Chapter 17
Lucian
My sweet Julia is weightless in my arms.
Not because she is light—she is lush, abundant—everything a Queen should be. No, it’s because that fucking Wraith took too much of her. She feels like she’s already halfway gone!
I grit my teeth and clutch her closer, ignoring the slime soaking through my suit jacket. Filth. It reeks of the Wraith—acrid and putrid—but I don’t give a damn. My lovely little human is cold as death against me.
Please, no…
The shard in my palm still burns. Every nerve in my arm screams from wielding the Crimson Brand to drive off the Wraith, but I shove the pain down. It’s nothing—less than nothing—as long as she’s safe.
Julia’s head lolls against my chest—her skin clammy, her lips tinged blue. The sight cuts me deeper than any blade ever could.
“Hold on, little one,” I murmur, the words half-command/half-prayer. “I spent months trying to find you—don’t you dare slip away from me now!”
My shoes strike the marble as I stride out of the dungeon corridor. I take her up the elevator and into my private hallway. When I reach my office, the guard at the door startles, then pales when he sees her limp form in my arms.
“My Lord, is she—”
“Shut the fuck up!” My voice is a growl. “You’ll speak when I ask you to—and pray I never do. For now, get out of my sight—you’re on permanent outdoor duty. I never want to see you inside the walls of the Crimson Spires again!”
He nods and flattens himself against the wall. Wise of him. If my arms weren’t full of my Curvy Queen, I would have ripped his head from his shoulders.
I jab the button for the special lift that leads up one more floor, to the penthouse where I live. The very tip-top of the Crimson Spires where only I have access. My jaw is tight, my chest aching with every beat. Julia shivers in my arms—a tiny tremor that makes me clutch her tighter.
Too cold. She’s too fucking cold!
Humans are such delicate creatures. I have to warm her up, but in order to do that, she must first be cleaned.
The Wraith’s slime clings to her skin like oil, seeping into every crease and curve of her lovely full body. If it’s not cleansed away quickly, it will linger and continue to chill her until she dies of hypothermia. She’ll fade as surely as if the Wraith still had her wrapped in its coils.
I won’t allow that.
I tilt my head, inhaling deeply, desperate for a sign she’s still herself under all that slime. And there—underneath the foul reek—is Julia. Her scent, warm, soft and alive, brings me hope. If the Wraith had succeeded in consuming her soul, her scent would be gone.
Thank all the Gods that ever were—she’s still in there, somewhere.
The elevator groans as it climbs. Every second drags like an eternity. I adjust my grip, tucking her closer, trying to shield her and warm her with my body heat. Though the Thirstborn generally have a lower body temperature than humans, my chest feels like a furnace compared to her icy skin.
I lower my lips to her temple, letting my breath warm her damp hair.
“You’re mine,” I whisper, fiercely—possessively. “And I won’t lose you. Not to a Wraith. Not to anyone.”
The bell chimes softly. The doors slide open to the private penthouse where I keep my chambers. I carry my curvy little human straight toward the suite I’d prepared, my strides long and relentless.
I need to clean her. Warm her. Strip every trace of that creature from her skin.
I only pray to the First Chalice that the Wraith didn’t drain too much of her life force—because if it did, no heat, no blood, and no power in this realm will ever make her whole again.