Lucian Covus had not disappeared; he had simply chosen not to be seen. For a week now, Jules had merely survived—not lived. She spent most of her time pent up in her room, only coming down when Cassius brought her to the chambers to feed. He had taught her everything she knew about feeding and where to sink her fangs. She could feel a heartbeat speed up the closer her lips came to pulsing skin. It was a sensation that consumed every fiber of her being—like she couldn't rest until she was fed.
In the short time she'd been there, she had already discovered the changes that came with being "dead," rules she would have to adapt to:
Vampires do not sleep. Ever.
Never go out during the day.
Always know who your prey is—and whether anyone will come looking for them.
The more she thought about these rules, the more Jules spiraled. Most days, she lingered on the balcony outside her bedroom, resting her chin in her palm and thinking. She thought about her mother and father—about whether they were still searching for her. Guilt gnawed at her every time the thought crossed her mind.
On this particular night, Jules stood at the edge of the balcony, watching the willow trees sway in the humid breeze. Fireflies danced across the front lawn, flickering like dying stars. She was pulled from her trance when she heard the door unlock and creak open.
Lucian stepped inside, already dressed as if prepared to leave. His perfectly cuffed wrists and neat raven hair caught what little light there was. He wore a white dress shirt and a black silk tie.
"Get ready," he said. "We're going out."
Before Jules could reply, the door slammed shut, and her throat went dry.
She moved to the dresser and pulled on a black slip dress—modest at the chest, falling just below her knees. She slipped into low-heeled Mary Jane shoes, slicked back her midnight hair, and stared at her reflection for a moment. A thick black ribbon tied around her throat was the final touch. She smoothed the silk over her hips and met her own gaze.
Her skin was pale. Her eyes looked hollow—like hope had been drained from them.
Jules took a breath and opened the door. Lucian waited outside, impatient. His cold gaze swept over her before he turned and led her down the hallway toward the tunnel doors.
As they descended the stone steps, water dripped steadily around them. Torches barely lit the passageway. When they reached another staircase, a large wooden door stood at the top. Lucian inhaled once before knocking. After a moment, the door creaked open, and a flood of jazz music poured into the tunnel.
A woman stood in the doorway, her eyes shifting from Lucian to Jules. She shook her head before stepping aside to let them in.
She was slim and still, appearing to be in her late thirties, with short blonde hair cut at her jawline. Her green eyes bored into Jules's skin, raising goosebumps.
"I'd call this a lapse in judgment," the woman muttered as they passed.
A jazz club sprawled before them. Smoke and perfume stung Jules's nose, and dim lights cast a blue haze over the room. A low hum of voices surrounded her. She felt watched—scrutinized—waiting to be caught making a mistake.
As they moved through the club, Jules was overwhelmed by scents and sounds. Some people smelled sweet, intoxicating. Others smelled like nothing at all. Those ones turned their heads slowly, cautiously. They already knew.
The woman led them to a back exit and nodded to Lucian before closing the door behind them.
The alley swallowed them whole.
Lucian moved like he owned the night. He knew when to stop, when to blend in, and when to disappear entirely. He lingered at the mouth of the alley, observing groups as they passed. Jules stayed close, watching everything he did.
"You don't hunt everyone," he said quietly.
"You hunt carefully. Quietly."
Jules nodded. Hunger gnawed at her so fiercely that she barely registered his tone.
Lucian's attention snapped to a drunken man stumbling out of the bar. His tie hung loose, his hair was disheveled, sweat clinging to his skin. He cursed under his breath, struggling to stay upright.
"He won't be missed tonight," Lucian murmured. "And he won't remember it."
Jules hesitated.
"How do you know?"
"Because I pay attention."
Lucian moved fast—silent and precise. The man barely had time to grunt before he was pinned against the brick wall. Jules watched in horror as Lucian's teeth sank into his neck. Blood spilled down his chin, the bite controlled and surgical. It was over before the man could react.
Lucian turned to Jules, his eyes sharp. He held out the man's wrists, motioning for her to come closer.
She swallowed and pressed her lips to his skin.
That was all it took.
The taste flooded her mouth, syrupy and warm, sending relief crashing through her body. When she finally pulled away, she stepped back, expecting Lucian to release the man.
Instead, Lucian stepped behind him and snapped his neck in one clean motion.
The body collapsed into the mud, face down. A soft gurgle followed—then silence. Jazz drifted faintly through the night.
"This is mercy," Lucian said behind her. "Dragging it out is cruelty."
He gestured into the shadows. Cassius emerged.
"Clean it," Lucian ordered.
Cassius nodded and moved without question.
It dawned on Jules then—this had happened before. Many times.
Her body shook, not from weakness, but realization. Had the man been heading home? Did someone love him?
Her thoughts spiraled until her chest felt crushed. Lucian guided her back into the street, nostalgia washing over her.
"You killed him," Jules whispered.
"Yes."
"You didn't have to."
"You don't get to decide that yet."
They rejoined the crowd. Suddenly, Jules froze.
"She hasn't left the house," one girl said.
"They still haven't found her body," another replied.
Jules stumbled backward, tears burning her eyes. Her grief detonated all at once. She backed into Lucian's chest, and his hand clamped tightly around her wrist.
"Breathe," he ordered softly. "Do not move."
"They're talking about me."
"I know."
"They think I'm dead."
"You are."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I don't want this."
"You don't get what you want," Lucian replied. "Unless you'd rather be executed."
A long pause.
"I wouldn't," Jules said quietly.
Lucian released her wrist.
"Then you'll learn."
Jules melted back into the shadows, understanding at last:
the living mourned her—
and the dead had claimed her.