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Isadora
The sliver of the moon is high, and a slight chill on the air ruffles the thin fabric of my shirt, as I sit out on the balcony, keeping an eye out for Nell. She should’ve been back an hour ago, and I feel like every second that ticks off in between is one second closer to Laura’s next nightmare. The last thing I need is to have Lucian storming down here in search of the nurse who skipped off to do God knows what. There’s no way I can lie to a man like that.
A man who’d see right through me.
All my life, I’ve constructed walls to protect myself from a world that has no regard for boundaries. Some have ‘dozed their way past my barriers with little care. But never has a man seen through them, as if they’re translucent.
The sound of yelling steels my muscles, and I freeze in my chair, until it occurs to me that the voice belongs to a man, not Mrs. Blackthorne. Reaching me from somewhere above.
Pushing up from my chair, I lean over the railing of the balcony, craning my neck toward the roof of the turret, and Lucian’s office above.
My heart skids to a stop, and a gasp flies from my mouth.
With trembling hands, I attempt to reach out, but draw them to my face in shock.
Balanced on the edge of the parapet, Lucian sways with a drink in his hand, shouting obscenities that are so slurred, I can’t even entirely make out what the hell he’s saying.
To avoid startling him, I don’t bother to call to him, and instead scamper inside, making a beeline toward the elevator.
“Fuck!” Halfway there, I stall and turn around, hustling back toward the balcony to close and lock the door so Laura won’t escape, before darting around to the elevator again.
Oh, God, please don’t jump. If I get to the damn roof and find him lying in a pool of blood on the ground below, I’ll probably end up in a psych ward after.
My finger jabs the up button, my whole body shaking with adrenaline, while I wait for the goddamn car to slide to a stop and open its doors. Once inside, I press the third button, and when the doors finally open again, I glance around the dark office, hardly taking in much of the surroundings, and find a door at the opposite side of the room. I don’t even know if it leads to the roof, but I head toward it anyway.
Another quick sprint through the door and up a flight of stairs brings me to the flat roof of the turret. Ahead of me, Lucian stands with his back to me, his black suit in disarray, the coat falling off one shoulder.
Careful, so as not to startle him, I tiptoe closer.
“N’body fuckin’ threatens a Blackthorne. Isn’at what you said t’me? Fuckin’ lyin’ prick.” Bottle of liquor in hand, he attempts to balance himself as he sets the mouth of the bottle to his glass like he’s trying to fill it. A small bit trickles over the edge of the glass, and he chucks it off the roof, tipping back the bottle, instead.
My heart is beating so fast I can scarcely draw in a breath, watching him teeter on the edge. Approaching him might make him stumble, though.
“I wanted t’be free of this shit. B’you … y’had one more punishment t’dole out, didn’ you? One more fuckin’ hell f’me t’walk through.”
I quietly clear my throat and step closer. “Mr. Blackthorne?”
His arm flies out as he spins to face me, and he loses his footing just enough that I reach out on a wheeze of breath, before he catches himself.
Holy shit, that was close!
Balanced again, he stares at me for a moment, his eyes dark and appraising, and I can’t even begin to imagine what thoughts are ru
“I heard you yelling. Look, whatever is going on right now, you don’t have to do this.”
Brows crinkled to an incredulous frown, he chuckles, and in spite of the fear thrumming inside my veins, the low-pitched sound is a brief distraction. I hate that I like the sound of his amusement, even if it’s meant to mock me. “I’m no coward. I’m Lucian. Fucking. Blackthorne. I make shit happen. People cower t’me.”
“I know. I know that.”
“Y’know that.” His voice is tinged in disbelief, and he licks his lips, his gaze raking over me in disdain. “What things d’you know, Isa Bella?”
“Well, for one ... I know that … alcohol and heights don’t mix.”
His lips stretch to an incredibly dashing smile, despite his scars, and he rubs his eye on the back of his bottle-toting hand, swaying unsteadily. A long moan, like the end of a laugh, spills from his lips, just before his tongue sweeps over them. “’S’how I get off. Bad decisions like this.”
“You’re saying that standing at the precipice of death is arousing to you?”
“Oh, yeah.” A long blink, and his bottom lip slips between his teeth. “What’d’you know, anyway? You’re young. Excessively beau’ful. Men probably pay you t’fuck. Not th’other way ‘round.”
A flare of embarrassment heats my cheeks, the conversation taking an uncomfortable turn. “No … that’s prostitution ... and I don’t consider that good reason to tempt death.”
“Fucking?”
“There’s more to life.”
“Well …” He lifts the bottle for another sip and pauses halfway to his mouth. “Then, you haven’ been fucked properly.”
Another blast of humiliation burns beneath my skin. I try to ignore the clench of my thighs, or the truth in his words, coming from an older man who’s probably had far more practice with countless women. I’ve been used, mostly, and nothing more. “Can you …. Can you come down from there now? You’re making me nervous.”
“Wha’re you afraid’f?”
“Oh, I don’t know … that you might die in front of me tonight?”
Staring down his nose at me, he seems to chew on the inside of his lip. “That’d bother you?”
“Yes. Very much.”
Huffing, he sways again, craning his neck to look back over the edge, toward what I’m certain would be instant death below. “I know why you’really here. Y’came t’haunt me, haven’ you?”
“What do you mean?”
He turns his attention back on me. “The bird. When I was jus’a kid. I hurt it. Now you’re here. Raven beauty. T’get me back for what I did. My curse.”
The words make no sense, nothing but drunken rambling, but his eyes implore me. “I don’t know what that means,” I whisper. “Please. Just come down.”
A long blink, and he chuckles again. “Fine. You win.” The second he steps forward, he loses his footing.
His body slips behind the parapet.
My heart seizes in my chest, but I rush forward.
Over the edge of the building, he dangles from the parapet, held only by his arms. His bottle of liquor lies in a scatter of broken glass on the ground below him. Muscles tremble and stretch as he holds himself from falling.
“Mr. Blackthorne!” I kneel down to put most of my weight on one side, and lean against the wall to reach over the edge. “Take my hand.”
The guy probably weighs twice as much as I do, but I don’t care. Watching him fall to the cement below is a sight that would stay with me for the rest of my life.
“Take my hand, Lucian.”
Still holding onto the edge with one hand, he hoists himself enough to clutch my arm, and I grasp onto him with both hands, straining and flexing to keep him from slipping.
“If this ain’t some shit karma.” He chuckles again, slipping enough to yank me forward until my breasts are pressed into the stone wall.
“Somebody, help! Help us! Makaio!”