Lucian Book Novels & Stories

Or was her destiny to succumb to the shadow that always seemed to offer her strength the more she embraced it? Serena draped herself over an old scroll. It looked dislocated, old and fragile. It was worn leather, she touched it with the edges of her fingers and picked it up by its corners. But as she reached for it on the shelf, she heard Lucian’s voice. “I found something.” He sounded heavy, his voice tight with the gravity of what he had discovered. Serena gazed up at him with her heart racing. Lucian stood at the far end of the library holding a dusty book. Elias stood next to him, looking at the paper with an inscrutable expression.

“No way.” Lucian seemed amused. “Oh, you don’t believe me?” “Why would he write something to ‘glaze’ himself that much?” I asked, unable to hide my curiosity. “Because he’s a narcissist.” Lucian answered, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “He’d fuck himself if it was possible.” “Yuck.” I stuck out my tongue in disgust. “The yuckiest.” Lucian had a sort of boyish grin on his face. Then, his expression softened once again.

But the words—the promise—was too tempting to ignore. Elias. Back where he belonged. With him. Away from Lucian. "How?" Tristan forced out. "Lucian has him locked down tighter than a fortress. I can’t even get near him." "And that," Luca said, voice dripping satisfaction, "is why you need me." He swept across the room to a small table, pulling out a faded parchment. A map—Lucian’s mansion, sprawling and intricate, was sketched across it in harsh lines. "Lucian built himself a palace so perfect, so impenetrable," Luca murmured, tracing a finger along the walls, "he forgot something important." He looked up, eyes gleaming. "Power makes you lazy. Arrogant."

He hoped Wendy wouldn't be mad at how messy the study was. Lucian pulled out his seat and dropped the book on the desk with a thud. It gave off dust and Lucian cleaned it again. He opened the book and read the first page. 'Do Not Be Deceived By The Title.' Lucian wanted to laugh out loud at how crass and cliched this was. He could bet that this was a children's book. He was sure it was.

He tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment of his son’s presence. “Father,” Lucian greeted in a hoarse tone, the voice of someone who had not rested. Vlad responded with an almost imperceptible nod. His eyes tracked every movement as Lucian walked to the opposite wall, which was lined with books from floor to ceiling. The heir stopped in front of the shelves, his fingers sliding along the spines until he found a thin volume with a dark cover and faded golden lettering. He pulled the book out and opened it. Vlad raised an eyebrow as he caught the title: The Night That Devoured the Heart.

Lucian whispered, trailing his finger over her face. Finally, Lucian left the room. The book sat on the desk, its dark cover gleaming ominously. He could feel its pull, the promise of power and throne. But one thing rang in his mind, he had to find her, and for the first time, Lucian felt a glimmer of light. But the battle was far from over. The shadows within him stirred, restless and insistent, opposing him from making a stupid step again.

He had his coffee and his phone and the particular settled quiet of a man who was exactly where he was supposed to be. Lucian was reading. He was always reading — medical journals, history books, the occasional novel that he’d recommend with the same clinical precision he applied to everything, telling me what was good about it and what he’d have done differently. He’d handed me a book three weeks ago and said you’ll like the third act and he’d been completely right, which was annoying and also one of my favorite things about him.

Looked at the south garden through the study window—the September version, the bones of the bed visible, beautiful in a different way. On a Friday evening she found Lucian in the kitchen at a time she hadn't expected. Not making coffee. Not standing at the window. At the table—the small one—with something in his hands, she didn't immediately recognize. She came in and looked. A book. Small. Old. The cover worn to the particular quality that said: read many times over many years. A children's book—the kind that began as a children's book and became something else through repeated reading. He looked up when she came in.

He said, "You'll never get a date if you keep calling all the men who try to date you creeps. Now, I'm here once again to convince you to go on a date with me. It wouldn't hurt you to say yes and it wouldn't hurt you to have fun." "No," I said firmly. He replied, "I know where you live. I'll disturb you everyday until you say yes. I'm really a restless soul, so I'd advise you to say yes." I agreed, "Alright fine. One date and that's it. Don't try anything funny." Lucian suddenly said, "He dies." "What?" I asked. "The guy in the book dies. You're welcome." How did he know that? No way. "You read these kind of books? I didn't bag you for the type to read these."

Surely I could learn to live like this, I thought to myself. The next days were filled with Lucian getting me books on random occasions. Some of them, I noticed, were part of the books in his library that were written in ancient texts; and Lucian had both their English versions for me. It was one of those days when I was lost in the pages of a book when the door to my room opened suddenly. I looked up to see Lucian staring at me intensely, and I slightly blushed. "What do you think of going on a vacation?" He asked in a single breath. I stared at him in shock.