Chapter 46 Jules
Jules
Hanna and I follow Lucian down the hallway, our footsteps muffled by thick carpets that look like they were woven out of velvet and shadow. The Vampire Don moves like he always does—silent, controlled, and elegant.
He moves like a predator who knows he’s at the top of the food chain and doesn’t need to hurry. The thought pops into my head and I have to agree with it.
I’m still not used to how huge he is. Not just tall—big. Broad shoulders under the dark suit…long legs eating up the distance with every step. And yet he doesn’t stomp or swagger like some big men. He glides.
We step into the private elevator, the doors whispering shut behind us. The air inside smells faintly of polished wood and something spicy—cinnamon? clove? It’s good, whatever it is.
As we descend, Hanna leans in close to me and whispers,
“This whole place is amazing. I swear to God, if I wake up and this turns out to be some kind of fever dream, I’m going to be so mad.”
I snort under my breath.
“If this is a fever dream, my brain has an extremely specific aesthetic. Besides, I think I would have woken up by now.”
The elevator opens into the grand entryway, where black marble columns rise up like tree trunks in a haunted forest. The front doors stand ahead of us, tall enough to swallow a person whole.
When Lucian motions, the two guards push them open and outside air rushes in—cool and crisp with a faint scent of damp earth and fallen leaves.
It smells like Autumn. I know, because I haven’t always lived in Florida, where we don’t get Autumn. We get “still summer,” and then “slightly less summer,” and then “Christmas decorations in eighty degrees.” Which sucks—I hate a hot Christmas.
But I remember the scent of Fall from my childhood, when I lived with my parents in Virginia. I remember the faint scent of burning leaves and the crisp feeling in the air and that’s what it feels like now.
Also, the reddish-gold sunlight makes everything look like an eternal October afternoon.
There’s the faintest chill in the air, but it’s refreshing—not too cold.
And the sunshine is bright, but not blinding.
The light has a soft, coppery quality I love—so different from the relentless, muggy sunshine of Florida.
I look back at the building towering behind us. The Crimson Spires don’t look quite as foreboding in daylight.
Not that I’d ever say they look friendly—let’s not get crazy—but the red-gold sunlight takes some of the edge off the jagged black towers and wicked ironwork.
It makes the stone glow faintly, like the whole place is lit from within by old embers.
The stained-glass windows aren’t just dark, glaring eyes anymore—they catch the light and throw ruby and garnet reflections across the front steps like scattered jewels.
It’s almost…pretty.
Which is honestly unsettling in its own way.
A clop-clop-clop sound makes me turn my head and my eyes go wide. Because standing in the long-curved driveway before the Crimson Spires is an actual horse-drawn carriage.
Not a car…not a sleek vampire limo.
A carriage.
Like Hanna and I are about to go on a proper Victorian drive in the country.
“Oh my God,” Hanna whispers. “Is that real?”
“It’s real,” I say. “And it looks really authentic.”
“Look at those horses!” Hanna murmurs. “I wish I could take a picture—Sophia would love them!”
Sophia is our vet-tech friend from Book Club and I have to agree—she’d go crazy for the two enormous black horses harnessed to the carriage.
Their bodies are glossy like polished obsidian and their muscles ripple under their coats when they shift.
Their manes are thick and wild, braided in places with crimson ribbons that flutter faintly in the breeze.
But it’s their eyes that make my stomach dip—they’re red. Not cartoon red or Halloween decoration red. They’re red like burning coals.
One of them snorts, a deep, smoky sound, and stamps a gigantic hoof against the stone. The metal fittings on its harness clink softly—silver, engraved with swirling symbols I don’t recognize. The air around the horses feels…different. Charged—like standing too close to a storm.
Okay, these are definitely not normal horses, I think.
But there’s more to see. The carriage itself is spectacular.
It’s made of dark wood so polished it reflects the red sunlight.
Silver filigree curls along the edges in ornate patterns—vines and thorns and roses—like someone took an antique fairytale carriage and decided it needed to be sexier.
The wheels are huge—lacquered black with silver spokes—and there are little ruby lanterns at the corners, unlit but gleaming.
The door is already open, and inside I glimpse deep crimson velvet seats and plush cushions that look like they could swallow you whole. The whole thing smells like cedar and leather and something faintly floral…like roses crushed between your fingertips.
The driver sits up front, straight-backed and silent.
