Chapter 33 Jules #2
The tea is perfect after I stir a few sugar lumps and some cream into it.
The croissants melt on my tongue. The honey tastes like flowers and sunlight, which is weirdly emotional for me, since I’m sitting in a vampire’s bedroom wondering if I’ll ever see the human world and any version of the Sun again.
All this luxury doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself as I spread honey on a slice of toast. This is just…hospitality. Manipulation. A strategy—Lucian’s way of keeping me happy and content so I don’t want to leave.
But all the same, the rich surroundings…the satin robe…the cozy chair by the fire and the amazing food…it all feels good.
And I hate that it feels good.
I will not be bought for a piece of buttered toast and a slice of smoked salmon, I vow to myself. I will still find a way out of here, back to Mr. Mittens and my Book Club friends.
Still, I keep eating because I’m hungry and because it steadies me. By the time I’m finishing the last of the berries, my body is warmer and my hands have stopped shaking. My brain is still spinning, but at least it’s spinning with fuel.
I’m just beginning to lay another set of escape plans when the door opens and Lucian steps inside.
He’s wearing another immaculate tailored suit—dark and severe and expensive-looking—the kind of suit that probably costs more than my car and makes you feel underdressed just by existing near it.
His thick black hair is perfectly styled and his face is calm. His eyes are that reddish gold this morning and so intense they make my stomach flip, which is annoying because my stomach should not be flipping for the man who kidnapped me.
He looks at me in the chair by the fire, wrapped in the red satin robe, eating off his silver tray like I live here.
I feel the immediate need to stand up and start demanding that he should let me go home…
but it feels almost silly to start yelling and shouting after everything that happened between us last night.
His eyes go half-lidded as he looks me over. Then he speaks, voice steady.
“Making yourself at home, I see. How are you feeling this morning?”
I swallow some tea to get rid of the lump in my throat before answering.
“Like I woke up in Dracula’s penthouse suite,” I say. “Which I guess is accurate.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile.
He seems happy enough—or what passes for happy with a vampire Mafia boss, but I know he can’t be.
I’m waiting for him to say something about last night.
About me running…and stealing his signet ring.
And about how I made him come after me and deal with the Demon Don, who is clearly his mortal enemy.
But surprisingly, Lucian says nothing.
Eventually the silence gets under my skin like a splinter, and I can’t wait any longer.
“Aren’t you mad at me?” I blurt out and then wish I could take the words back. Too late though—they’re out there.
Lucian frowns, looking honestly confused. “
Why would I be mad, little one?” he rumbles.
“Well…because I ran away and you had to come save me,” I say, wishing my voice sounded stronger, instead of like a little girl admitting something naughty she’s done.
Lucian shakes his head, frowning.
“You’re mine now, Julia—my responsibility.
Which means whatever you do, reflects on me.
I’m not angry because I should have been more specific with those idiotic guards who let you leave the Crimson Spires last night.
I should have told them no one but me was to leave, no matter who they claimed to be or what they said.
” He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Of course, I had no idea you’d have the ingenuity to steal my signet ring and pretend you were going by my leave.
I must admit—I’m impressed by your creativity. ”
My throat tightens. Impressed. Like this is some kind of twisted performance review.
“But…but the Demon Don—Kael—he made you give him a vial of your blood,” I protest. “What will he do with it? Will it give him power over you?”
Lucian shakes his head.
“No, little one. Not unless I entered the Carnal Bazaar again—which I don’t plan on doing ever again.
We Dons of the Shadow Realm have ultimate power within our respective realms. As for what he’ll do with it…
who knows? Probably use it to brew extremely strong lust potions.
What flows through my veins is both potent and cursed. ”
This does not make me feel better.
“So…you’re really not mad at me?” I ask again. “You’re not going to…to punish me?”
His eyes are suddenly heavy-lidded again.
“What kind of punishment did you have in mind, Julia?”
Suddenly, I remember the sex dungeon I saw yesterday during my escape—the one that’s right down the hall. Crap.
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” I snap, but I can feel my cheeks getting hot. I wonder if he knows I saw the sex dungeon. Maybe there are hidden cameras in there and he saw me look around.
Lucian just smirks at me, showing just a hint of fang in a way that’s absolutely infuriating. I can’t figure him out—I really can’t. If he wanted me that badly, he could have had me last night. I was in no shape to fight him off and even if I had been, he was about a hundred times stronger than me.
