Chapter 58 Jules
Jules
I sit on the edge of Hanna’s bed, hands folded in my lap, listening to the soft, uneven rhythm of her breathing.
She’s finally asleep—but it isn’t the peaceful kind of sleep she’s getting.
Her brow is faintly furrowed, lashes trembling as though she’s dreaming something unpleasant, and every so often she gives a little shiver, like a leaf caught in a draft. I lean forward and brush a curl back from her cheek, my touch feather-light—I’m afraid to wake her.
Mr. Mittens has decided that she requires supervision. He’s curled up beside her hip, a solid, warm weight, his tail tucked neatly around his body, golden eyes half-lidded but alert. Every now and then, his ears flick—responding to sounds I can’t hear, or maybe things I can’t sense at all.
For the first time since this nightmare began, the chaos pauses. Not ends. Just… pauses. And in the quiet, everything I’ve been pushing aside comes rushing back in.
My body feels wrong.
Not sick, exactly—but off, like some invisible hand has spun my internal compass and I can’t quite find true north again.
There’s a persistent, aching throb between my legs—slow and insistent—and my nipples feel tight and over-sensitive beneath the soft fabric of my dress.
Every move I make seems to over stimulate me and I feel desire pooling low in my belly—which makes me angry at myself.
This is ridiculous, I think and squeeze my thighs together, as if that might help.
How can I possibly be feeling like this right now?
One of my best friends was just attacked by something straight out of a nightmare.
Her soul—her soul—might literally be in danger.
And here I am, sitting on the edge of her bed, distracted by heat and need like some kind of horny teenager. What is wrong with me?
Get it together, Jules, I lecture myself. You can’t be feeling this way right now! It’s beyond inappropriate. It’s—
But just as I’m scolding myself, there’s a soft knock at the door.
Lucian doesn’t wait for an answer—he cracks it open just enough to peer inside.
“Come in,” I tell him quietly. “She’s sleeping now.”
He steps into the room, closing the door behind him with careful precision. His presence fills the space immediately. He’s not loud or overwhelming, he’s just so big. And his size makes me feel safe.
“Ah, I see she has a guardian.” Lucian nods at Mr. Mittens approvingly. “That’s good—cats are able to see and sense emissaries of the dead. This building is warded against any and all attacks, but on the off chance that Don Malthus tries anything else, your cat will warn us.”
I glance down at Mr. Mittens, who flicks his tail once but otherwise doesn’t move.
“Mr. Mittens isn’t exactly a guard cat,” I say doubtfully. “He pretty much loves everyone.”
“He would not love a death-dealer, I’m certain of that,” Lucian says, frowning.
A chill crawls down my spine.
“Do you think another thing like the one that attacked Hanna will be coming?”
The words feel like a curse as soon as they leave my mouth. The thought of seeing another one of those…things that touched Hanna makes my stomach knot and my chest go tight with fear.
“No, and not just because the Crimson Spires is warded against attack,” Lucian says, his expression grave. “But because Don Malthus knows he doesn’t have to attack again to claim Hanna as his own.”
My heart drops.
“What? What does that mean?” I demand, half angry, half terrified. “We can’t just let him take her!”
“I would never hand her over, but if she stays here in the Shadow Realm, she will eventually be drawn to his lands—to the Hollow Necropolis,” Lucian says. “It would take about a week, but it will happen—unless we send her back to the Human Realm.”
My breath rushes out of me in a shaky sound of pure worry.
“So if we get her home, she’s safe?”
Lucian nods.
“There is a barrier between the Shadow Realm and the Human world. He Soul-marked her, which would make it easy for him to draw her from one territory to another down here. But it has the opposite effect if she goes back. The very Soul-marking he laid on her makes it impossible for him to take her from the Human world without her consent.”
“Really?” Relief floods me so fast my knees nearly give out. “So can we get her home?”
“We can indeed—Whistler is working on it now.”
Something in his tone makes my stomach twist.
He sounds calm and controlled—too calm. All this sounds too easy. What’s the catch in this plan?
I open my mouth to ask what he isn’t saying—but before I can, he frowns and inhales slowly, his gaze snapping back to me.
“Little one, are you all right?”
He steps closer, reaching for me. I’ve been sitting on the bed while he stands over me—we’ve both been speaking in hushed tones—but when his hands close around my arms and he draws me gently to my feet, the room tilts.
For a moment, the world spins.
I sway, dizziness washing over me in a sudden wave, and Lucian’s grip tightens instantly, his arms coming fully around me to steady me.
“There’s something wrong with you—tell me what it is?” he demands.
Heat rushes to my face.
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly, mortified. “I’ve just been feeling weird ever since the carriage ride home, that’s all.”
“Weird how?” he presses.
I glance at Hanna, still asleep, and lower my voice.
“Not here—I don’t want to wake Hanna up.”
“All right. Come to my rooms with me.”
I take a step—and stumble.
The floor seems to lurch beneath my feet, my balance completely shot, and suddenly I’m not sure I can stand at all.
“Here—we can’t have you falling, little one.”
Before I can protest, Lucian scoops me up into his arms.
The contact is immediate and overwhelming. His chest is warm and solid beneath me, his arms strong and sure as he carries me out of the room. His scent surrounds me—dark spice and heat and something uniquely him—and my body reacts instantly, a sharp, needy pulse shooting straight through me.
Oh no! is the thought that shoots through my head as I try to clamp down on my instinctive reaction. This isn’t right, to be feeling like this. Not with Hanna in such bad shape and it’s all my fault!
My skin feels too sensitive, my breath too shallow, every nerve suddenly awake and longing for him. I press my face briefly against his broad shoulder, trying to hide the way my body is betraying me.
What kind of illness makes you dizzy and horny at the same time? I wonder.
I have no answer.
Only the growing, undeniable awareness that whatever is happening to me is not just in my head—and that my body is beginning to need him in a way I’ve never felt before.
And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it.