Chapter Eight:
Lucian was not going to apologize for what he'd said to her. She was lucky he was still keeping her around at all. He touched her only to instruct and spoke only to correct her. Lucian would disappear for days at a time, and when he returned, he did so silently, never announcing his presence. The house felt quiet—empty. Jules found herself counting plates and steps the longer her boredom stretched. Staying put was tedious, but she knew Lucian wouldn't let her slip up again.
That night, Jules sat on the grand wooden staircase, staring at the designs in the peeling wallpaper. She dramatically pressed her forehead against the banister, acting out her anguish.
"Get dressed," Lucian said, interrupting her thoughts.
Jules frowned. "Why?"
"You've seen enough danger," Lucian replied, pulling his tie snug around his neck. "It's time you understand it."
Jules swallowed.
When they stepped outside, the humid air clung to Jules's skin. Lucian led her past their territory—cemeteries and old estates swallowed by time.
"This city belongs to the Nocturne Court," he said, gesturing toward the iron gates of a cemetery.
"And the others?" Jules tilted her head up toward him.
"They exist because we allow it."
A pause.
"What about the—"
"The man you were with?" Lucian cut in.
He already knew. Of course he did. Cassius had been keeping tabs on her.
"Silas Taylor," Lucian said, his brow furrowing. "He answers to no Regent."
"So he's dangerous?" Jules asked.
Lucian kept walking, shaking his head.
"More so to you than to me."
They reached the edge of their territory. Lucian stopped abruptly, like a hound catching a scent.
"Stay behind me," he ordered.
Before Jules could respond, he was gone.
Only seconds passed before Lucian reappeared, swift as a flash of lightning. Jules's gaze dropped to his blood-stained knuckles. She knew better than to ask questions.
Lucian guided her back into their territory and up a hill that overlooked the city. They stood there in silence for a moment. It was the first time Jules had felt peace since turning. She wanted to drink every drop of it.
"You asked why I'm strict," Lucian said quietly.
Jules didn't interrupt. She listened.
"I was turned at twenty-three," he continued. "I watched the world move on without me."
He exhaled slowly.
"Recklessness gets people killed. I won't watch another person burn."
Jules swallowed. She turned to look at him, but Lucian kept his gaze fixed on the city below. He wouldn't meet her eyes. He wouldn't let her see that his cruelty was rooted in fear.
She wanted to ask more, but she held back. If there was more to know, he would say it in his own time.
"Do you ever think they'll stop looking for me?" Jules asked softly.
This time, Lucian turned toward her. Sadness flickered in his eyes.
"Not until the day they take their last breath."
The air left Jules's lungs. Guilt surged—visions of her mother's grief, her father's frantic searching. Her body trembled, and Lucian stiffened beside her.
The thought of her parents wandering endlessly in search of her made her feel sick.
"If you leave the house again," Lucian said, taking her arm and steering her back toward the darkened manor, "Callius goes with you."