I didn't sleep.
That was the first lie the house told me—that I could rest here.
My bedroom looked like something ripped out of a gothic fever dream. High ceilings arched overhead, carved with symbols I didn't recognize but somehow understood in my bones. Heavy curtains framed tall windows that reflected lightning like fractured mirrors. The bed was massive, draped in dark fabric that smelled faintly of cedar and smoke.
And him.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, boots still on, heart still doing parkour.
"You've always dreamed of me."
Lucien's voice replayed in my head like a cursed voicemail I couldn't delete.
"Nope," I muttered. "No, I have not."
The candles around the room flickered like they disagreed.
I stood abruptly and paced. The floorboards creaked under my steps, but not randomly—almost in response. Like the house was tracking me.
"This is not happening," I whispered. "I came here to sell this place. In and out. No ancient trauma, no silver-eyed men, no… whatever this is."
A sudden knock sounded at the door.
I jumped so hard my soul briefly exited my body.
"ELARA," I snapped. "GET IT TOGETHER."
The knock came again. Slow. Controlled.
Lucien.
Of course.
I opened the door just enough to glare at him. "If you're here to finish whatever cryptic monologue you started downstairs, I'm charging rent."
His gaze swept over me—still fully dressed, still visibly wired. Something unreadable flickered across his face.
"You haven't slept," he said.
"That's an observation, not a question."
"You won't," he added.
I folded my arms. "And you're telling me this now?"
"Yes," he said calmly. "Before the house tries something reckless."
My stomach dropped. "Reckless like…?"
"Like feeding you memories."
I laughed, sharp and humorless. "Oh, absolutely not."
Lucien hesitated, then spoke more softly. "It already has, hasn't it?"
The flash earlier—blood, heat, screaming—burned behind my eyes.
"…Maybe," I admitted.
He exhaled slowly, like he'd been bracing for that answer.
"You need a ward," he said.
I blinked. "A what?"
"Protection," he clarified. "Temporary. It'll keep the house from reaching too deep while you sleep."
"And how do you do that?" I asked suspiciously.
His jaw tightened.
"With proximity."
Silence.
I stared at him.
"You want to what now?"
"Stay," he said. "In the room. Near you."
My heart slammed into my ribs.
"Oh," I said flatly. "So that's the angle."
"There is no angle," Lucien replied sharply, then paused. "…And if there were, this wouldn't be it."
Heat crept up my neck. "You expect me to trust you after, what—thirty minutes of knowing you?"
"You've trusted me before."
I scoffed. "You keep saying that like it helps."
Lightning flashed outside, illuminating his face for a split second. For the first time, he looked… tired. Old. Not in years, but in weight.
"You can lock the door," he said quietly. "I won't touch you unless the house forces my hand."
My breath caught.
"Wow," I muttered. "That sentence should not be comforting, yet here we are."
Against every ounce of common sense I possessed, I stepped aside.
"Fine," I said. "But you snore, you're sleeping in the hallway."
Lucien inclined his head. "Fair."
The door closed.
The room felt smaller instantly.
He stood near the far wall, deliberately keeping distance, hands clasped behind his back like he was restraining himself.
"Sit," he instructed gently.
"I don't take orders."
"Please," he corrected.
That did it.
I sat on the bed.
Lucien moved closer—not too close, but close enough that I felt it. The air shifted. Warmed.
He knelt beside the bed and pressed two fingers lightly to the mattress.
Symbols flared faintly beneath his touch, glowing silver before fading.
"There," he said. "Lie back."
"Lucien."
"Yes?"
"If this turns into something weird, I'm haunting you when I die."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Duly noted."
I lay back.
The moment my head hit the pillow, exhaustion crashed over me like a wave I couldn't fight. My limbs went heavy, eyes burning.
Lucien's presence anchored me—solid, real.
"Don't go to sleep," I murmured, already drifting.
"I'm not going anywhere," he replied.
