“It is what you are.”
“Everyone keeps saying that,” I mutter, frowning. “Whistler said it. Now you are too.”
“Because you are, indeed, as he and I have both called you—a Curvy Queen. One blessed with abundant curves,” he says patiently.
I give him a look.
“Great. So is there a pamphlet I can read that explains it? Maybe, ‘So You’ve been Abducted to the Shadow Realm and discovered You’re a Curvy Queen: Ten Things to Expect’?”
“If you want one, I’ll commission it.” He doesn’t even blink.
“Oh my God.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Explain it—slowly. Like I’m five. Why is everyone calling me ‘Curvy Queen’ and what exactly are the implications tied to that title?”
“In our world,” Lucian says, “A human woman with abundant curves is rare. Prized. Your bodies carry more heat…more blood…more magic…more potential. Some few—very few of the Curvy Queens—also carry something else. The Sanguis Vita—a rare element which can strengthen and cure those of my kind—the Thirstborn.”
Okay, now I get it. I feel my heart drop a little—I honestly thought he liked me because of me. But no—he just wants me because I’m fat.
“So you want me because I’m plus-sized,” I say flatly. “Because fat girls make better juice.”
His eyes flash, and not with hunger. I see irritation in those red pupils.
“Don’t insult yourself, Julia. You are curvy—fucking beautiful. And yes—your blood carries the cure mine needs. I searched for you. I would have crossed a thousand worlds to get to you or to bring you to me.”
“There it is, again” I say, crossing my arms over my breasts. “You just want me for my blood.”
“I want you for you,” he says, and the way he looks at me—his eyes half-lidded with lust—makes me shiver. “But I won’t lie. I need what only you can give. The Sanguis Vita strengthens when you are warmed and pleasured. Drinking from you is the only way to break the family curse my father called down upon us.”
“Fantastic.” I fling a hand at the chandelier. “So I’m here to be your personal nurse and blood bag.”
He frowns.
“You are a Queen—my Queen.”
“Don’t do that,” I say, and to my horror I can feel tears pricking behind my eyes. “Don’t pretty it up. You can call me a ‘Queen” all you want but if you won’t let me leave, what I am is your prisoner.”
He starts to protest but I cut him off.
“Look, I’m tired. I’m cold. I’m naked in a bathroom that looks like Versailles and you keep saying I’m yours and I don’t even know if my cat ate his dinner. I miss him and I miss my crappy little apartment and my friends and my home!”
“It’s natural to feel some homesickness at first, my lovely one. But don’t worry—it will pass as we get to know each other.”
He puts the little golden knife back in his pocket—I notice that the wound on his wrist is already healed—and picks up the sponge again. He begins to wash me once more and this time he goes slow. He’s careful where the slime clings in delicate places, as if I’m made of fine china. I can’t help thinking that he has such big hands, but it’s clear he knows how to handle fragile things.
I try to hold on to my homesickness and my anger but as he washes me, I feel them slipping away. For some reason, things are different. I’m warmer now, for one thing—his blood really worked, I guess. But I feel other differences in my body too.
And then he puts down the sponge and starts using his hands, stroking and rubbing…caressing my bare skin. I know I should protest, but for some reason I don’t. Heat coils low in my belly, spreading outward like someone lit a fuse under my skin. Every nerve feels alive, buzzing.
His big warm hand massages my shoulder and it’s not just cleaning—it’s a caress. My nipples are so tight they almost hurt. I press my thighs together tightly under the water, trying to hide the sudden ache blooming there.
Oh God, what’s wrong with me? Does this have to do with that sip I took of his blood? I shift restlessly and the water laps at the sides of the tub.
“Easy, little one,” Lucian murmurs, his voice a soft growl and his eyes lazy with lust. His hand lingers on my arm, longer than necessary, his thumb brushing the inside of my elbow. “You feel it, don’t you?”
I swallow hard. My voice comes out rough.
“Feel what exactly?”
“The Blood-Bond,” he says simply, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “My blood has awakened yours. It sharpens sensation. Turns warmth into fire…pleasure into rapture.”
