Julian
Heyy! Why am I just now hearing from Kimberly that you took your friends to Chastain Castle?! Jealous! Cam and I get dibs on going next, kay?
I STARE DOWN AT the text notification, rereading the words slowly. I guess Susie told her fling about their time at the estate.
This isn’t the first time Cassie has mentioned wanting to visit, but I was given special permission for that. Plus, inviting them here feels a bit like treating the Chastains as a circus to show off. I’m just not sure how comfortable I’d be with that.
I pocket my phone, prepared to respond at a later time. Right now, I have something more important to do.
Earlier in the day, a note was slipped under my door, one that told me to meet in the main foyer at 8 p.m. sharp. There is only one person who has mentioned meeting in that location recently.
Atlas told me he’d let me know when he’s ready to show me whatever mysterious thing he’s hiding two days ago, right after we had sex.
Right after I told him I’d save him from the demon that touches him. Presumptuous? Yes. But the idea of something, or someone else touching Atlas, drives me nuts. In fact, I’ve thought about it the past two nights, wondering if it was up there screwing him while I lay in bed sulking.
But I can’t very well go up there and stop it—it showed me on New Year’s Eve exactly what it would do to me if I intervened again.
I slip on my sneakers and poke my head outside of my bedroom, checking that the hallways are clear.
We can’t be seen; I’m pretty sure that whatever Atlas is about to show me, I’m definitely supposed to stay ignorant to it.
Of course, this only excites me more.
As I enter the main foyer and spot him standing at the bottom step of the grand staircase, my excitement peaks even further.
Suddenly, I’m transported back nearly 48 hours—back to his bedroom where I drove into him over and over again, hearing his little cries as he gripped me so tightly.
I can practically taste his sweet skin; I can almost feel the tremble of his body as he came with such a great force that I thought for sure he’d pass out.
Atlas finally looks up from where he was watching his slipper-covered feet with great interest, meeting my gaze. His blue eyes widen as he takes me in, and I know my expression must be giving me away; it must be showing him exactly what I’m reliving.
He lifts a hand, rubbing at his chest over his sheer black top. He descends the last step.
“Julian,” he greets, his voice breathless.
“Young Master Atlas,” I say in return, giving him a lazy grin.
A soft blush appears on his cheeks, and he ducks his head, fiddling with his fingers.
“I’ve never seen you look at a man, or anyone, that way before… As if you’re terrified of him. As if he could crush you at any second, and you’re helpless to it.”
I… I think Landon might have seen something I’ve been too dumb to notice. As I stare at Atlas now, as I watch him flush so sweetly, I consider the very real possibility that I really like him. It would certainly explain why the thought of someone else touching him makes me sick.
But not only am I still too uncertain to say, but I couldn’t put that on him right now. Not in the middle of all this pain and trauma.
Maybe… maybe after I save him and I sort myself out, we can have a nice, long chat.
“This way, please,” Atlas mutters, turning on his heel and heading toward Hall W4.
I watch him walk, the way his black slacks hug him so nicely as if they’re a second skin. His little brown curls bounce slightly with each step he takes, and the memory of nuzzling into them from behind as I took him is so overwhelming that I have to adjust myself in my pajama pants.
Entering the chapel, my brows shoot up in awareness.
“Atlas… I say this, risking the new air of comfort we’ve created, but you do know you have no reason to pray for forgiveness right now, right?” I rush out, and he stops, looking at me over his shoulder from where he stands between the rows of pews.
“What?” he questions.
“What we did, you don’t need to pray about it. There was nothing wrong with it. You’ve done nothing wrong, and—”
The small grin shaping his full lips cuts off my sentence, and I cock my head at him, confused.
“I’m not here to pray, Julie,” he assures me.
Julie. I think this is the first time outside of sex he’s called me that, and now I can only hear it in that voice. With that hint of desperation and need coating each lick of sound.
I am royally fucked.
“T-then what are we here for?” I clear my throat, watching him turn and continue further into the chapel.
“This,” he says simply.
Behind the table set in front of the right set of pews, the one that holds several candles, there is a red banner hanging over the wall.