So why all this wooing? Why the slow burn romance instead of a quick and dirty encounter to take what he wanted?
“I’m not mad at you,” he says again.
“Well, maybe I’m still mad at you,” I snap, and my voice cracks on the last word.
“My life back in the Human Realm might have been crappy, but there were things I liked about it. I miss my friends from Book Club and my cat, Mr. Mittens—he can’t be left alone for much longer.
I mean, his automatic feeder will keep him from going hungry and thirsty for a while, but I need to scoop out his litter box and besides, he’ll be missing me, like I’m missing him! And…and…”
I stop, because my eyes are burning.
And because suddenly I can see Mr. Mittens in my head so clearly—sitting by the door, tail flicking, meowing at the empty hallway. He’ll be pacing…waiting for me.
Waiting when I’m never coming home.
“Oh God,” I whisper, and then I can’t help myself and the tears spill over.
“Now, now, little one…” Lucian crosses the room and crouches in front of me, cupping my face in his big hands. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs, brushing the tears away with his thumbs. “Please—it distresses me to see you so upset.”
“I can’t help crying,” I choke out. “I miss my friends! I miss my cat!”
Suddenly I’m bawling like a child, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
Great. Very dignified, Jules, whispers a little voice in my head. But I can’t seem to stop.
Last night I felt strong—clever, even. I escaped. I fought. I did something. But now everything feels awful and hopeless, like the adrenaline has drained out of me and left nothing behind but fear.
Is this it? Is this my life now?
One day ago I was an accountant with a crappy boss and a cat and a book club and a life that was mine. Now I’m stuck in Vampire Town…forever.
How does that happen? How does a person’s whole existence get ripped away in less than twenty-four hours?
“Shhh, my darling.” Lucian scoops me into his arms and settles on the side of the bed, rocking me like I weigh nothing. His arms tighten around me for a moment, solid and unyielding, the way they were last night when everything felt unreal and terrifying and strangely safe all at once.
“If you miss your pet that much, we’ll find a way to bring him over,” he promises quietly.
I sniff, wiping my nose with the sleeve of the robe, painfully aware that I’m crying into a vampire mafia lord’s chest like my life hasn’t completely derailed. “You… you can really do that?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation, as though moving a cat between realms is no more complicated than ordering room service.
Then his tone shifts.
“In the meantime,” he adds, “I have a gift for you.”
He reaches into the inner pocket of his suit and pulls out something small and clear. At first it looks like a marble—smooth, perfectly round, catching the firelight in tiny, bright flashes.
“What’s that?” I ask, frowning as I scrub the remaining tears from my cheeks.
“Retribution,” Lucian rumbles. “Just watch.”
He murmurs a single word in a language that prickles along my skin, and the marble grows. It expands smoothly, silently, until it’s the size of a crystal ball, heavy and cold-looking in his hand.
Mist blooms inside it—gray at first, then darker, swirling faster and faster until shapes begin to form.
I lean forward, curious despite myself.
The image resolves into an apartment—a messy one. The kind of mess that screams single man who has never once considered buying a laundry hamper.
Empty beer bottles litter the floor. Pizza boxes are stacked haphazardly in one corner, grease stains bleeding through the cardboard.
Clothes are strewn everywhere—jeans draped over the back of a chair…
socks kicked under a table… a rumpled work shirt hanging half-off a lamp.
The bed is unmade, and the exposed sheets are gray and twisted around a single, flat pillow, yellowed with age.
The place smells stale even through the crystal ball—like old sweat and cheap alcohol.
I frown because I don’t recognize the apartment. It certainly doesn’t belong to any of my Book Club friends—all of whom are single women who like to keep their living spaces clean and organized. But who would I know that would live like this?
Then someone walks into the frame and my stomach drops.
It’s Donald Pugh—my coworker.
The man who always “accidentally” brushes his hand against my ass whenever he walks by me…who leans in too close…who smiles too wide. The man who makes my skin crawl every time I have to pass his desk and I can feel his greedy little eyes crawling all over me.
Donald is wearing nothing but stained, tattered boxer shorts and his sparse yellowish hair is sticking up in all directions.
He scratches himself absently, shuffles across the room, and flops down onto the dirty, unmade bed.
