The damp washcloth she used on her face was cold, sending a shiver through her.
She glanced at the tub longingly but sighed, knowing it was a battle for another day.
Stepping back into the room, the smell had only grown stronger, more enticing. Her stomach gave an audible growl, and she realized just how hungry she was.
The tension in her brow deepened. Where was Lucius? He wasn't in his usual chair or lingering near the door.
Jean padded across the room, her feet barely making a sound on the plush rug as she traced the source of the aroma.
Her nose led her down the hall to the small kitchen attached to her quarters. When she pushed open the door, the sight before her made her stop short.
There he was.
Lucius stood at the counter, an apron tied around his waist, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He held a knife in his hand, in utter darkness he stood working.
The sharp, rhythmic sound of chopping filled the space, accompanied by the faint crackle of something frying on the stove.
Jean blinked, her mind struggling to reconcile the image before her. Lucius—the intimidating, brooding man who could make anyone quake with a single glare—was cooking.
And not just cooking, he was moving with precision and ease, as though he did this every day.
The room was warm, filled with the comforting scents of herbs and spices. Steam rose from the pan on the stove, curling lazily into the air.
The wooden counters were dusted with flour, and a bowl of something doughy sat nearby.
Jean's damp skin prickled as she leaned against the doorframe, her hair sticking slightly to the back of her neck.
She suddenly felt the contrast between the cozy, inviting kitchen and her own discomfort. She wanted to slip into clean clothes, wash her hair, and feel refreshed—but for now, she couldn't look away from Lucius.
"What…" she began, her voice coming out hoarse. She cleared her throat and tried again. "What are you doing?"
Lucius glanced over his shoulder, his sharp features softening slightly when he saw her. "Cooking," he said simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
Jean's eyes widened. "I can see that, but… why?"
He set the knife down and turned fully to face her, leaning one hip against the counter. The apron somehow made him look both ridiculous and endearing. "You need to eat," he said matter-of-factly. "I don't trust anyone else to make sure it's done right."
Jean stared at him, her lips parted in disbelief. "You… you know how to cook?"
A small, almost smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I wasn't always a vampire, you know." He turned back to the counter, resuming his chopping.
She stepped closer, cautiously,
Jean's eyes widened as Lucius spoke, his voice low and steady as he shared the truth.
"I wasn't always this," he said, pausing to stir the pot on the fire. The light from the flames flickered across his face, softening his sharp features. "I was once a human lord. Poor by responsibility, desperate, but determined to save my kingdom. I didn't have much of a choice when darkness came knocking."
Her breath hitched, her heart thudding in her chest. "You… you were human?" she whispered, the words trembling in her mouth.
Lucius nodded, his gaze fixed on the bubbling stew. "Human—and powerless. Our lands were under siege. I had no army strong enough to fight him, no allies willing to help. The only path forward was to become something stronger, something darker."
"Dracula—Drake, as you call it now—I became an unstoppable force."
Jean felt a shiver run down her spine as she absorbed his words. She suddenly felt smaller, as though standing before an uncharted abyss.
He was Dracula, the man who lost everything and himself but here he is cooking in her room.
The room seemed warmer and heavier, the weight of his confession pressing on her chest. Her damp hair clung to her cheeks, her skin still cool from the morning air, but the fire in the hearth made her flushed.
She wanted to forget.
She glanced at the small kitchen around her and noticed for the first time just how much food there was.
The counters were piled high with fruits, vegetables, grains, and meats—far more than she could ever have imagined fitting into such a modest space. Her brows furrowed.
"Where did all this come from?" she asked, motioning to the abundance with a faint wave of her hand.
Lucius smirked, wiping his hands on a towel. "The royal kitchen. Last night."
Her jaw dropped. "You… you stole from the castle?" she asked, incredulous.
He shrugged nonchalantly, the smirk never leaving his face. "Anything for you," he said simply, as though that explanation alone justified it. "I can't exactly stroll through the markets during the day, can I?"
Jean blinked, caught somewhere between shock and amusement. Her lips quirked into a reluctant smile, and a soft laugh escaped her. "So you're a thief now?" she teased.
"For you? Always," Lucius replied with a wicked grin, leaning casually against the counter.
His words carried an almost boyish charm, but the sincerity in his dark eyes sent a strange warmth curling through her chest.
The reality of his situation settled over her like a weight. He wasn't always this immortal, shadowy figure who moved with quiet grace and spoke with centuries of wisdom.
Once, he had been just a man—a human fighting for his home, his people. The thought stirred something deep within her.
Jean's voice softened. "You gave up everything for them. For your kingdom."
Lucius looked at her then, his gaze searching hers.
For a moment, the air between them felt heavier, charged with something unspoken. "I did what I had to," he said quietly. "And now I do what I must."
She swallowed hard, feeling the intensity of his words settle deep in her chest.