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 know,” Julia says softly. “Go rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
I nod.
“I will have a maid show you the way. Julia will remain here.”
At that, it appears that Hanna finally lets herself relax. She gives Julia a sudden, fierce hug, then allows herself to be led away.
When the door closes behind her, silence settles.
Julia turns back toward the fire, one hand resting protectively over her abdomen, though she likely doesn’t realize she’s done it. The scent of her coming blood curls through the air again, stronger now.
I move to her side and place a hand on the back of her chair.
“You did well to reassure her,” I murmur.
She looks up at me, eyes bright and worried.
“She’s not going to be in danger, is she?”
“No,” I say without hesitation. “I will see to that.”
I lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, inhaling her warmth…her life…her magic.
“Come,” I say softly. “You need rest. And soon… comfort.”
Her breath catches in her throat, and she looks up at me uncertainly.
“What do you mean?”
“Just that I want to take care of you,” I tell her.
I just hope she’ll let me.
40
Jules
The ache has settled deep in my belly. A low, dull, grinding pain that sits heavy in my lower abdomen like a stone I can’t shift no matter how I move.
I know this feeling too well—it means this is going to be a bad one. It’s going to be the kind of night where I’d normally be curled up on my couch with a heating pad, counting down the minutes until the ibuprofen kicked in.
Except here, there’s no couch, no heating pad, and no ibuprofen.
Perfect, I think bitterly. Of course this would happen now.
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.