Chapter 22: His Past Lover

Asher’s heart dropped so hard it felt like it had landed somewhere near his stomach.

The cold of the room suddenly felt personal. Five coffins, five humans who had once shared Marcel’s bed, Marcel’s attention, and now they were preserved boxes lined up like trophies or warnings. He could not decide which was worse.

He took a half-step back without meaning to.

"Why are you showing me this?" he asked. His voice came out quieter and shakier than he intended, but steady enough.

Adrian’s smile faded slightly. The cheerful edge dimmed, replaced by something more serious, almost careful.

"Because Marcel won’t," he said simply.

Asher stared at him.

Adrian continued, hands still in his pockets, gaze moving over the coffins with a familiarity that made Asher’s skin crawl. "My brother is very good at protecting the things he wants to keep. That includes protecting them from information that might make them afraid of him. He will never bring you down here. He will never tell you how many times this has happened before. He will let you believe you are the first human who ever mattered this much."

He turned his head and met Asher’s eyes directly.

"I think you deserve to know exactly what you’re getting into."

There was no malice in the words, just a quiet, almost tired honesty that somehow made the whole situation worse. Adrian was not trying to be the villain in this moment, he genuinely seemed to believe he was doing Asher a favor.

"They’re all humans," Adrian added, voice lighter again but still pointed. "Every single one. Marcel has a... habit of falling for your kind. Something about the way you burn so brightly for such a short time. He never learns. Or maybe he does learn, and he simply decides the pain is worth it until the next one."

Asher’s mouth had gone dry. He looked at the nearest coffin, and a terrible, reckless curiosity rose under the fear.

Could he see something?

The same instinct that had always pushed him to look, even when it was dangerous, stirred hard. He’d been able to read people’s fortunes from items close to them. Perhaps if he touched one...

He moved before he could talk himself out of it.

Asher stepped forward, reached out, and laid his palm flat against the lid of the nearest coffin.

The world snapped sideways.

A flash.

A young woman with dark hair and a bright, unrestrained laugh, sitting across from Marcel in a sunlit room that no longer existed in the manor. Marcel’s expression was softer than Asher had ever seen it. The woman reached across the table and flicked his nose; Marcel actually allowed it.

Another flash.

Marcel carrying her through the corridors of the manor, her arms around his neck, her face buried against his throat. She was alive, warm, teasing him about something Asher could not hear.

Then the images turned violent.

A courtyard. Smoke. The smell of burning flesh so strong it seemed to coat Asher’s tongue even inside the vision. The same woman, or what was left of her, lay in Marcel’s arms. Her body was blackened, burnt almost beyond recognition. Execution. The word arrived with the image. She had been accused of witchcraft and of conspiring with vampires. They had burned her for it.

Marcel knelt in the middle of a circle of corpses. Bodies of the people who had ordered the fire, the people who had lit it, the people who had stood and watched. Every single one of them was dead by Marcel’s hand. The vision reeked of old blood and older rage. Marcel’s face as he held the burnt remains of the woman was not cold. It was devastated. And beneath the devastation was a promise of more slaughter if anyone else ever touched what was his.

Asher ripped his hand away from the coffin as if the wood had burned him.

He stumbled backward, heart slamming against his ribs so hard he felt dizzy. The stone floor felt unsteady under his feet. The cold air was not enough to clear the phantom smell of smoke from his lungs.

Adrian watched him closely. "Did you see anything?"

Asher shook his head too quickly. "No. Nothing. Just... cold wood."

Adrian did not look convinced, but he did not push.

Asher swallowed hard. His voice came out thin. "I need air."

He turned without waiting for permission and walked out of the room as fast as he could without running. The corridor outside felt almost warm by comparison. He kept walking, not caring which direction he took, only that it put more distance between him and those boxes.

What on earth was that? Asher’s hands were still trembling. He flexed them once, then again, trying to shake the residual images loose.

Was he supposed to be terrified?

Part of him was, yet another part of him was not sure.

Marcel had destroyed everyone involved in that woman’s death, Asher understood the reason why the vampire lord had done that, but he wasn’t sure if that had been the best idea. Did killing come natural to Marcel? For someone who had a habit of falling for human beings, he definitely had no regard for human life.

Asher pressed his back against the cold stone wall of the corridor and closed his eyes. Would he one day have a coffin of his own?

The thought rose unbidden and made his stomach turn. He did not want to think about it now, not while the smell of phantom smoke still clung to the inside of his head. Right now he only wanted to stay as far away as possible from everyone and everything.

He really didn’t know Marcel as well as he thought he did, that much had become obvious. What was he always thinking behind those cold eyes? What exactly were his true goals? Now Asher wanted to know more than ever. But at the same time, after seeing what he’d just seen, the thought of reading Marcel’s fortune terrified him now more than ever.