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)
And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it.
59
Lucian
The moment I set her down in my chambers, I know. Not with certainty at first—but with instinct. I can smell it on her—the need that makes her scent so hot and her feet so unsteady.
Julia stands in the center of the room as though she’s afraid to move, cheeks flushed, breathing shallow. Her pulse is racing—I can hear it, can scent it beneath the remnants of fear and wine. There is heat clinging to her skin, a restless energy rolling off her in waves that makes my fangs ache faintly despite my earlier feeding.
I smell desire—strong and almost desperate. What’s happening to her to make her feel this way?
I close the door behind us and turn to face her fully.
“Sit,” I say gently.
She obeys at once, perching on the edge of the chaise as though the velvet upholstery itself is too much sensation against her skin. She presses her thighs together unconsciously, fingers curling in the fabric of her skirts.
There it is again—the evidence of her need.
“Tell me exactly how you’re feeling, little one,” I say, keeping my voice calm, measured. “Do not leave out any details.”
Her eyes widen.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” I give her a stern look. “Tell me.”
She shifts a little, nibbling her lower lip nervously.
“I—Lucian—this is really awkward.”
“I know.” I crouch before her so we are eye level. “But I cannot help you unless I understand what is happening.”
She swallows.
“Well…” She looks away, mortified. “My nipples feel really tender. Like—too sensitive. And I feel…wet and…and hot. And empty. Like something’s missing and it’s driving me crazy.”
The words hit me like a spark to dry tinder.
My cock stirs instantly, but I lock my body down by sheer force of will. This is not about my arousal—this is about her well-being.
I inhale slowly, sorting sensation from scent…need from danger.
“When did this begin?” I ask.
“After the vineyards. Maybe during. I thought it was just the wine.”
Wine.
“What did you eat or drink on the tour?” I ask.
She thinks.
“The apples—blue ones, green ones, purple ones, and the blood apples.”
“None of those would cause your symptoms,” I say immediately.
She exhales, relieved. “Okay, good.”
“What else?”
“Well… cheese. Lots of it. And wine.”
I straighten slightly, remembering the scent of alcohol and the fact that she and Hanna had both been drinking.
“What kind of wine?” I demand.
“I don’t know—there were several. Reds mostly. The sommelier gave us a lot to take home with us. There should be an empty bottle in the carriage.”
My stomach tightens.
“What vintage?”
She frowns.
“I don’t know. It was dark. The sommelier said it was special.”
I don’t hesitate.
I straighten and cross to the door, summoning a servant with a sharp command.
“Bring me the empty wine bottle from the carriage at once.”
Julia watches me, nibbling her lower lip.
A few moments later, the servant returns, head bowed, presenting the bottle as though it is evidence in a trial. He withdraws immediately, shutting the door behind him.
I take the bottle…and go still.
“Passion wine?” My voice is incredulous despite myself. “You drank a whole bottle of passion wine?”
“Well, half of it—Hanna drank some too and she doesn’t seem to be affected like I am!” Julia protests.
“That’s because she’s the victim of an unwanted Soul-mark. That tends to drain one’s libido,” I say dryly.
Her eyes widen.
“Oh.”
I turn the bottle in my hands, worry growing beneath my calm.
“I’m afraid, little one, that you’ve taken much more of this than is good for you. I fear the way you’re feeling probably has to do with you drinking so much of this wine, which is a known aphrodisiac.”
Julia shifts on the chaise, visibly uncomfortable now.
“Well what can I do about it?” she demands. “I mean, I’m having a really hard time over here. Would it help if I…” Her cheeks get red. “If I, you know, touched myself?”
I study her carefully. I already know the answer—the wine is not designed to be relieved by solitary touch—it is meant to drive the drinker toward connection, consummation, and bonding. Toward another.
Toward me.
But she needs to discover that for herself.
“You can try,” I say evenly.
“All right, I’ll be back in a minute,” Julia says, rising unsteadily. She heads toward the bathing chamber, not meeting my eyes.
The door closes behind her.
I exhale slowly and rake a hand through my hair. I move to the bedchamber and strip out of my suit and shirt, changing into sleep trousers, my body already taut with anticipation. I am not stalking her. I am not rushing her.
I am waiting, because I know what will happen.
She will try to slake her lust herself…and she will fail.
And when she comes back to me—flushed, frustrated, and trembling with need—I will be here.
Ready to help.
60
Julia
I lock the bathroom door behind me like I’m afraid someone is going to interrupt what feels like a private emergency. I guess I could ask Lucian to help me, but I feel wrong about it—I feel guilty about this whole thing.