“Careful, little one. You’re tempting me to make that list even longer,” I warn her.
She pokes weakly at my chest.
“If that back there is your idea of discreet, I’d hate to see what happens when you’re not holding back. There were people watching us!”
I bend my head, brushing my lips against the crown of her hair.
“You liked being watched—it made you hotter. I could tell by your scent.”
Her cheeks go pink, and she tries to look away, but I can still feel the truth of it humming through her body. Lust is part of her magic, and her magic responds to me. Soon, I will put her in my harness in the playroom…tease her…edge her…force the Sanguis Vita in her veins to ripen until it is the richest wine. Then I will drink from her for the first time.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I want nothing more than to hold her. To keep her safe and warm in my arms where no demon or rival syndicate can ever touch her again.
We emerge into the grand courtyard of the Crimson Spires. Rain-slick black stone gleams under crimson lanterns, and my guards rush forward to open the heavy iron doors. They bow and cower, knowing they failed me once before when they allowed her to escape. Fools. They will not have another chance.
I stride past them, ignoring their stammered apologies. Jules belongs in my arms, not in their line of sight. I carry her to the private elevator tucked deep inside the Spires. The doors close behind us with a soft hiss, and I press the button for the penthouse suite.
The lift begins to rise. She shifts, cuddling into me, and my cold heart clenches at the trust in that small gesture.
“Mmm,” she murmurs, “So sleepy…can’t keep my eyes open.”
I brush a strand of hair from her cheek.
“You’ve had a long day. Taken from the human realm…dragged into the Shadow Realm…escaping and then nearly getting trapped in the Carnal Bazaar. It would tire anyone out.”
Her eyes flash open, stubborn and defiant even through her exhaustion.
“I had to at least try to get away! I need to go home.”
I tighten my arms around her and kiss the top of her head.
“Your home is here with me now, little one. And you’re not getting away again.”
Her eyes flutter closed, but I can feel the storm of her emotions against my chest.
She may not accept it yet, but she is mine.
Forever.
32
Jules
Lucian carries me into his room like I weigh nothing, his steps silent on the thick carpets. The massive four-poster bed looms ahead—dark wood and crimson sheets glowing faintly under the ruby chandelier. The fire in the grate snaps and spits, throwing shadows up the walls like claws. It feels decadent, dangerous, and enticing all at once.
He lays me down gently, as though I’m some fragile offering instead of the woman he abducted, and starts tugging at my little ankle-boots.
“Wait—what are you doing?” I ask, managing to sound sleepy and worried at the same time.
“Undressing you,” he says simply, his deep voice brooking no argument. His shirt slides away, and then his fingers are tugging at the silk gown I’m wearing.
“No, wait?—”
But my protest dies in my throat as he strips the dress away in one smooth pull. The fabric whispers down my skin and pools on the carpet, leaving me naked and shivering on the crimson sheets.
Heat floods my cheeks and I cross my arms over my breasts.
