Chapter Seven:
Jules stood with her hands resting on the edge of the balcony. She took in the drowned sound of music and the laughter spilling out of illegal clubs below—New Orleans pretending Prohibition had never happened. She stepped back inside and slipped into her black silk dress, the fabric hanging low on her hips. She smoothed it down and tied a red ribbon around her neck, tightening the bow at the back.
Jules sat before her vanity, brushing her loose, raven-black curls until they framed her face. She painted her lips a deep red and powdered her skin, though it was already snow-white. Her pale eyes stared back at her as she rose from the stool and headed for the door.
Lucian had not said a word to her since she'd returned with bloodstains on her neck. He simply watched—leaning in doorframes, his gaze tracing her movements.
It was one of his habits.
Another was counting.
It hadn't taken her long to notice the way his fingers tapped twice against his palm when irritated, or how his jaw tightened before he spoke. He never wasted words—never rushed. He spoke only when it was necessary. He had lived through wars, revolutions, entire eras. Spending a hundred years trapped in the body of a twenty-three-year-old had made him expect obedience.
Once Jules stepped into the night, she didn't look back.
The country house lay beyond the city limits. Lanterns glowed along the porch, illuminating the Spanish moss that crept up the pillars. Laughter carried through the yard, and slow jazz sang in Jules's ears.
Forbidden ground.
The air was thick with fog and cigarette smoke. Women in drop-waist dresses and pinned curls danced beneath the moonlight. Men lingered nearby with rolled-up sleeves, their thick Louisiana accents sweetening the night.
A woman pressed a glass into Jules's hand as she passed.
Jules's eyes snapped to her.
"Drink," the woman said. "It won't hurt you."
Hesitant, Jules lifted the glass to her lips.
Nearby, someone laughed.
"Lucian would burn this place down if he knew."
"That's why it's still standing," another voice replied.
Jules smiled faintly, hiding her embarrassment.
That was when she felt him.
Silas Taylor leaned against the porch railing, half in shadow. His shirt was open at the throat, sleeves rolled back, straw-colored hair tousled like he hadn't bothered to tame it. His posture was loose, careless—but his dark eyes narrowed as they settled on Jules.
"Careful," he drawled, his voice slow and honeyed with a Southern lilt. "You keep starin' like that, people start gettin' ideas."
Jules bit her tongue as he pushed off the railing and approached.
He looked no older than twenty-two, dimples carving into the edges of his mouth.
"You're Lucian's," he said, stopping far too close.
His smile wasn't kind—only amused.
"I belong to myself," she shot back.
"That's what he tells them too," Silas smirked.
A glass shattered nearby. Someone shouted.
Silas extended his hand.
It wasn't a command or a request, so she took it.
"Come," he murmured. "Before the leash tightens."
Jules didn't hesitate.
She returned just before dawn, barely beating the rising sun. Her breath caught as she slipped inside and shut the door behind her.
Lucian was waiting.
His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, arms crossed over his chest. He didn't move as she descended the stairs—he only watched.
"You smell like him," he said quietly.
Jules froze.
"I told you—"
"Not to cross the marsh," he cut in.
His voice was calm, and that terrified her more than shouting ever could. His jaw was clenched, his gaze fixed on her.
"You disappeared," Lucian continued. "Onto forbidden ground."
"You think recklessness is freedom," he said, backing her into the wall. "I've buried vampires who thought the same."
Jules's breath hitched. She had never felt so small. His eyes burned—not with anger, but fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
Hot tears slipped down her face. She lifted her hand to wipe them away, then froze.
Blood.
It struck her all at once—she wasn't human anymore. There were no salty tears left to swallow. Only blood.
Lucian's expression flickered—for just a second.
"Go to your room," he said sharply. "Before I forget why I protected you."
Jules moved down the hall, then glanced back once.
Lucian was gone.
She reached her room and collapsed onto the bed, burying herself beneath the covers. The canopy cast long shadows across the walls as she lay there, trying to make sense of everything that had happened.
But maybe she never would.