Two Months
Jules felt like everything had been ripped away from her. For the past two months, she'd spent her evenings replaying her last moments with Lucian. She became a recluse, only leaving her bedroom to feed—and even that was rare. She didn't have the inner strength to leave the manor at all. If she did, it felt like she was leaving behind a part of Lucian, too. So she stayed, day and night.
One evening, she sat on her balcony with a cigarette she'd stolen from Lucian's office. She'd never tried smoking before, but it reminded her of him. If killing herself slowly would keep him close, she was ready to die at any moment. And yet, she hated him. She hated how he clouded her mind, how easily he had left her behind. Why would she ever want him to return if he hadn't wanted to stay in the first place?
Her head snapped toward the sound of the balcony door opening. Charlotte stepped outside, her blonde hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She tried to smile at Jules, though the pain was evident in her eyes. Carefully, she crossed the threshold and joined her on the balcony. The air was cold and dense; snowflakes drifted down onto the grass below. It was an ordinary December evening. A fog-like mist blanketed the moss-covered yard before the forest, and Jules could see the streetlamps flicker as fireflies cast small rays of light between the clearings in the fog.
"I know this must be hard for you," Charlotte said softly.
Jules kept her gaze fixed on the trees. If she looked away, the numbing barrier she'd built might shatter.
"But it's time to move forward," Charlotte continued. "Take this pain and turn it into strength."
"Stop acting like I'm a child," Jules snapped.
Startled, Charlotte jolted back, her eyes wide.
Jules' expression softened as soon as she heard her own tone.
"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I just—I don't know what to do. I've always had him to guide me, but—"
"But you don't need him anymore," Charlotte cut in gently. "You have the chance to become something much greater."
Jules bit the inside of her cheek, her eyes narrowing.
Could she be right?
"Tomorrow evening," Charlotte said, "I want you to meet your new mentor. He'll be helping you."
Jules frowned.
"What about you?"
Charlotte smiled, dimples appearing at the corners of her lips.
"I know my place. It's time for you to learn yours."
Before Jules could reply, Charlotte was gone.
She waited impatiently for the following night, spending the entire day pacing the manor halls. She knew she needed to move on—but how? Could fully accepting her vampire life finally work in her favor?
Standing before her mirror, she buttoned her black drop-waist tunic dress. The hemline fell just above her knees, and long, narrow sleeves buttoned neatly at her wrists. A black silk ribbon circled her throat, a ruby set in gold resting against her collarbone. She slipped into a black mink coat and pulled the hood over her head, shielding her hair from the falling snow. After lacing her black boots, she pinned her hair into a low bun, leaving a few loose strands to frame her face.
She sat at her vanity and studied her reflection in the small mirror. Candles and red perfume bottles decorated the surface. Lucian had always sent her rubies as gifts—they were her favorite gem, her birthstone. She had grown into her pale skin, embraced it even. She painted her lips a deep cherry red before rising and heading for the door.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Ambros James stood waiting for her.
He was the perfect mentor.
His cropped, sun-kissed hair complemented his hooded, watchful dark eyes, and his broad figure almost intimidated her. Tall and solid, he looked as though he'd been born to fight. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, emphasizing its length. He didn't just dominate a room—he anchored it. With his hands tucked into the pockets of his fitted jacket, he looked up at her. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, exposing his neck and the crescent-shaped tattoo on his chest.
With a warm smile, he offered his hand.
"I don't think we've ever properly met," he said easily. "I'm Ambros James."
"Jules Thatcher," she replied, returning his smile.
"Well, Jules," he said, holding the door open as cold air swept into the hallway, "are you ready to go?"
Jules nodded—and disappeared into the night with him.