly labored. “I wish you a beautiful life, Yasmeen.” When he dropped his hand, the collar he’d locked around her neck was in it, a small key fitted into the hidden lock.
Her tears fell. “Lucian,” she whispered as she came up on her toes and nearly strangled him with a hug that was almost childish in its desperation. “Why won’t you let me help you?”
“Because there is no help for me, draga.”
“Yes, there is. I know there is.” She stroked his cheeks, and he felt an odd sense of wonder as he studied her distress. Because it wasn’t for her. She was feeling this for him. “I’m sorry I told you how I feel. Please forgive me and let me stay with you.”
He put her away from him and took her hands off his face. Hearing her utter the words that had sent him fleeing from the kitchen earlier had felt as if someone had driven a spike right through the center of his body. The impact had sent cracks spider-webbing outward, and his protective shell had been crumbling away faster than ever.
“You are forgiven. But, no. It is time for you to go. I have realized, as others have before me…” It was time to end this once and for all. He looked right into her exquisite face and delivered a cruelty even he hadn’t thought himself capable of, but one he was only now realizing was necessary. He discharged the weapon she’d herself had given him. “You are just not what I am looking for, Yasmeen.”
It was as if her beautiful body turned to glass and he could see streams of