Lair of Beasts [Book I in the Curse Of Blood Saga]

Chapter XI - Blood moon

Anne and I emerged into the great hall and made our way over to the hearth where Godwin and his sons were deep in conversation. It was becoming extremely chilly of a night time and I despaired of the winter arriving far sooner than was desired. For my part, winter was never desired.

I could feel my skin breaking out into goose flesh, partly from the bite in the air and partly because of whom I was headed towards, but Lucian seemed not to feel the bitter temperature. The fires blazed on with kinetic furor, yet I shivered miserably; the cold was an all-pervasive thing that filtered through my skirts as I walked and gouged at my legs with icy claws.

Lucian was standing furthest from the fire and staring into it with sullen introspection. The other men within the hall were dressed in padded doublets, thick surcotes and heavy, fur-trimmed mantles, but he wore only a fine, woolen hose, a plain linen shirt, a mid-thigh length, unpadded cote that was buttoned up the front of his broad chest, and a belt sitting loosely at his hips — no parti-colored gipon or paltock for him. No dandified, outlandish, long-toed shoes of differing hues either for he was decidedly no foppish aristocrat: Lucian wore only somber reds and dark browns to match his cimmerian character.

The thought made me grimace in irony for it did not signify what he was garbed in; he would have been equally as intimidating, whatever the inconsequentiality of his disguise. In short, whether in bright colors or dark, he was no less frightening to behold.

"Ah, ladies, I commend your good effort at endeavoring a punctual arrival," Godwin drawled mordantly; the glint of satire in his pointed look.

I had the grace to blush but Anne merely lifted her chin in a saucy manner. Lucian, who had turned around upon hearing his father's droll chastisement of us, seemed to tense up of a sudden. He was staring at me now in a way that was wholly uncomfortable to me. By my recollection, in every one of our prior engagements — if they could even be called such — he had never so much as noticed me; in the past, he had merely flicked a distasteful glance my way before removing his person from my insulting presence. Yet here he stood now as if he knew not what to make of me...that I should be the mystery and not he.

"Hang me! This is a happy change? Was it not you, Lucian, that said she was no more than an emaciated, little termigant, when last we saw her?" Caine curled his lips diabolically. "How wrong you were, brother-"

"Caine!" Godwin and Lucian both growled the warning in unison ere Godwin turned to me.

"This ill-bred rogue, I'm sure you remember, is my youngest, Caine. I had hoped his years away might have instilled a degree of circumspection," he scowled the the younger man, "if not propriety, but, as you see, this was not the case." He then cast an admonishing look at his eldest son. "Lucian, will you not greet your intended?"

"Aria." My betrothed inclined his head slightly but made no more effort than that small concession.

The way Lucian spoke my name — I could not recall that he had used my given name ere now — was like a baptism of equal parts fire and snow; although his greeting had been perfunctory and cold, there was yet an expression of warmth intimated by his tone and the way he had dragged out my name: a veritable revelation on his lips whereby he'd injected a thousand meanings into just a single utterance. However, I had not the carnal perspicacity to glimpse its depth. There was something boiling there beneath the surface of his gaze, yet was I too naive to answer it's call.

"Good evening, Lucian," I reciprocated quietly, heedless of whether or not he gave me leave to use his christian name.

I too inclined my head politely while watching his hands clench and unclench at his side. Caine looked between us with a moue of disgust when the silence stretched awkwardly; and verily, the awkwardness was all my own.