Immanuel's Veins by Ted Dekker

shattering. “I was only saying that because I am secretly and insanely jealous of her.”
    â€œYou are?”
    â€œYes. Which woman would not be? She might be far too loose for my liking, but she is loved. Desperately. By many. Whom do you know who doesn’t long to be loved?”
    Lucine wanted to be loved.
    â€œOnly if that love is genuine. Freely given,” I said.
    â€œSo they say. So they say. However it is, there’s no feeling like love. I should know, I once embraced it with abandon. Now Natasha is washed with this feeling.”
    She was taking her sister’s side, a twin who saw the other side so clearly. Two sides of the same coin, the French said. Lucine and Natasha. Tempered and untamed. Brash and meek. Wise and foolish.
    Lucine might see her sister clearly, but I couldn’t bear the thought of her changing in any way. “You don’t want to be like Natasha, Lucine.”
    â€œWhy not?” She faced me, chin strong.
    â€œYou’re perfect the way you are.”
    â€œBut am I loved?”
    â€œYes!”
    She blinked.
    â€œBy you?”
    I wanted to vanish into the night.
    â€œIn some way, yes. I love many things.”
    â€œI don’t want to be loved like many things.” She stood, pacing now, careless in her nightgown. “I want a beautiful man to leave his life for me the way men throw away their good sense for Natasha. I want love over honor, passion over loyalty!”
    She sighed and continued before I could protest any of it.
    â€œBut that’s all utter nonsense. In truth I’m bound by honor and my loyalty to another code. In truth I can’t risk that kind of emotion, so yes, I would put it in a cage.”
    I rose, rather abruptly. “No.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œI mean, yes. Yes, of course, you said that.”
    Lucine looked up at me, round eyes searching mine curiously. She stepped closer, framing a hint of a smile.
    â€œYou’re a curious man, Toma,” she said in a sweet voice. So close I could smell the flowers in her perfume. “So sweet, and yet inside there somewhere is a ferocious beast who slays men with a sword. And you do like me—Natasha and Mother are right.”
    I had to cover my awkwardness. “What’s not to like?”
    She reached up and kissed my bare chin lightly, with soft lips. “A response like that,” she said.
    And then she turned and hurried up the steps, leaving me flatfooted by the fountain.
    The kiss, though only a peck, made my head useless. I think I rounded the fountain twice for no reason before I recalled her last words. A response like that . Like what?
    If I hadn’t been so accustomed to Alek’s adventures, I might have gone after them, or at least waited up, worried for their safety. Instead I fell asleep late, with thoughts of Lucine flogging my mind.
    Both Alek and Natasha were safe at home, lost to dreams of whatever fantasy had captured them, when I rushed to check on them the next morning. I decided to let Alek sleep. He’d hardly slept these last two days, and there was nothing for him to do now that we’d settled in and secured the estate.
    But the moment I saw him when I came in for tea at noon, I became alarmed. His face was white, and dark bruises cupped his eyes. His lower lip looked like it had taken a fist.
    On his heels came Natasha, looking like a ghost with the same dark circles, blonde hair down and tangled. She wore a white flounce-trimmed shift under a black leather vest with laces, and a black velvet skirt that fell to her calves. This was a change in fashion for her, and it immediately brought the Russians to mind.
    â€œNew look?” Kesia asked, smiling past her cup of tea. “It suits you.”
    â€œThank you, Mother.” Natasha curtsied.
    â€œA late night?”
    A sheepish grin was answer enough. Natasha walked to the tray of meats, plucked a pickled sardine from a glass bowl, and nibbled on its