I sit on the edge of the bed, hugging my middle, trying not to let it show. I don’t bleed much when I’m on my period—never have—but the cramps? The cramps are brutal—especially the first night. The kind that make you feel hollowed out and fragile and just… sad.
And that’s the worst part.
Being on my period doesn’t make me irrational or angry like some men like to joke. It makes me quiet. It makes everything feel heavier and harder and more hopeless than it probably is.
Right now, all I can think is that I’m trapped.
The Shadow Realm…the Crimson Spires…Lucian. They all feel like insurmountable obstacles standing between me and going home. Not to mention poor Hanna who’s caught up in all of this because of me. I feel so guilty when I remember the fear in her eyes.
I don’t know how I’m ever going to get us home.
Mr. Mittens is here at least. That helps—sort of.
I glance toward the fire, where he’s curled into a smug, fluffy loaf on the rug, tail flicking lazily as he basks in the warmth. He cracks one eye open when he notices me looking, then closes it again.
“Traitor,” I mutter. He ought to be on my lap comforting me—but the fire is so warm and cozy he just can’t resist it. Well, I wouldn’t want him “making biscuits” as he likes to do on my stomach right now anyway. My whole abdomen feels way too painful to be able to stand any kneading right now.
I shift again, wincing as another wave of pain rolls through me, and that’s when it seems that Lucian notices.
His dark eyes fixed on me with an unnerving intensity that makes it feel like nothing about me ever goes unnoticed.
“Let me care for you,” he says again. “You are in pain—I can feel it.”
“I’m just tired,” I say quickly. “It’s been a long couple of days.” Which is pretty much the understatement of the century. “I’ll probably just go right to bed,” I add.
He studies me for a moment, then shakes his head once.
“No. First you need a warm bath to help ease the pain of your flow.”
I stiffen.
“My what? What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he says gently, as if explaining something obvious, “That your monthly time of blood is upon you. Your body is tightening instead of releasing. Heat will help.”
My stomach clenches—not from cramps this time, but embarrassment.
“What do you mean you know?” I demand. “How could you possibly?—”
“I can smell the blood,” he says simply. “And I learned much about humans when I was younger.”
“But it doesn’t…doesn’t bother you?” I ask uncertainly.
He tilts his head.
“Why would it?”
“A lot of men,” I say, unable to keep the edge out of my voice, “Freak out when they find out a woman’s on her period. Or they act like she’s contagious. Or unstable.”
I hate when men get that stupid, knowing look on their face when you’re upset about something and say, “Oh, are you on your period?” For me, it’s an immediate red flag. But I’ve never been with a man who seems completely unbothered by my time of the month. Or even willing to help with it, as Lucian seems willing to do.
He frowns at my defensiveness.
“It’s just blood, my darling. I am intimately familiar with it—I do not fear it.” His gaze softens. “I only wish to ease your pain.”
Something in my chest tightens at that. I don’t think I’ve ever been with a man who looks at me the way Lucian does—like I’m precious and beautiful and worthy of being cherished.
Before I can protest further, he takes my hand and leads me into the bathing chamber. Steam curls in the air as he fills the tub with warm water and fragrant bubbles. Candlelight reflects off dark stone and polished metal, turning the room into something out of a dream.