Atlas moves it to the side, and I can see what appears to be an outline as tall and wide as a door carved into the stone, but there are no handles or hinges in sight.
“What the…” My words trail off as Atlas presses the palm of his hand into one of the stone slabs, and a faint clicking sounds throughout the silent chapel.
He gives me another sweet smile over his shoulder as the invisible door swings inward, revealing a steep set of stairs.
“Follow me,” he says.
Atlas is disappearing into the dark before I can stop him, so I stumble through the threshold a few steps behind, allowing the stone to shut.
It’s pitch black, and so dusty inside that as I drag my hand over the hall and slowly descend the steps, I choke on my own gasps.
Suddenly, I’m blinded, and after blinking a few million times, I spot Atlas standing below a string hanging from the center of an unkept room. It’s about half the size of the chapel above, and on the far wall, across from the staircase, are two large bookshelves.
To my right is a podium of sorts, where one could rest a book and recite poetry or partake in some religious activity. To my left is a tall, wide slab of stone.
“Is that a fucking altar?” I demand, taking a single step forward.
Atlas is peering around, taking in the room with a calm expression.
“I believe so, yes.”
“Why do you have an altar?!” My voice rises slightly, shocked and appalled by the sight.
I’m not religious by any means—this we both know—but I’m also not into sacrificing animals to demons or anything sinister like that.
“We didn’t build it,” Atlas says flatly. “I think one of my ancestors did.”
“Why are we down here? This feels weird as hell; I can’t lie.”
“Because the day we were told the prophecy, I saw my father enter this room with the priest and the psychic.” Atlas says it as if it’s obvious, and I’m being dramatic about the whole situation.
But… what?!
“Psychic? Prophecy?! Atlas, what the hell are you going on about?” I take another step into the creepy room and toward the man staring back at me in amusement.
“If you freak out over every little thing, we’ll never get anywhere, Julian,” he says sarcastically. “I’m about to tell you what I mean. Will you listen?”
My shoulders slump, and I wave at him, encouraging him to continue. “Fine. Sorry. Tell me.”
Atlas chuckles and turns away to observe the shelves at his back as he continues to speak.
“About six months into my condition, my father hired a priest and a psychic and invited them to Chastain Castle. He was trying to find a cure or an explanation as to why I was cursed. I was told to stay in my room, but I snuck out anyway. That’s when I saw the three of them head down here. ”
“You didn’t know this place existed until then?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“Nope. I didn’t follow, as I knew my father would be upset. But later that night, they came to me with the news of the prophecy. Of the cure.”
I follow behind him, watching as he trails a fingertip over the dusty ledge of one of the shelves. “And what was the prophecy?”
Suddenly, Atlas stops, and he turns to face me. It seems I walked further than I originally realized, because as he turns, our chests almost touch. Big blue eyes stare up at me, assessing nervously.
Then, he speaks.
“In the violence of the waves, a cure will appear.
From purity and truth, salvation is born.
The boy the incubus keeps will continue to suffer
until the stipulations are met.
Wrongs must be righted; balance must be restored.
Only then can light prosper again.”
I shiver at the words, at the way he seems to recite them from memory so easily, as if he’s replayed them over and over again.
“And the cure? What did they say about the cure?” I question.
“That is what they said about the cure. In the violence of the waves, a cure will appear. That’s why I wait, why I watch from the cliff’s edge.”
Oh. That’s… really not a whole lot to go off of. But his big, hopeful eyes staring up at me keep me from saying as much.
“Okay,” I draw. “And the rest of the prophecy? What does it mean?”
Atlas sighs gently, shrugging. “The way my family has interpreted it is praying to keep my soul pure, to stay truthful to myself, and to stay morally correct. That’s really all we could sort out.”
I want to tell him that his interpretation of this prophecy is very literal and simple, and potentially not at all on the money. But I don’t want to bring him down or make him believe that everything he has done up to this point has been pointless, so I nod instead.
“Sure. Okay. Let’s say that you’re correct about what this prophecy is asking of you, then when will the cure come?”
Atlas’s gaze falls to the floor. “I don’t know.”
I am certain that if the key were being a very good boy, Atlas would have broken this curse by now.
