Chapter 30 Jules
Jules
The world is a blur of sensation, a fever dream painted in shades of shadow and sin.
Lucian carries me through the Carnal Bazaar, his arms are like flexible steel wrapped around me.
My cheek is pressed against his chest, where I can hear the slow, deliberate beat of a heart. It’s a comforting, terrifying rhythm.
Around us, the Bazaar unfolds in a dizzying rush.
I see it in flashes, like glimpses through a cracked mirror.
Stalls draped in velvet the color of bruises and fresh blood…
the cloying, sweet scent of exotic perfumes and burning incense, undercut by the musk of sweat and something darker, spicier—desire itself, given a smell.
I hear the low murmur of countless conversations…
the clink of strange coins…the wet, rhythmic slap of flesh from curtained alcoves…
and occasional sighs that are pure pleasure or pure agony—I can’t tell which.
Demons of every shape watch us pass with eyes that gleam like polished jet, their smiles revealing too many teeth.
The air is warm, thick, and heavy, pressing down on my skin like a damp weight.
It’s all too much. I bury my face against Lucian’s broad chest, breathing in his scent—warm, spicy, and undeniably masculine with a faint, metallic whisper of power. It’s my only anchor in this sea of chaos.
Then, the sensory storm recedes. The noise fades to a distant hum and the press of bodies vanishes. He sets me down on my feet, his hands lingering on my waist until he’s sure my trembling legs will hold.
Before us rise the gates, towering and seamless. No handle, no lock—just immense, iron bars that block the path back to the Central Hub.
“How are we going to get through?” My voice sounds small, swallowed by the dense silence around the gate. “When I tried to get through before, they wouldn’t budge. Not even a crack.”
Lucian looks grim, his aristocratic features carved from marble in the dim light.
“If you haven’t figured it out yet, little one, every gate in the Shadow Realm demands a sacrifice.”
“Yes, I figured that out,” I say, slightly impatiently. “The gates to your, uh, kingdom opened when I stuck myself on one of the thorns and gave them some blood. But this gate wouldn’t take my blood—I know because I tried it when I was trying to get out earlier.”
He nods once—a sharp, precise motion.
“It’s true, the gates to my world—to the Bleeding Court—they demand blood to get out.
But not all gates want the same thing. The gates to the Gilded Warrens demand treasure or gold, and the gates to the Hollow Necropolis require a piece of your soul.
The gates to the Savage Den require an act of violence to pass, and the Briar Court needs Fae magic—a glamour.
” His eyes, dark as a starless midnight, hold mine.
“Every realm guards its borders with a price that reflects its nature.”
A shiver that has nothing to do with cold traces my spine.
“So what do these gates want to let us pass?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he steps closer, his body radiating a heat that seems at odds with his vampiric nature. He looks into my eyes, his gaze intense enough to pin me in place.
“Think, little one. What is the Carnal Bazaar all about? Why did the Demon Don want to keep you?”
My mind races, tripping over the memory of Kael’s hands on me, his voice slick as oil in my ear.
‘Such potent lust magic…’
Sudden realization hits me, hot and embarrassing.
“He said… he said I had lust magic,” I whisper, the words feeling illicit on my tongue.
“And so you do, my lovely one.”
His voice drops to a velvet rumble. He reaches up and strokes my cheek with the backs of his knuckles.
The touch is shockingly gentle, but it ignites a line of fire straight from my face to the spot between my legs.
Is it still the residue of the spell Kael was using on me, or is it—as Lucian claimed earlier—that his touch arouses me because I’m his Fated Mate?
I can’t tell and to be honest, I don’t care. My skin feels too tight…too sensitive. Every nerve ending is screaming for more of his contact. I feel like I’m right on the edge of combustion—a dry pile of kindling waiting for his spark.
“Lust,” I breathe and the word itself is a confession.
“Exactly.” He nods, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “These gates demand an act of lust. Which I will now perform on you, little one.”
“What?” The word comes out as a shocked gasp.
I jerk my head back, looking around wildly. There’s no one right by the gates, but we’re out in the open, at the end of a wide avenue. Shadows are moving in the distance. Someone could walk up at any time and see us!
“Right here? In public?” I demand.