That was the last thing I heard.
—
I was sixteen again.
The house was alive—brighter, louder. My mother's laughter echoed through the halls. I was running, barefoot, heart light.
"Elara!" a voice called.
Not my mother's.
I turned.
Lucien stood at the end of the corridor, younger somehow, less restrained. His eyes were the same.
"You shouldn't be here," he said urgently.
"I live here," I argued.
His hand reached for mine.
Everything shattered.
I woke with a scream.
Lucien caught me instantly.
I was shaking, breath tearing out of my chest, nails digging into his coat as if letting go would end me.
"Easy," he murmured, pulling me closer without hesitation now. "You're safe."
My face pressed into his chest.
I could hear his heartbeat.
Fast.
"Tell me that wasn't real," I whispered.
He hesitated.
"Tell me," I begged.
His arms tightened just a fraction. "It was a memory," he said. "But not all of it."
I pulled back, eyes blazing. "You knew me."
"Yes."
"How?"
"You don't want that answer yet."
"That's not your choice."
He met my gaze, something fierce and conflicted blazing there. "It is if it keeps you alive."
Silence stretched between us, thick and charged.
I realized how close we were. How my hands were still gripping him. How his thumb brushed my wrist, grounding, intimate.
Neither of us moved.
"If this is some kind of cosmic joke," I said quietly, "I'm not laughing."
Lucien leaned in—not enough to kiss me, but enough that his breath ghosted my skin.
"This house binds souls," he said. "And it chose you long before tonight."
My heart skipped.
"And you?" I asked.
His voice dropped. "I chose you."
The house groaned softly, like it approved.
Lucien pulled away first, standing abruptly. "You need rest."
"I don't think that's happening again," I said.
"You will," he replied. "And I'll be here when you do."
I watched him move toward the door, shadows folding around him like a cloak.
"Lucien," I called.
He turned.
"Whatever I was to you back then," I said carefully, "I'm not her anymore."
A sad smile touched his lips.
"I know," he said. "That's what terrifies me."
The door closed behind him.
The house settled.
And for the first time since I arrived, I wondered—
Not what this place wanted from me.
But what Lucien did.
I lay back against the bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. My heartbeat was still doing somersaults. Lucien's words—"I chose you"—looped through my mind like a maddening melody. I wanted to shake it off, tell myself it was just the adrenaline, just the memories, just… everything.
But no.
It felt like fire crawling under my skin, warm and sharp all at once. My hands flexed, clawing at the blanket, desperate for something tangible to hold onto. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to twitch, alive, like the house was whispering to me through darkness. She's awake. She's awake. She's awake.
I swallowed hard, forcing my mind to calm. But then the faintest sound caught my attention—a soft creak from the hallway. The floorboards, or maybe the walls themselves, shifting. It wasn't Lucien; that much I knew. Whoever—or whatever—it was, it was waiting. Watching. Assessing.
A shiver ran down my spine. I hugged the blanket closer and whispered, "Okay… we can do this. We're fine. Totally fine."
The room pulsed faintly, almost imperceptibly. The air thickened, carrying the faint scent of smoke and old roses. My chest tightened. Somehow, even in the silence, the house felt hungry. Not for me—not exactly—but for my presence. It had been waiting, and now it had me, fully awake, fully vulnerable.
I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to blink away the sensation, the memory fragments, the heat of Lucien's gaze that refused to leave me. Somehow, even with him gone, the warmth lingered. And the knowledge that he would be nearby, watching, protecting, judging… it both terrified and excited me.
I lay there for hours, half-sleeping, half-listening to the house breathe. Somewhere deep in the shadows, something moved, silent and patient. And I realized, with a mixture of dread and something dangerously like anticipation, that tonight was just the beginning.
Author's Note:
The house reacts… but Lucien hasn't told her why yet.
Do you think Lucien is protecting Elara—or hiding something from her? 👀
Chapter 3 is already up 🖤