Julia may not yet understand the Shadow Realm. She may fear its justice and recoil from its violence. But she will learn, in time, that no one is safer than the woman protected by a Don of the Realm.
And I will make certain she never feels alone again.
Not even during her human storms.
35
Jules
I stand in the middle of Lucian’s bedroom for a long moment after he leaves, staring at the door like it might explain itself if I glare hard enough.
Curvy Queen.
The words echo in my head, heavy and unreal.
“Well,” I mutter to myself, tugging the crimson robe tighter around my waist, “that’s one way to start a Tuesday.”
Though honestly, I’m not exactly sure what day it is now. Time feels different in the Shadow Realm…it’s more fluid somehow. Have I been here for a few days…or for a few weeks? What if time is passing slower or faster here than it is in the Human Realm? What if Mr. Mittens is already out of food?
The thought makes me want to cry again and I hurriedly push it away. Why am I so emotional lately? What’s wrong with me?
I turn away from the door…and then I feel it. A heaviness in my lower abdomen…a feeling like a slowly clenching fist deep inside me.
Well, crap.
“Oh. You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter to myself.
I press a hand to my stomach, breathing slowly. It’s not pain yet—just that dull, warning ache I know all too well. The kind that means my uterus has started its monthly countdown.
Oh great, I think sourly. Just what I need right now—my period.
As if being abducted by a vampire Mafia Don into the Shadow Realm, almost trafficked by demons, and declared a Queen—which is a position I most certainly never applied for—wasn’t enough, I’m about to be surfing the crimson wave. Lovely.
I sigh and rub my temples.
Okay. Don’t panic. Usually when I start feeling the twinges, I’ve got some time before things really kick off. Time to find… supplies.
I glance around the gothic bedroom again, taking in the towering bed, the roaring fire, the carved stone walls—as though they might be hiding pads or tampons or maybe a goddess cup somewhere.
Do vampires even have tampons? Do they even know what a tampon is? I wonder.
The idea of trying to explain my menstrual cycle to Lucian makes me want to crawl back into bed and hide under the covers forever. I don’t even want to think about it.
One crisis at a time, Jules, I tell myself. Right now I have to get ready for this meeting with the Don of the Ossuary Circle—whatever that means. A memory pokes me—words I heard Kael, the Demon Don say when he was talking about why the different factions in the Shadow Realm all want “Curvy Queens.”
“The Ossuary Circle—necromancers cloaked in death—covet your lifeblood, thick with power,” his words whisper in my brain.
Ugh—does that mean we’ll be having dinner with a dead guy tonight? Or a necromancer—which isn’t much better, since they actually raise the dead and then use them as servants—don’t they? I only know what I’ve read in a few dark romantasy books, so I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I remember the gates made of iron and bone I saw in the Central Hub and the blue witchlights burning behind them.
Well, it seems like this is going to be an interesting dinner—not that there’s anything I can do about it. I might as well get dressed.
I head for the massive wardrobe set into the far wall. The doors are tall and heavy, carved with intricate designs—roses, thorns, wings, and fangs all tangled together. When I pull one open, the scent of rich fabric and faint perfume drifts out.
Rows and rows of dresses greet me. Most of them are… a lot.
I see deep, plunging necklines, corseted bodices and slits that go all the way up to there. Gowns that seemed intended to seduce or intimidate—or both. They’re gorgeous, no question about it—but also wildly impractical for everyday use. I wonder if Lucian intends for us to attend lots of formal dinner parties. He said he wants to have me on his arm—as though he wants to show me off because of my curves.
It seems strange to think that in the Shadow Realm, I am what everyone considers a “trophy wife.” Back home in the Human Realm, I’m invisible to most men—except creeps like Donald Pugh. Ugh. I shiver as I remember his fate—dragged down to hell by those weird black shadow hands…
