Jules had always been taught to choose her victims. For her, it was easy. She'd learned early on that, for whatever reason, Lucian refused to kill women. Everyone had their reasons for who they chose as their next kill, and Jules discovered her preferences quickly—her own favored flavor palette.
This particular night, she was excited for her victim.
She'd been following James Woods for about a week. She knew everything about him—his schedule, his habits, his usual haunts. She had him down to a science. So much so that she knew exactly which bar he'd be at tonight.
Jules slipped into a maroon lace dress and painted her lips a velvety red. Her freshly curled hair framed her face as she climbed down from the balcony and made her way toward Bourbon Street.
Her heels clicked against the pavement. She should have had a drink before this.
Jules swallowed before stepping inside. She hadn't set foot in this speakeasy since her eighteenth birthday—her last night alive.
Mustering what remained of her courage, Jules entered and took the elevator down, just as she had all those months ago. She fought to keep her mind steady as she pushed through the crowd of partygoers, bodies brushing against hers as they danced.
Finally, she claimed a seat at the bar.
She could smell James. He was close.
He followed the same routine every time: find a girl, slip something into her drink, finish the job. The thought made Jules shudder. She'd been stalking him for weeks, ever since she caught him drugging another woman. She'd switched the drinks before he noticed, but luck like that never lasted forever.
Tonight, it had run out.
The moment their eyes met, it was over. She felt his gaze settle on her, heavy and hungry. Jules pretended not to notice, lazily stirring her drink with a straw.
"Gosh, you're beautiful," a voice said behind her.
She smiled, keeping her back to him, then spun on the stool and extended her hand.
"Jules Thatcher."
James smiled as he shook it.
"James. James Woods."
I know, you fucking idiot.
"Pleasure to meet you, James," she said sweetly, biting her tongue.
She half-listened as he rambled. Men always did. There was nothing that captivated them more than talking about themselves. All Jules had to do was pretend to care.
Then she heard the magic words.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
Bingo.
"That's so sweet of you, James. I really should—"
"Nonsense!" he interrupted, ordering for her.
She pretended not to notice as James pulled a small bag from his pocket, dumping the crushed powder into her drink and stirring it before sliding the glass toward her.
He really couldn't be a bigger idiot.
Jules rested her cheek in her palm, thanked him, and downed the drink. Given the circumstances, she was immune to whatever he'd slipped inside.
James grinned, his dark eyes burning with lust—and something uglier beneath it.
"Would you maybe want to come back to my place for a drink?" she heard his heart racing.
"Oh goodness, I'm not su—"
"I promise. Just one," he pressed, his eyes glued to her.
Before she knew it, they were at his house.
Jules traced her fingers along the comforter as James came up behind her, brushing her hair from her neck and kissing slowly down her skin.
"You're so beautiful," he breathed.
She spun suddenly, pressing her lips to his. His hands slid beneath her dress, but Jules caught his wrists and stopped him. She pushed lightly against his chest, teasing, and he stepped forward again immediately.
Then her eyes changed.
Innocence vanished, replaced by something cold and merciless.
James noticed. His heart rate spiked.
He was afraid.
"Are—are you not?" he stammered.
"Drugged?" Jules folded her arms and shifted her weight onto one hip. "Clearly not."
James swallowed, stepping back.
"Look, I'm sorry—"
"How many women?" Jules cut in.
"What?"
"You heard me. How many women did you do this to?"
Something hardened inside her. She knew what it felt like to be powerless under a man's hands, and she would never let anyone feel that again.
"None. This is my fir—"
Jules lost patience.
She grabbed his hair and smashed his face into the glass table. Shards exploded across the room as he screamed.
"Try again," she snarled.
"O-okay! Okay! There was one other, b—"
Another smash.
Another scream.
"I'm sorry! I'll do anything you want!" he sobbed, pleading.
Jules raised a brow.
"I want the truth, James Woods."
He froze.
"How do you know my full name?"
Jules licked her lips.
"Because for the past week," she paced around him, "I've been watching you."
"What the fuck?" he shouted.
"And I've seen you take home seven."
Silence.
"Please," he cried. "They enjoyed it—I swear—"
That was enough.
Jules sank her fangs into his flesh, feeding like she never had before. His blood filled her mouth as he choked, his body trembling violently until it finally went still. His eyes glazed, life draining away.
This time, she took everything.
When she finished, Jules rose slowly and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
"I'll take care of it," Cassius said from behind her.
"Thank you," Jules replied.