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)
Curvy girls deserve to be the main character too, damn it!
So what about Lucian? He says I’m his Queen. But he also says he wants my blood.
And he wants to tie you up in that harness, whispers a traitorous little voice in my head.
I shove it down. I can’t go there right now—I just don’t have the strength to deal with it, I tell myself.
A knock at the door startles me. Is Lucian back? will he be upset if he finds I’ve been snooping through his things?
Hastily I shut the closet door and scurry back to the chair by the fire before I call,
“Come in!”
The door opens and another prim and proper servant appears. He bows low.
“My Queen, Don Lucian regrets to inform you he will be detained for some time on a matter of utmost importance. He hopes you will not mind sleeping alone tonight.”
I force a tight smile.
“Uh, sure. Alone is fine.”
“Thank you, my Queen. I will relay your message.”
He bows again and the door closes but as it snicks shut, I’m already planning.
Sleep? Not happening—not tonight.
Because if Don Tall, Dark, and Fangy thinks I’m going to just accept being kidnapped and leaving my whole life in the Human Realm behind, he’s wrong.
He’s busy working and probably won’t be back for hours.
By then, I’ll be long gone.
21
Jules
I wait. And wait and wait and wait.
At first, the minutes crawl by like hours. The fire in the hearth burns low, red embers winking like dying stars. The clock on the broad marble mantel ticks, steady and unbothered, as though it doesn’t care that I’m plotting a prison break.
I wait until even the silence feels heavy, until I can’t hear a single footstep in the hall. It’s midnight, maybe later.
Time to go.
I swing my legs off the ridiculous silk sheeted bed and pad over to the closet. The gowns hang like accusations, a riot of crimson and black and jewel tones that look like they belong in music videos about sin and luxury and the One Percent. Not a single pair of jeans or sweats—not even one lousy pair of yoga pants. Because of course not. I’m supposed to be a Curvy Queen—at least that’s what everyone keeps telling me. And who ever heard of a queen wearing yoga pants?
This Queen would like to, but whatever. I’ll have to choose something else.
I grab a slinky black gown cut low at the front with a slit high enough to flash thigh. It’s clingy in ways that make me hyperaware of every curve. Over it, I drape the long hooded cloak I found earlier. When I tug the hood forward, it casts my face in shadow. Good.
I glance at myself in the mirror and snort. Great. I look like I’m sneaking out to LARP at a Renaissance Fair. All I need is a turkey leg and a fake sword.
Still, it’s better than parading through the halls in a towel. Or worse, naked—I’ve had enough of that for one night.
I slip the golden signet ring into the pocket of my cloak, its weight cool and solid. I also take a pouch of coins that have the blood-filled chalice on one side and the sun being eclipsed by the moon on the other. I put the pouch in my other pocket, just in case. It rattles softly and balances the weight of the heavy ring nicely, so my cloak doesn’t pull to one side or the other and look crooked.
Yes, I realize I’m probably stealing some pretty important items, but like I said before—this is essentially a prison break. Go big or go home, right? I’ve already been thrown in the dungeon once—what else can the Vampire Don do to me?
Don’t answer that, I tell my imagination. I really don’t want to know.
The door creaks as I ease it open. My pulse jumps…but no one’s there.
The hallway stretches long and empty, lined with sconces burning low. I have on some soft leather ankle boots and my footsteps vanish noiselessly into the thick carpeting. Maybe this wing is Lucian’s private space. Maybe the guards figured no one in their right mind would sneak around here and that’s why there’s no one in the hallway.
Well. Joke’s on them because here I go.
I creep along, my hand brushing velvet drapes and carved moldings, cold and smooth under my fingertips. The Crimson Spires are all about excess—paintings of roses dripping with blood and grim portraits of men with eyes like knives hang on the walls. Every corner whispers of wealth and menace.
There are doors every few yards, but they’re all closed and I don’t disturb them. Until I come to one which stands half-open. I’m about to pass it by as well, but curiosity gnaws at me. What is Lucian hiding in here?
I push it wider, peek inside—and freeze.
Oh. Holy. Shit.