“Ah, because you’re not looking carefully.” He patted her on the shoulder, and she flinched, jerking awayfrom him.
Wiley made a high-pitched chirp and stood up on two legs as if he would protect the fair maiden he rested on.
“Easy,” Lucius said. “I won’t bite unless you ask. And even then, I promise not to bite too hard.”
She glared at him, her gaze simmering with delicious anger.
“Come.” Lucius walked ahead, straight to the thick woods. “Now, if memory serves me right, the rune should be . . .”
He searched for the tree with dark bark, a slight mutation in its color, and a faint marking in the center. He placed his hand on the bark, and the rune activated, glowing purple.
The rune linked to his encoding, and only he could dispel the illusion and unlock his home. It was well worth the price he had paid.
As the illusion dissipated, his white stone home came into view. Ivy had crawled along the house, encasing it. Wild foliage had overrun the stone walkway and gardens.
Tavia glanced around, eyes wide with wonder. “Howdid no one find this?”
“The rune—the illusion—protected it. No one would have been able to find it, even if they could dispel the magic. Runes can be powerful magical components if infused with the proper elements. Are you familiar with rune magic?”
With thirteen elemental powers and hundreds of varied mutations, the possibilities were endless.
Her cheeks flushed slightly. “No. My family, we . . .”
She stammered over her words, and for the first time, Lucius saw the little dove unnerved.
“Well,” he said, interrupting her frazzled explanation, “this type of spell locks the illusion so no one would have been able to open the door.”
Pushing aside the foliage covering the main door, he grabbed the knob and turned.
They stepped inside, dust covering much of the space. Although slightly disheveled, the white parlor held a certain timeless elegance.
As Tavia looked around, his gaze lingered on her. There was something captivating about this fae, and despite the dangers and uncertainties, he felt a peculiar sense of anticipation.
Whether it was the decades of nothingness or the surging hunger to experience all he had missed, he eagerly delighted in spending his first night outside the coffin with this pretty fae.
But like all past mistakes, he had to be wary of his guest.
The last beauty to enter this home had betrayed him, and he vowed never to trust an endearing female again.
CHAPTER THREE
Though Lucius did his best to hide his sadness, his return home evoked too many unwanted memories—a time before someone captured and imprisoned him like a venomous creature.
“I know the place is a bit dusty,” he said, waving his hand around the parlor. “But please, sit. Make yourself at home.”
Tavia eyed the large, faded sofa. The once-bright ruby tone had dulled with age. She patted the cushion, sending dust mites into the air. Coughing as she cleared off decades of grime, she finally sat down.
Her squirrel companion scurried around the sofa before disappearing, most likely to inspect the house.
Moving toward the bar, Lucius perusedthe various bottles, their shapes, and labels hinting at their age. He selected a vintage wine and gathered two glasses, blowing the dust off the rims before pouring a drink for himself and his guest.
Bringing her the glass, he sat in the armchair across from her, not bothering to remove the dust before sitting down.
She took the goblet from him, raised it to her lips, and murmured, “Thank you,” before sipping.
He nodded, taking a sip himself, relishing the warmth it brought.
How many years had passed since his capture?