He has long silver hair tied back neatly, and pointed ears that pierce through his hair like sharp little secrets. His face is pale and unreadable, almost too calm. Like nothing surprises him anymore.
He inclines his head at Lucian—just a brief, respectful nod—and then his gaze flicks to Hanna and me. The look he gives us isn’t hungry or leering—it’s more assessing. Like he’s already calculating how to keep us alive if we run into trouble—which I really hope we won’t.
But I don’t think Lucian would be sending me away on a trip if he thought there was any danger.
Making extra sure we’re safe by hiring a driver who looks like he can fight is the careful kind of consideration I’m beginning to understand is part of my Vampire Don’s personality.
He’s just extremely protective and possessive.
As though he can hear my thoughts, Lucian turns slightly, his hand brushing the small of my back in a gesture that is somehow both possessive and reassuring.
Then he speaks to the driver, and his voice is low and lethal.
“You will take careful care of them,” he says. “You will bring them to the orchard and vineyard, and then return them safely to me.”
The driver nods.
“Yes, my Lord,” he says.
Lucian steps closer, his eyes narrowing.
“This is your Queen and her friend—you must guard them with your life. If anything happens to either of them, your head is on the chopping block.”
The driver nods again, his eyes serious.
“Yes, my Lord. I understand.”
Hanna leans closer and whispers,
“Why is he so calm about the whole…beheading thing?”
“Because he believes Lucian,” I whisper back.
“Are we going to be in danger?” she asks.
“Almost certainly not,” Lucian replies before I can answer.
“I just like to be certain my Curvy Queen is well protected. Caelen here used to be a Fae assassin in the Briar Court before he came to work for me. He is one of my bodyguards now and considerably overqualified to drive a carriage. However, I like knowing that he’s with the two of you when I cannot be there. ”
The driver nods again and I feel a shiver run down my spine. A Fae assassin? The Vampire Don doesn’t do anything halfway, does he?
“Now then—let’s get you ladies settled, shall we?” Lucian asks courteously.
He helps Hanna into the carriage first, his big hand steady on her elbow as she climbs up the small step. Hanna hesitates—just a flicker—and then she’s inside, sinking into the velvet seat.
Then Lucian turns to me.
His gaze softens—his cool and impersonal gaze going warm and possessive. His look makes me blush—I can feel my cheeks heating. God! Why does he have to look at me like that?
He offers me his hand, and when my fingers slide into his, warmth pulses through my skin. His hand is warm and firm and there’s a strength in it that makes me feel protected.
He helps me carefully up into the carriage as if I’m precious to him, making certain I don’t hit my head.
“Careful, my darling,” he murmurs, which makes me feel precious and cherished.
In my last situationship (because it was so casual I couldn’t even call it a relationship) the guy wouldn’t even hold the door for me when we went out.
The way Lucian is so careful and attentive is new to me.
He makes me feel special in a way no other man ever has.
Once I’m inside, he doesn’t step away right away. He lingers at the open carriage door, one hand resting on the frame, the other still holding mine.
Then he lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, slowly and tenderly, as though he has all the time in the world.
“Have a wonderful time, my darling,” he murmurs. “I hope you enjoy touring my part of the Realm.”
“I’m sure we will,” I say, though I’m not really sure.
Because I remember my first attempt to escape. I remember the creepy streets and the shadows that seemed to watch me. I remember how wrong everything felt, like the world itself was tilted.
But this morning isn’t like that.
The red moon is gone. In its place is that muted red sun, warm enough to take the chilly bite out of the air while leaving just enough crispness for it to feel like Autumn.
The golden-red light turns the world into something romantic—almost beautiful.
The leaves on the trees shimmer in copper and garnet, and the breeze smells faintly of wood smoke.
And honestly, the idea of taking a horse-drawn carriage ride to go tour orchards and vineyards—and then doing a cheese and wine tasting with one of my best friends—sounds like something out of a fantasy Pinterest board I would have saved back home and never actually gotten to do. So maybe I can give this a chance.
I just hope I’m not losing my heart to the Vampire Don.
Because even as the horses snort and the driver clicks his tongue and the carriage begins to roll forward, I can still feel the press of Lucian’s lips on my hand, like a brand or a promise.
I draw my hand back to my lap, fingertips tingling, and stare out the carriage window as the Crimson Spires recede behind us—less menacing in the red-gold sunlight, but still towering and watchful…still waiting.
And I can’t help thinking—
What if I don’t want to leave when the time comes?