Julian entered the room with quiet grace of a predator, his gaze landing instantly on the figure curled up on the velvet couch.
His amusement...the Wildflower.
Elowen.
Fast asleep in his chambers.
Her head rested against a pillow she must've dragged from the corner, her chest gently rising and falling with every breath. A strand of her dark hair clung to her cheek, her legs curled awkwardly, the gown she wore slightly rumpled, revealing a bare stretch of skin up to her knees. Reckless sleeper.
He stood there silently, amused, arms folded over his chest as he observed her. So careless… and so unaware of the devilish eyes that followed her every move.
He had heard the gossip earlier when he walked through the gallery and- two maids chattering like chipmunks in the hall about how Miss Grantham had given the morning's idle banter with sharp wit and glare. Not that he minded the gossips anyway. He liked this particular drama.
He had smirked then, pleased. She was proving to be more than just trouble- she was becoming interesting.
She stirred.
Then blinked.
Her lashes fluttered, and then her eyes widened as she registered where she was- and more importantly, who was watching her.
She gasped. "My Lord... Sire... Lord Ravens…"
"The Daredevil." He interrupted, voice smooth as velvet. "Seems someone added napping to their list of duties."
"My Lord…!" she scrambled uprightly, yanking at her gown to cover herself more decently. Her cheeks flushed as she noticed his gaze, colder and sharper than any blade, fixed squarely on her bare legs.
No man had ever looked at her like that.
Possessive.
Predatory.
Dark.
"Yes, Wildflower?" He asked lazily, tilting his head.
"That's not my name Sire," she muttered, gathering herself as she sat straighter.
"And yet," Julian drawled, "someone accepted a tray labeled 'For The Wildflower Only… and didn't return it."
Elowen scowled.
Of course.
The sly devil had done that just to mock her. She should have known. He gave gifts not in kindness- but in taunt.
What a devil!
Nothing free comes the devil, she remembered the As she tried to gather her composure and smooth her gown, Julian moved toward her. She stood a little too fast, tripped on the hem, and stumbled straight into him.
Pain shot through her ankle as it twisted beneath her weight.
"ow!"
He caught her with surprising swiftness.
"Hmm," he mused, holding her steady. "Seems you wanted a hug too, Miss Grantham"
"I did not," she hissed, trying to wrench herself away. "It was an accident."
"So you say," he murmured, turning away without argument.
He walked towards his wardrobe, inspecting her earlier organizing efforts with silent approval. He said nothing of it, though. That would be too generous.
"I bumped into you by accident Sire," she said again, limping slightly now. "I neverAnd at least I don't stare at people's bare legs."
Julian turned. That smirk again. Dangerous. Amused.
"Bare?" he scoffed. "You think that was skin?"
She swallowed hard. He was impossible.
"And now," he said, stretching, "since you've completed your tasks so admirably, I'll give you the third and last tasks for today."
she blinked, suspicious. "What now?"
Julian reached for the old drawer under his writing desk and tossed it gently towards her.
"My back aches Miss Grantham..., had a Long day at the Secretariat, please,.so rub balm on it."
Elowen froze.
She is walked over the old wooden box, her eyes studying its detailed design.
Her hands gripped the tin in disbelief. He was a pureblood for saint's sake…they don't fall sick.
Julian didn't answer.
Instead, with practiced flair, he shrugged off his coat and let it fall to the bed. His waistcoat followed, then his sleeves- each layered slower than the last, peeled off like a deliberate performance meant to drive her mad.
Elowen could barely breathe now.
He was perfect and powerfully built- his skin pale and smooth, the lines of his chest sculpted as though a god had carved him from marble, his sculptured torso made her breathless.
Her gaze faltered, her eyes landed on those brooding chest... and began dropping lower- to his abdomen, the deep grooves of muscle, the ridges of his hips-
"Done?" His voice cut through the silence.
She jolted. "W… What?"
He smirked. "When you're done staring, there's still work to be done."
Mortified, she turned away and fumbled with the balm tin. She turned the lid continuously but It wouldn't open. She tried again, fingers slipping.
"It's too tight, My Lord."
"Or you're too fragile, doll."
Her eyes narrowed. "I am not a doll, Sire..."
He strode over her, plucked the tin from her hands, and with an effortless twist, popped the lid open.
"Sit," he ordered.
She stared at him. "Pardon?"
"I do not hope to repeat myself, Miss Grantham."
Heart hammering. Elowen sat.
But to her surprise, Julian didn't turn back.
He crouched low, eyes never leaving hers, and gently reached for her foot. The ankle sha had twisted was red now, swollen. His cold fingers brushed her skin with uncharacteristic softness.
She gasped at the touch- part pain, part shock.
"Foolish girl," he murmured, almost to himself. "Always careless... Tripping into things. Into people. Into danger."
"I didn't…"
He hushed her with a glance, and she fell silent.
And just for a moment. Elowen could swear the devil looked almost… human.