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)
Before he can respond, a knock interrupts us. A crimson-and-black uniformed guard enters and bows. He murmurs something that sounds urgent, though I can’t make out his words.
Lucian scowls. He looks back at me, obviously reluctant, before straightening.
“There has been an altercation with another Syndicate. I regret leaving you, but I must attend to this.” His hand cups my chin, his fingers firm and warm as he tilts my face up to look at him. “I will leave you for now. But food will be sent to feed your lovely curves. Eat and rest, little one. You’ll need your strength.”
And then he’s gone, sweeping out with the guard, leaving me in a room built for decadence and sin.
My knees buckle, and I flop back onto the bed. The sheets whisper around me, cool silk sliding against my skin. I try to think—to calm myself.
Okay, deep breath. This is crazy. A Vampire Mafia Don has trafficked me into a strange supernatural realm so he can drink my blood. But first he wants to Fifty Shades me.
I close my eyes, but it’s all I can think about. Blood…Harnesses…Being tied down. He talked about it like it was destiny, not kink.
And part of me—the part I don’t want to admit out loud—actually wondered what it would feel like.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Don’t go there, Jules. Don’t even start.
Because if I start, what if I never want to stop?
A knock interrupts my swirling thoughts. I sit up and make sure the towel is covering everything. I’ve had enough of being naked in front of strangers to last a lifetime.
“Yes? I mean, come in,” I call, trying to sound casual.
The door opens and a servant dressed in black and crimson livery bows to me.
“Good evening, my Queen. I have brought your evening meal, as the Don requested.”
“Oh, um, thank you,” I say. “Uh, you can just put it anywhere.”
“As my Queen wishes,” the servant says formally. He’s an older man with gray hair and a ramrod-straight carriage. He wouldn’t look out of place as the butler on a prim and proper British TV show.
After bowing, he rolls in a gleaming silver tray and sets it on a carved table near the fire. With a flourish, he removes the round dome lid and yes, he actually says,
“Bon appetite.” Seriously—like a butler on a TV show! This man should do a guest appearance on Downton Abbey. I wonder if they have anything like Downton Abbey here in the Shadow Realm. For that matter, I wonder if they even have TV.
The prim and proper servant leaves with another bow, and I decide to shelve my questions for now because my stomach is growling. The little table where he set the tray is right beside a comfortable looking overstuffed chair in front of the fireplace. Making sure my towel is securely wrapped around me, I go to investigate and see what’s for dinner.
When I get a look at the tray, my eyes nearly fall out of my head—this is no light snack, it’s a feast.
On the broad silver platter is a buffet fit for the gods. I see glossy pastries stuffed with cream and jam, dusted with sugar that glitters like snow. There are plates of cured meats so thin they shine in the firelight, their fat glistening. Wedges of creamy cheese, soft and pale, paired with a dark bread that steams when I tear off a chunk. And a whole little bowl of high-quality real butter and another bowl of berry jam. Wow, I can’t help thinking—Tasha would love this.
There are pomegranates split open, jeweled seeds glistening like rubies and a cake layered with dark chocolate and scarlet jelly, gleaming under a sugar glaze. Honey glazed buns dusted with cinnamon sit next to a ripe, juicy-looking pear. And in the center is something exotic—a black tart filled with crimson custard and topped with sugared rose petals.
It’s all served on fine bone china edged in gold, with cut-crystal goblets and silverware polished so I can see my reflection. A linen napkin embroidered with a crimson rose lies folded beside the plate.
My stomach growls loud enough to be heard over the crackling fire and my mouth is watering. Looks like it’s time to eat! And I have to hand it to Lucian—this isn’t the kind of feast you send to a woman unless you really do like her curves. Because aside from the pear and pomegranate, absolutely nothing on the big silver tray is remotely good for you.
I try the exotic tart first—a tastes that’s sweet and silky and faintly tangy rolls over my tongue. I think of Lucia, who always says she craves something rich and decadent after a long day at court. She would absolutely lose her mind over this.
The honey buns? Tasha would demolish three before anyone else got a bite. The cured meats? Naomi would call it “charcuterie chic” and take pictures. Hanna would be all about the cheeses, dissecting each flavor like it was fine wine. And Yelena would love it all—but especially the pastries.