“I’m afraid so,” he murmurs, not sounding afraid at all. He leans down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. His breath is cool, but it sends a wave of heat crashing over me. “Don’t worry. I can be discreet.”
Then his mouth is on mine, and all coherent thought dissolves as I get lost in his kiss.
He kisses me, and it’s nothing like I’ve ever known. It’s not tentative or questioning—it’s a claiming.
His lips are firm, demanding my surrender, and I’m ashamed to say, I give it willingly.
The taste of his mouth is incredible—like hot cinnamon candy and aged wine—dark, spicy, and addictive.
He’s so big, so solid, he seems to surround me completely, his broad shoulders blocking out the eerie light, the world narrowing to just the two of us.
One of his hands cups the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, holding me steady for his exploration.
Emboldened by the taste of him, by the dizzying rightness of it, I dare to trace the line of his lips with my tongue.
I find the sharp, distinct points of his fangs.
A thrill of danger—electric and potent—shoots through me.
I press a little closer, curious, tracing the lethal curve with the tip of my tongue until… ow!
A sharp sting, and the coppery tang of my own blood floods my mouth. I flinch, starting to pull away with a soft sound of surprise.
“No,” Lucian growls against my lips, the vibration humming through my entire body. His grip in my hair tightens, not painfully, but with absolute authority. “Let me taste you, my Queen.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, and sucks gently on my tongue, drawing at the tiny wound.
The sensation is both bizarrely intimate and overwhelmingly erotic.
It’s not pain…it’s a sharing…mingling. He drinks the few drops of my blood with a low, appreciative rumble that I feel in my whole body.
At the same time, his other hand begins to move.
The silk gown I’m wearing is treacherously thin—no more than a whisper against my skin, so I feel everything.
His big, warm palm slides up my sides, his thumb sweeping over the peak of my right breast. He teases my nipple through the slippery fabric, rolling and pinching it gently until it’s a hard, aching point.
Oh God—it feels so good! I moan into his mouth, my back arching instinctively, pushing myself into his hand.
He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips along my jaw to my ear. His hand continues its devastating journey, cupping my breast, his thumb still working my nipple. I’m bare underneath the silk, and the friction of the fine material against my sensitized skin is almost too much.
“So responsive,” he whispers, his voice a dark caress. “Your body sings for me, Julia. I can feel your heart fluttering like a little bird in your chest.”
Then his other hand moves. It slides down my side, over the curve of my hip, and finds the high slit in the dress. His fingers slip beneath the silk, skating up the outside of my thigh. Higher… higher… until his big, warm palm cups me, completely covering my bare pussy.
I gasp, a jolt of pure lightning shooting through me.
I ought to pull away—I know I should. Instead, I give a helpless little wiggle of my hips, trying to press myself more firmly into his hand.
It’s mortifying, doing this here, where anyone could see.
But God, it’s also incredibly, unbearably hot.
The risk of the exposure and the sheer audacity of what we’re doing right here in public fans the flames inside me higher.
Lucian stops kissing my neck and brings his lips back to my ear. His voice is low, a private rumble meant only for me, each word a deliberate attack on my already frayed control.
“I can feel how wet you are for me, my lovely one,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking lightly through my curls, not quite touching where I need him most. “Your sweet little pussy is so hot in my hand. You’re drenched for me already.
Do you want me to touch you properly? Do you want me to make you feel good, right here while the shadows watch? ”
His words are explicit…graphic…and they penetrate me deeply, making me shiver. My whole body lights up for him—a live wire connected to his voice.
“Oh God, Lucian! I…shouldn’t…shouldn’t let you,” I moan, the protest weak even to my own ears.
“Oh yes, you should,” he counters, his tone leaving no room for argument. His middle finger finally dips lower, sliding through my slick petals, collecting my wetness. “We must, if we’re ever going to make these gates open for us. Now be a good girl and part your thighs for me, Julia. Let me in.”
I’ve been squeezing my thighs together in the last vestige of modesty and self-preservation I possess, but at his command, I feel them opening. My body is betraying me—surrendering and it feels so good.
His long, clever fingers slip between my outer lips. One fingertip finds the aching button of my clit and begins to circle it, slow and maddeningly perfect. I cry out, my legs turning to water as my head falls back against his supporting arm.
“I can feel how hot you are for me,” he murmurs, his voice like dark, seductive music in my ear.