Novelas y relatos de Lucie Herondale

Movement. Energy. There was something in the way she carried herself— Soft, but self-contained. Bright, but guarded. Ordinary, yet not quite forgettable. His brow lowered—barely—at the odd sensation of recognizing nothing about her and yet feeling… stopped. Interrupted. Lucien’s thumb tapped the edge of the screen once. An unconscious gesture. He should have scrolled on. He didn’t. ---

Nothing compared to this. Everything he believed about himself… Had just been erased. Eleanor spoke gently. “You were born six months before Aurora.” Lucien looked up. Confused. “How?” “Your mother…” She glanced toward Victor. “…was his eldest daughter.” Silence. Victor’s eldest daughter. Aurora’s aunt. Lucien’s mother. Aurora’s pulse quickened. “So…” She slowly looked between them. “We’re…” “Cousins.” Eleanor nodded. “First cousins.”

Berta’s teacher had called earlier on the office line—nothing urgent, just a reminder about picture day—but the worry of being unreachable gnawed at her. She finished the bar slowly, savoring the small break, then headed back upstairs. When she reached her desk, she stopped short. A small bouquet of delicate white lilies sat beside a sleek, brand-new iPhone still in its box. She glanced around, double-checking it was her desk. Yes. A simple white note rested against the flowers. She picked it up with trembling fingers and read the elegant handwriting: *Don’t cry anymore.* *Adrian*

On the line next to it, a signature was already written in sharp, bold black ink. Lucien Knight. I stared at the name, the room suddenly spinning around me. Lucien Knight. The private, billionaire CEO everyone talked about. The one person the public tagged as heartless. Lucien….. Lucien Knight was also Jason's cousin.

“Yes, Meredith will need me to leave soon. And, honestly, it is time for me to go. I have given you all of the information that I can. There is just one more thing to do.” Selene turns to Lucille. The woman seems to look even frailer than she did at the beginning of the ceremony. Her once vibrant and plump features have become sunken and papery thin. Her hair seems to lost some of it’s luster and she is obviously having trouble catching her breath, though she hasn’t done anything but sit since we’ve walked into the room. Lucille nods her head. “I am ready, Mother. I want to see my mate again.”

She leaned into conversations with my brother and me, occasionally exchanging knowing glances with Cedric and her friends, the bond of loyalty between them as strong as any I'd ever seen. Beatrice, however, was left subdued, a fragile smile frozen on her face as she pretended to focus on her plate. She'd been put in her place, and not even Elizabeth's hard stare from across the table could salvage her failed attempt to belittle our mate. If anything, her humiliation had only solidified our respect for Lucienne. Throughout lunch, I kept my attention on Lucienne. Watching her interact with everyone, it was easy to see why she would make an excellent Luna. She was poised, decisive, and fearless

Silvie had this guilty look on her face, she couldn’t stare at her friend, and her gaze kept shifting from me to her shoes. All of a sudden, it completely made sense. Brielle was Lucia!!! The girl who had courageously, though unintentionally blurted out her feelings for me back in high school, the girl I had admired from afar and thought of as cute, always wanting to get a chance to talk to her… the girl that had picked the worst time to bump into me, the girl that had taken extra measures to avoid me after that regretful incident. Brielle was Lucia. And she was fucking pissed if the daggers shooting out of her eyes as she glanced from her friend to me were any indication. “You told him? How

I spun around, clutching my pashmina to my chest, my face probably a ghostly shade of grey beneath the makeup. Luna stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her lower lip tucked out in a perfect Sterling pout. She was holding an empty sippy cup like a weapon. "I want my sparkling apple juice!" she demanded, stomping a foot. "And I want it now! Why is Uncle Lucien touching your dress? Is he trying to steal your mountain fleece?" Lucien cleared his throat, his face flushing a rare shade of crimson. He stepped back, smoothing his hair, the predatory Fox suddenly looking like a schoolboy caught behind the bike sheds.

She looked like someone who belonged in Lucien Moreau’s world. She looked like a liar. “You’re beautiful,” Jessica said. “Lucien is a lucky man.” Arielle smiled. Practiced. Perfect. “Thank you.” At two o’clock, she walked into the lobby on heels that were too high and a smile that hurt her face. Lucien was already there. Surrounded by cameras and reporters and flashing lights. He turned when she approached. His expression changed. Just slightly. Something that might have been surprise. He held out his hand.

“I asked to stay that morning and my father said yes and I was there. I was sitting beside her.” The room was completely still. “I held her hand,” Lucien said. “At the end. I don’t know if she knew I was there, she wasn’t fully conscious, but she turned toward my voice once and I held her hand and I didn’t say anything because there was nothing I could think of that was adequate and I was twelve years old and I didn’t know how to say goodbye to someone I wasn’t ready to lose.” He stopped. He looked at his hands on his knees, the silver bracelets catching the lamp light, and felt the thing he had been carrying for eight years sit in the room with him for the first time without being buried.