He Heard Me

By the end of our third month, Lucian and I had developed a routine.

At breakfast, I gave him the weather report whether he wanted it or not.

“Cloudy, cold, and emotionally hostile,” I announced one morning, opening the curtains exactly three inches. “Basically your personality in forecast form.”

Lucian watched me from his wheelchair.

I closed the curtains again.

At noon, we watched silent films in the sunroom.

I chose the movies. Lucian chose whether I was allowed to complain about them.

He never said no.

He only lifted one eyebrow whenever I talked through an entire scene.

“That man has been carrying the same suitcase for twenty minutes,” I whispered during an old comedy. “At this point, the suitcase is the main character.”

Lucian’s mouth twitched.

I pointed at him. “That was almost a smile.”

He turned his face toward the window.

“Coward.”

At night, I told him stories.

Some were funny. Some were embarrassing. A few were both.

The castle staff had stopped asking why I spent so much time in his room. They had also stopped looking surprised when I arrived carrying instant noodles and a stack of unpaid bills.

I was paid well.

I was still terrible with money.

Debt had a way of making every dollar feel already spent.

When the kitchen staff served roast beef, I saved half for later and gave Lucian the best blood in the cellar.

Not because he asked.

Because the cheaper supply made his hands shake.

I called that professional judgment.

The seamstress called it kindness.

Lucian called it nothing at all.

One afternoon, I decided he needed hot chocolate.

“You have spent three hundred years drinking blood,” I told him. “You deserve one normal beverage.”

He watched me wheel the portable heater beside his chair.

“I watched a tutorial.”

His expression suggested he had concerns.

“Don’t worry. The tutorial had four million views.”

I mixed cocoa powder, milk, and sugar in a silver pot. The smell was sweet enough to make the room feel less like a mausoleum.

For thirty seconds, everything went perfectly.

Then the heater gave a violent pop.

A puff of gray smoke rolled across the floor.

I yanked the plug from the wall.

The pot tipped.

Chocolate splattered across the rug, my blouse, and one of Lucian’s polished shoes.

Silence filled the room.

I stared at the mess.

Lucian stared at me.

“Before you say anything,” I said, “this was a controlled experiment.”

He looked down at his shoe.

“Fine. It was not controlled.”

He reached for his notebook and wrote one word.

Awful.

I snatched the page.

“You haven’t even tasted it.”

He tapped the ruined heater.

I considered throwing the notebook into the fireplace.

Instead, I folded my arms. “I’m going on strike.”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed.

“Thirty minutes. No medication, no blanket adjustment, no witty commentary.”

I turned my chair toward the door.

Three steps later, I noticed his right hand.

His fingers had gone pale.

The curse was making them cold.

I stopped.

“Absolutely not.”

I marched back, pulled the blanket over his knees, and wrapped his hand in the heated cloth from the cabinet.

Lucian watched me with unbearable calm.

“This doesn’t cancel the strike,” I said. “It’s an emergency exception.”

He held my gaze.

“Don’t look pleased.”

He looked even more pleased.

I hated that I could tell.

The next week, the family sent word that Lucian had to attend the winter reception.

The event would be held in the west hall, where every vampire in the county could stare at him and discuss his future.

Lucian’s uncle, Cedric, had been pushing the idea that a deaf, paralyzed heir could not govern the Blackthorn family.

I didn’t understand why anyone believed that.

Lucian could destroy a person with a single look.

He just couldn’t hear the screams afterward.

The night before the reception, I altered his formal coat.

The collar was too tight. The silver buttons were loose. The sleeves caught against the wheelchair.

I spread the coat across the bed and attacked it with a needle.

Lucian sat nearby, watching.

“This fabric costs more than my old apartment,” I muttered. “If I ruin it, tell everyone the moths did it.”

He pointed to the crooked seam.

“I know it’s crooked.”

He pointed again.

“Stop supervising.”

He reached for the thread.

I slapped his hand away. “No. You’ll make it worse.”

His eyebrow rose.

“Fine. We both make things worse. That’s our partnership.”

After an hour, I had replaced every button and widened the collar.

The coat fit him perfectly.

I held it up with both hands.

“Look at that. You almost resemble a person who enjoys parties.”

Lucian took the coat and put it on without help.

For one second, his hand brushed mine.

His fingers lingered.

I pulled away first.

“Don’t get ideas. I’m still billing by the hour.”

He looked at the contract folder on the table, then at me.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I said. “No, I’m not adding a romance surcharge.”

He reached for the call button.

The bell rang from the hallway.

I turned. “What now?”

He pointed toward the coat.

“You need help?”

He shook his head.

“Then why did you call me?”

He pointed at the chair beside him.

I stared.

“You want me to sit?”

He nodded.

I checked the clock. “That counts as companionship.”

His mouth tightened.

“Fine. I’ll stay for ten minutes.”

I sat beside him.

He looked out at the dark garden while I stitched a final loose thread.

“I used to think rich people had easier lives,” I said. “Then I met you. You have servants, a castle, and a terrifying amount of blood, but you still can’t stop your family from being awful.”

He watched my hands.

“I’m sorry,” I added. “That one was too honest.”

He did not move.

I reached for his hand.

It was colder than usual.

“Your curse is getting worse.”

He shook his head, but his fingers curled around mine.

I let him keep holding on.

The winter reception was tomorrow.

So was the debt payment I couldn’t afford unless I stayed at this castle.

I looked at the man beside me and realized I had checked his pulse before checking my bank account.

That was new.

That night, the moon turned red.

The house darkened as the eclipse began. Every candle flame in the west wing bent toward Lucian’s room.

He sat by the window, rigid in his chair.

I hurried in with his medication.

“Your hands are freezing.”

He didn’t answer.

His breathing had changed. His jaw was locked tight, and a dark line of veins had appeared along his throat.

I reached for the emergency bell.

Lucian caught my wrist.

This time, his grip was firm.

“Let go,” I said. “I need the doctor.”

His eyes widened.

He was staring at me as if he had heard something impossible.

Then he spoke.

The voice was rough, low, and unused.

“Erin.”

I froze.

The medication slipped from my hand and struck the floor.

Lucian’s fingers tightened around my wrist.

For the first time in three years, he could hear.

And the first word he chose was my name.