Claimed by the Prince of Darkness novel Chapter 92

Chapter 92: What she leaves behind

Ruelle’s heart hitched at the look in Lucian’s eyes, more than at the words he spoke or the grip on her hand, which had tightened and gone unnoticed by both of them.

Having spent enough time together in the same space, it was rare to see Lucian’s eyes carry such an intensity that she couldn’t look away. And though she seemed to be drawn towards it, she felt like if she got closer it would burn her.

"You don’t..." Ruelle swallowed the tension forming in her throat.

Lucian’s gaze did not leave her face. When he spoke next, it was low and controlled, too calm.

"Is that so?" he asked quietly. "Then tell me. Do you reach for anyone whose hair is wet?"

Ruelle finally realised how she had stepped into his space without his consent. She apologised, "I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—I just saw the water dripping—"

"Uncomfortable?" Lucian repeated, his eyes darkening slightly.

Pureblooded vampires didn’t like to be touched by humans and Ruelle had seen it enough to know. She didn’t know what had overcome her for creating that mistake and making him angry. She tried to shift her wrist, but it only drew his attention. It was subtle, but his fingers tightened.

She whispered, "My hand... Lucian."

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Lucian questioned, and Ruelle’s eyes widened before she shook her head. The grip of his hand loosened, but he didn’t let go.

"I never said that," Ruelle said softly. She noticed his wet shirt sticking to the planes of his muscles. Her fingers curled against her skirt, and she murmured, "Sorry."

His eyes never moved, but there were fractions of changes like the grim expression and he asked,

"Do you know what you are apologising for?"

"I...I thought I had upset you for touching you..." Ruelle replied.

Lucian released her wrist at last, and only then did she realise how warm her skin had turned beneath his fingers. She then heard him speak.

"I am not upset," a faint frown drawing between his eyebrows, his words steady against the pitter-patter of rain. Then his gaze sharpened, "But never do that with others. Not with men who will misunderstand it. Not every man will stop to consider that it was kind."

Ruelle drew in a slow breath. The rain softened outside, the steady sound filling the space he had left open. He wasn’t scolding or angry at her. Instead, he was warning her. It was just that she had grown comfortable with him.

Lucian was Lucian to her.

She lowered her gaze in thought. Then she nodded before replying, "I wouldn’t do that with others."

"Good," Lucian replied.

Ruelle rose and turned away with the towel.

"I cannot imagine how this evening would have ended," Lucian muttered under his breath, "had that idiot not been buried in assignments."

Ruelle climbed onto the couch and drew her legs beneath her. She watched Lucian move about the room after he set the fireplace.

And without notice, he shrugged off his wet shirt before dropping it on the floor. She quickly looked away. Usually they weren’t this close to each other when they changed, and if it was her, she always stepped behind the wooden divider.

She focused on the crackle of the fire and the room warmed by degrees. But her gaze curiously strayed.

She noticed the lines of his back as he reached for dry clothes. His back muscles shifted beneath his skin still slick from the rain. Water gathered briefly along the ridge of his spine before disappearing into the waistband of his trousers. When he moved, the motion was smooth.

For a fleeting thought, she could only imagine that Lucian was likely the sort of figure artists dreamed of capturing. She looked away before she could be caught staring, she chastised herself.

The following morning, a letter was delivered to the room addressed to Ruelle. It was from her mother. She unfolded it carefully before reading.

My dearest Ruelle,

I hope this letter finds you well. The season has grown cold and with Christmas drawing near, we thought it would be lovely to gather the family and celebrate together.

Mr. Henley and Caroline are unable to host this year, and so we have decided to hold the celebration here instead. It has been far too long since we last saw you, and I hope to see you this weekend, if you are able to. There is much to prepare, and it would be comforting to have you with us as always.

With love,

Mother

Ruelle read it once and then again. She folded the letter and looked up to catch Lucian watching her from across the room.

"It’s from my mother," Ruelle explained with a smile. "They miss me."

For a moment, Lucian said nothing. He then acknowledged, "You haven’t returned home since three weeks."

Ruelle nodded, a small smile touching her lips. She then murmured, "I should leave early on Saturday." The last time she had delayed and had ended up not going to her house.

"Will you be heading home this weekend as well?" Ruelle asked.

Lucian glanced at her, only briefly. He responded, "Most likely. It doesn’t appear I’ll be required to save anyone’s neck."

The corner of his mouth tugged. It wasn’t quite a smile but it was close enough to count as one in Ruelle’s eyes. He gathered the parchment he had written through the night and moved towards the door.

It took Ruelle a second to understand his words. Then she let out a quiet laugh and said, "I’ll survive. You’ve seen me."

"If you insist," Lucian replied at the door. With that, he closed the door behind him, leaving her alone to dress.

In the dining hall, Ruelle found breakfast unusually peaceful. The prince never arrived and most of the final-year Elites were absent as well, their empty seats lending the hall a rare quietness.

Kevin stifled a yawn as he scrubbed a hand down his face. Ruelle glanced at him and asked,

"You didn’t sleep well?"

"Not really. Curt and the vampiress..." Kevin hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck. "They went on all night, while I waited outside."

"All night doing what?" Hailey asked, cheeks already full of scrambled eggs.

In the Seduction Techniques class, Mr. Henley demonstrated for the final-year students.

’Keeping the hands at the knees is easier.’

’I was under the impression we would be combining this class with the first years,’ an impatient Edward tapped his foot with a scowl that was fixed at the instructor.

Mr. Henley straightened with a polite smile. He informed, ’My apologies, Your Highness. The first years have not yet begun the physical portion of their curriculum. This would be premature for them. But Ms. Gilbert and I have discussed to hold one later.’

’That is right,’ Ms. Gilbert nodded in agreement.

While the discussion carried on, Lucian’s gaze was fixed not on Henley’s face, but on his hands. More precisely, on the faint line of grime lodged beneath the Halfling’s fingernails.

It was a small thing. Yet Lucian had never once seen this Halfling present himself without immaculate care. Ezekiel’s always neat hands bore the marks of soil. He recalled that the Halfling had been absent for the first half of the day.

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