Pale moonlight shone over the swampy lake across from Jules.
"Careful," she spoke quietly to the man at the edge of the alleyway. "You're wandering somewhere you don't belong."
She was amused by him. Her tongue brushed the inside of her cheek when she caught the look he gave her. It was working.
The man laughed unsteadily.
"Didn't realize I was owned."
Jules tilted her head, her icy eyes catching the light.
"Everything is owned by something," she replied softly.
The man stepped forward from the alleyway, closer to the swamp.
"You out here alone?" he asked, raising a brow.
"Do I look afraid?" Her tone was calm, unbothered.
"No—just… lonely." He dipped his head toward her.
"Lonely men make bad decisions." Her gaze held him, soft and piercing, like a spell.
"Then stop me." His voice was breathless, as though all the air had been sucked from his lungs.
Her fingers brushed his sleeve gently, and she felt his heartbeat spike beneath the fabric.
"I'm not here to stop you," she murmured.
The man couldn't even speak now. Sweat trickled down his spine, plastering his collared shirt to his skin. Jules simply walked backward, deeper into the swamp. He followed without question. If he questioned it, he'd wake from the dream he was enjoying far too much.
She smiled at him over her shoulder, sensing his blood coursing beneath his skin. When she stopped at the edge of the water, she turned to face him. Her black lace dress dipped low down her back, exposing her shoulders. A strap slipped free, baring pale skin. His gaze followed it.
"God," he whispered, inching closer.
He was too close.
Jules rose onto her toes, lips brushing near his ear. Her voice was a whisper against his skin.
"Don't pray now."
Her fangs pierced his neck. She drained him without hesitation, drowning out the sound of his struggling breath. Sympathy was no longer an option. Life rushed back into her veins, rich and intoxicating, as if she had just awakened from a deep sleep.
The water stirred. Gators slid through the swamp, drawn by the scent of blood. Jules smiled faintly as she dragged the limp body forward and rolled it into the mossy water. She walked away to the sounds of splashing and tearing, never looking back. She had taken everything she needed.
Six weeks after her first hunt with Lucian, Jules had grown into herself. She had learned where her power truly lay—her femininity. It was part of the game. The buildup thrilled her most. She wiped the blood from her chin and made her way back toward the manor.
She had been sneaking out for the past week, slipping into the shadows despite being instructed to use only the tunnels. There was something about the French Quarter at night that made her feel alive again. The piano keys drifting through the streets. The laughter. She didn't care which it was. She only knew she needed the feeling.
Downstairs, low lamplight cast long shadows across the halls. The scent of dust and old paint filled the air, making her nose crinkle. Still riding the high of the hunt, she leaned back against the wall, reliving every moment. Her hair was disheveled, blood staining her throat and chin.
Lucian didn't need to see it. He smelled it.
He emerged from the shadows, eyes narrowing.
"You're getting comfortable."
"Isn't that the point?" she replied.
Lucian stepped forward, lifting a hand as if to wipe the blood from her neck—then stopped himself.
"The Nocturne Court has strict rules," he warned. "You will abide by them."
Jules said nothing. She swallowed, holding his gaze. The air between them tightened, a silent struggle for control. She wanted to run. She didn't.
Instead, she turned and walked back into the night.
The moment she stepped outside, she sensed them.
Three figures lingered in the dark. She couldn't smell their blood. They weren't alive—which unsettled her far more.
"She hunts alone," one voice murmured. "Brave—or stupid."
They exchanged glances before stepping into view.
A slow clap broke the silence.
"Well," a voice drawled, "that answers that."
Jules turned, tense, only to face a woman with dark curls pinned loosely at her neck.
"You do realize the Regent doesn't let the others hunt alone," the woman said.
Jules straightened.
"Then he shouldn't have left me hungry."
The woman laughed softly.
"Oh, I like her already," a second man said, nudging her.
The woman circled Jules, measuring her. Jules didn't flinch—but she felt the threat coiled beneath the amusement.
"You're new," the woman said, "but not sloppy."
"He followed you like a song."
"He made his choice," Jules replied, lifting her chin.
"You fed clean. No trail," the woman continued, impressed. "That takes instinct."
"That takes practice," Jules shot back.
The woman stopped. Approval flickered across her face.
"We're hosting a communion," she said. "Come."
She gestured toward the city lights.
"And when he finds out?" Jules asked, brow lifting.
The woman smiled, sharp and knowing.
"You'll never forget the night you stopped asking permission."