Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

72 - Chapter LXXII: The Amendment

And yet it seemed easier after that. The past left in its iron-clad box, and both of them careful not to open it again. She feigning ignorance over his discomfiture and he purposefully avoiding any sign of it. Of course, he knew she was curious. But in the same way he chose not to dignify her scent with his notice, she chose not to see him flipping through her memory journals. Or ordering a dictionary in her mother tongue. Neither of them willing to dig too deep in the other's company.

The peace reinstated and their nights once again filled with the usual ruckus of trying to amuse oneself when gripped in the throes of immortality. Collections. Cards. Drinking. Attempting to find the tell in each other's play. Rena teaching her how to steer the...metal...automobile. Lucian attempting to take apart the automobile, while assuring them all—given his prowess with metal—he could not break the automobile. Lucian breaking the automobile...and finally agreeing to purchase a new one after spending an evening listening to her say nothing about the matter, while silently judging him.

Life proceeding as normal until he sent her north in the summer of 1914. No one explained what had happened. But she knew a sudden change had occurred. All the paintings, sculptures, and furniture wrapped in white sheets. The books, photographs and journals placed in storage. Likely to be burned if she knew anything about lycan culture. Her clothes packed by Rena. And the farewell as strange as she'd expected when it happened.

His back to her as he spoke more to the horizon than anything else. Her travel arrangements had been taken care of by Weylan. She could trust the box would not be disturbed. Magnus would be there to meet her upon arrival. Even a guarantee that he'd sent some things on ahead-enough to amuse her until things calmed down on the mainland.

His words held like a glowing ember.

o...o...o

"Are you ready?"

She remembered to lie. "Of course."

It was the last drink before sunrise. The last moment of warmth or geniality she'd receive for some time. The frost on her glass, the chill from the ice-bucket, seeming to mock her as she drank...

...and immediately felt her throat tighten, the taste making her balk. Forced to hold a sleeve against her mouth. "Oh my blood." She was trying not to gag. "...what is this?"

For all her discomfort, he was looking remarkably at his ease. Breathing in the night air before leaning back against the balustrade. A self-satisfied gleam in his eye. Like a gambler who'd just won something.

"Guess."

She scowled at him. Swilling the blood before she gave it a cautious sniff.

It smelled...awful and yet...familiar.

Like...

"Seal-voda?"

He raised his glass to her. "I told you it was rank."

Bastard, she thought. Of all the things to feed someone before they were meant to go on a journey. Still feeling like her tongue was refusing to work. "You're supposed to serve it hot."

His laughter was rich. "So hold it over a candle."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Magnus." He handed her the bottle. No label, but dots along the bottom-a system she'd finally noticed after a particularly unsuccessful night of raiding his liquor cabinet. "Apparently it's not an easy thing to find anymore."

She felt like a bird trying to fly out of its cage. "Is this my reward for not stabbing you?"

He shrugged complacently. "If you like."