“Well, if you saw them come down here, then maybe they found the prophecy down here? Should we sort through these books?” I ask, rubbing a hand over his arm in an attempt to get rid of the disappointed expression he’s wearing.
Atlas brightens up, his eyes lifting back up to meet mine.
“Yes! That is what I was thinking. I thought nothing of this room past the day they entered it, but now I have a feeling it’s the key.” He turns back to the shelves, squinting to read different book titles.
I watch him for a moment before my eyes drift back to the altar, an uneasy feeling settling over me.
“Uh, Atlas?”
“Hm?” he sounds.
“Have your ancestors ever practiced witchcraft or anything?” I ask.
Atlas’s head snaps in my direction, a look of horror twisting his delicate features. “What?! No! My family has always been devoted to God.”
“Sorry.” I raise my hands in surrender. “I was just checking.”
With a huff, he turns back to the shelf.
“These titles aren’t in English,” Atlas mutters, brows furrowing as he looks through the spines.
I’m finding it hard to focus on the books, or whatever the hell he’s talking about, because I’m noticing for the first time that his soft skin is staying flushed.
What was it that he said caused those flare-ups that make him perpetually hot? Not receiving release, or enough of a release?
Suddenly, I’m desperate to know which it is that is causing him to appear worked up so sweetly.
“Has it come to you again? Since the night I touched you, I mean,” I clarify, and Atlas freezes.
“Yes,” he eventually whispers.
I want to ask when. I want to know how long it was there and how exactly it touched him—if he cried, and if he loved it as much as he loved feeling me. But I’m terrified to hear his answers, and I’m not prepared for that level of fallout.
I’m a grown man, so I know what jealousy feels like. I’m extremely jealous in this moment, suffocatingly so.
So much so that it doesn’t even cross my mind to reconsider before I’m grabbing his arm and pressing his back to the bookcase.
I swallow the gasp that escapes him, pressing the length of my body to his as I capture his lips.
Sure, I may not be one-hundred percent sure if I like him with everything in me, but I do know that only my hands—my tongue—should ever touch this man’s skin. He said it himself; my touching him feels like claiming.
Therefore, Atlas is mine.
My tongue glides over his, and I feel his hands grip my sides roughly, grasping for purchase. Sucking his bottom lip into my mouth, I slot my knee between his legs and push, hearing the small mewl leave his throat.
In a flash, one of my hands is gripping the hair at the base of his neck, the other wrapped around his throat. With minimal pressure, I can feel his fluttering pulse.
I want to consume him until there is nothing left for that bastard to touch.
“Julian,” Atlas gasps, managing to pry his lips from mine.
“Hm?” I inquire, licking at the base of his jaw hungrily. He tastes so fucking good that I think I’m going crazy.
“T-too much. I’m gonna… you’re rubbing against me.” His voice is a plea, and I realize I’ve been grinding against him for a minute now.
The outline of his hard dick can be seen from where I stand, and the desire to fix the situation with my mouth is so persistent I almost fall to my knees.
“Let me kiss you some more,” I beg. “Let me kiss you until all you can taste is me; until you can’t remember what it felt like for the fucker to lick into you.”
Atlas watches me with big, lust-blown eyes. His bottom lip trembles as he shakes his head gently.
“It…” He clears his throat. “The incubus doesn’t kiss me, Julie. You were my first kiss.”
My entire body freezes. I keep him locked between the bookcase and my hips, but I can’t seem to function otherwise.
I… I was his first kiss?
A soft groan leaves me as I stare down at him and his flushed expression.
“Really?” I whisper.
“Yeah. Really. It doesn’t… It’s never that intimate.”
I take a step back, finally releasing him. “I’m sorry. I’m being rough with you.”
Atlas stays where he stands, leaning against the books, his lips parted beautifully.
“I don’t mind,” he confides softly. “I like that you want to touch me so much.”
With a deep breath, I turn to the shelf to my left.
“Let’s start picking through these books, yeah? Translating them will take some time.” If I don’t distract myself now, I think I’ll fuck him right here on the altar.
“Sure,” Atlas mumbles. “Let’s do it.”
Jesus.
Yeah… I’m most definitely royally fucked.