Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
I guess it’s a nice parting prize for a curvy girl who spent half a week being a Vampire Don’s queen, but I can’t help thinking I’d rather have Lucian himself.
I miss him.
Yes, even though he kidnapped me and dragged me into the Shadow Realm against my will and held me there for days before—inexplicably—deciding to let me go. I can’t help it—I’ve never had a man treat me like he treated me—like I was special and cherished. And I’ve certainly never had a man worship my curves before.
So yes, I miss him.
Maybe that’s why that night, when I finally go to bed, I have a bad dream about him.
In my dream, Lucian is sitting in his bedroom. In fact, he’s sitting in my favorite chair—the cushy one by the fire. He’s staring into the flickering flames with an unreadable look on his face and it seems to me that he looks kind of pale. Pale and extremely unhappy. I know I said his face is unreadable and it is, but I can tell that he’s sad. I don’t know how I know—I just do.
Maybe it has something to do with the strange connection I still feel between us. It’s kind of like someone tied a golden thread to my heart and when I see him in my dream, someone is tugging on it. Maybe the other end is tied to his heart and that’s the pull I feel.
I have no way of knowing. I only know that I wake up missing him even more than before and wishing I could find a way back to him.
But that’s impossible…right?
70
Jules
I don’t sleep anymore.
Not really.
I lie down every night beside Mr. Mittens, who curls against my stomach like he’s trying to anchor me to the bed, and I close my eyes and hope for nothing. But the dreams come anyway.
Lucian is always in them.
At first, he’s just standing in the shadows of the Crimson Spires, watching me in that quiet, intense, possessive way that made my breath catch in my throat. I try to go to him, but my feet won’t move. The floor stretches, endless and black, and the farther away he gets, the thinner he looks.
He’s fading—I know that now. Just like Hanna was.
In the worst dreams, he’s lying on the stone floor of his chamber—skin gray, eyes dull, a terrible hunger burning through him unchecked. I know because I can feel it through our link.
And I know—somehow I know—that my blood can save him. My blood can bring him back…only I can’t reach him.
His hand reaches for me, fingers trembling.
Come back, he whispers.
I wake up crying, heart pounding, sheets twisted around my legs, Mr. Mittens yowls in protest as I gasp for air.
“It’s just a dream,” I tell myself every time.
But it never feels like that—it feels true. The thought sits in my chest like a stone and I can’t get away from it.
I take the token out every night.
It’s about the size of a quarter and heavy for its size, its edges etched with symbols I don’t recognize but somehow feel. When I hold it, my skin prickles, like static before a storm. Sometimes the shadows in my apartment stretch the wrong way when it’s in my hand. Sometimes the air smells faintly of iron and night-blooming flowers.
But nothing happens.
“I don’t know how to use you,” I whisper one night, turning it over in my palm. “If you’re supposed to be a door…you’re not a very helpful one.”
Mr. Mittens flicks his tail and pointedly turns his back on me—helpful as always.
Days pass and my nights get worse. By the fourth morning in a row of waking up with tears on my face, I finally admit the truth to myself.
I don’t just miss Lucian—I’m afraid for him.
And worse—I know, deep down, that if something happens to him because I was too afraid to act, I’ll never forgive myself.
So I do the one thing I swore I wouldn’t—I call Book Club and ask for help.
They come over that evening, wine bottles and worried expressions in tow, and I don’t even try to pretend I’m fine.
“I miss him,” I say bluntly, fingers twisting together in my lap. “And I think he’s in danger.”
The room goes quiet.
“You’re talking about the vampire,” Sophia says carefully.
“The Vampire Don,” I correct automatically. Then I sigh. “Lucian.”
Hanna watches me closely. She looks fully herself again—warm, solid, alive—and the contrast makes my chest ache.
“He let you go,” Yelena says gently. “Are you sure this isn’t just…after-effects of being held prisoner. Some kind of lingering Stockholm effect?”
“I know the difference between being brainwashed and falling in love,” I say. “And this feels like the latter. I know it sounds crazy, but I care for him and I know something’s wrong. If there’s any way I can save him, I have to do it. I have to find a way to get back to him—to get back to the Shadow Realm.”