He grabs a beer bottle from the nightstand, takes a long swig, and lets out a satisfied grunt as he stretches out.
It’s a disgusting look into a coworker’s private life but I don’t understand—why am I seeing this? Why did Lucian think it was important for me to see what kind of squalor Donald Pugh lives in?
I’m just opening my mouth to ask him…when suddenly, the mattress moves.
At first I think it’s my imagination.
Then black hands burst out of the bed.
Not arms—just hands—dozens of them. They erupt from the dirty gray sheets and the mattress itself, and all their fingers look too long—they seem to have extra joints in them. And all of them are tipped with long, black claws.
Donald seems to notice them almost the same time I do.
“What the fuck?” he gasps, looking around him in fear. “What—?”
But he doesn’t get to finish the thought. The shadow hands grab his wrists, his ankles, his torso. He screams, a high, panicked sound as their claws dig into his flesh.
“What—what is happening?” I whisper, my stomach twisting. “What the hell is going on?”
Lucian doesn’t answer and, in the meantime, my eyes are glued to the crystal ball and the scene it’s showing—which is right out of a horror movie.
The mattress beneath Donald turns into a yawning black void. It’s as though his own personal black hole has opened up beneath him.
He thrashes in the hands’ grip—shrieking, trying to pull free—but the hands drag him down into the hole, inch by inch. His screams turn wet and desperate—garbled pleading and shrieks of pure terror…until finally, the darkness swallows him completely.
Then there is nothing but silence.
The scene in the crystal ball goes back to normal. The mattress reforms…the sheets lie smooth and empty, as though nothing ever happened. The messy bedroom sits frozen in time, untouched.
And I just sit there staring at it. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. My whole body feels like it’s locked in ice.
“What… what just happened?” I manage to get out at last.
When he answers, Lucian’s voice is calm—too calm.
“As I said—retribution,” he replies. “I made a deal with the Don of the Necromancers—the Lord of Bones, we call him. Your troublesome coworker will not be troubling any woman ever again.”
His smile is cruel—framed by the gleam of his fangs.
Seeing that expression on his face, something in me snaps.
I shove myself off his lap, scrambling to my feet.
“Is this some kind of threat?” I demand, my voice shaking. “Is this what you’ll do to me if I don’t settle down and behave?”
Lucian looks genuinely startled.
“What? Of course not!”
“Then why show me that?” I gesture wildly at the crystal ball. “That was horrifying!”
“I’m showing you that I can protect you,” he says, frowning now. “That any enemy of yours is an enemy of mine. And that I don’t tolerate other males touching my woman.”
“I am not your woman!” I snap, panic and anger surging together. “And yes, Donald Pugh was a jerk, but he didn’t deserve to be dragged into the underworld by a hundred nightmare hands—or whatever the hell that was!”
Lucian’s expression hardens.
“I did some research,” he says quietly. “He was a rapist. He forced himself on several women in his life. Only one pressed charges—and she dropped them when he threatened her child.”
The words hit me like a blow to the stomach.
“Seriously?” I ask, but my voice comes out in a whisper. I knew Donald was a jerk, but I didn’t know he was a rapist. Though to be honest, it’s not that much of a surprise.
Lucian nods.
“If anyone deserved to spend the rest of his days being tormented in the lair of the Necros,” he says, “it was him.”
My anger falters. I bite my lower lip, my hands shaking.
“I… I didn’t know that,” I admit. “I just… that was scary. What you showed me felt more like a threat than reassurance.”
Lucian steps closer, his voice low and intent.
“My darling, I would never hurt you. You’re mine now. I’ll take care of you, always.”
I suppose the words should comfort me…but they don’t. He’s still claiming to own me, and that’s upsetting. Even more upsetting than what happened to Donald Pugh.
Lucian straightens, the Vampire Don once more, all warmth draining from his posture as if he’s pulling on armor.
“And now I must go. You should get dressed—we have a meeting later with the Don of the Ossuary Circle and I want you by my side as my Curvy Queen.”
Then he’s gone.
The door closes softly behind him and I stand there alone in the crimson-lit room, the fire crackling quietly, my heart still pounding as the image of black hands and screaming shadows replays behind my eyes.
How did my life come to this?
And more importantly—
What the hell am I going to do about it?