Chapter 24 Julien #2
“I will carry you,” I urge. I just need her with me—now.
She laughs again, and I’m once more enamoured. The sound fractures the fevered momentum I’d been building, scattering the burning heat of my desire instantly.
But her laughter flutters away when she sees I’m still waiting. “Just give me two secs, you can wait in here,” she says, tilting her head over her shoulder.
I shake my head and she frowns.
“I cannot enter Kacey’s apartment. None of us can,” I explain. She studies the space behind her, then between us, seeing nothing. “Ezekial has a barrier in place. He constructed it the moment Kacey brought you here. We cannot enter—only Kacey and you.”
She swallows, her cheeks becoming rosy again. “Like Sai’s?”
I nod.
I instantly know what she’s referring to. She doesn’t need to provide any more context. I was in the Pit during that time.
After we made her ingest truth serum, and she’d caused my dark beast to surface, I asked to be locked in the Pit.
When Sai visited, he told me he’d created a barrier around her level of the club.
We’d had many discussions with regards to that family of hers, but the thought of leaving her alone—with them—only made me spiral deeper.
He said the barrier was to keep her safe from them, but also, to keep me out.
He always had my best intentions at heart.
And now hers.
Always.
“That was very…” Her gaze wanders away as she speaks. “Considerate of him.”
She stares hard at the threshold again, narrowing her eyes in an attempt to see something, before she looks at me.
“Stay there,” she orders. My darkness promptly stands to attention. “I won’t be long.”
She turns her back on me, leaving the door wide open.
Which, I believe, is a purposeful and tactful decision. Because now, like a predator trapped in a snare, I’m left to kneel and stare. Tormented by the view of her fleeing form, the back of her smooth thighs, the briefest glimpse of her underwear as Kane’s clothing rides up…
The urge to chase her, catch her…
I begin to stand—
“And stay on your knees!” she calls, never looking back.
I laugh as my dire need to chase is eradicated by her simple command. Because a new urge—pleasing her—surmounts all others.
And like the obedient beast I have become, I stay.
***
I made too much food for one person. I know I did. But she doesn’t say a thing as she climbs onto a stool, reaching instantly for the pot of coffee.
But I am faster, already pouring. I nudge the filled mug towards her.
“Thanks,” she says, trying to hide her laugh as she takes a sip of the pure black liquid, adding nothing.
My brows knit together. “Sai said you liked sweet things?”
She nods once, the corners of her mouth lifting as she takes another sip.
“I do, but I also like bitter things.” She sets the mug down. “Is that weird?”
I smile softly. “No.”
“I’m just not… picky.”
We’re watching each other as her sentence lingers between us, its meaning far deeper than coffee.
I nudge the plate of food I’ve prepared towards her. “But you have preferences.”
“Hmm.” She picks up the fork, using the side to cut off an edge of the omelette. “Sometimes. Depends on my mood.”
“Day or night?”
She smirks before taking a bite, then hums her approval, deep in her throat.
I wonder what it would take to make her reproduce that sound…
“Night,” she suddenly answers.
My darkness stirs. I refocus, trying to stop my eyes from lingering on her mouth.
But I am only a man, and she is everything.
“Why?” I study her, admiring the soft line between her brows, the way her tongue skims her lower lip…
“I’ve always preferred the moon and stars.” She smiles at me, and my hands curl into fists beneath the table. “But I still enjoy the sun, the heat, the life it brings.”
“You’re able to find beauty in all things.”
That smile turns more devious as she places the fork between her lips, slowly pulls it out, chews, swallows.
I am transfixed.
“Ask me more.”
“Me or Sai.”
Her sudden bout of laughter makes my chest tighten. Her eyes are alight as she grins, then shakes her head. I could sit here like this, watching her eat, think, breathe—forever.
“Wow, really?” She takes another bite, a sip of coffee, then finally says, “I can’t choose.” Her gaze drops.
“Good.” And I mean it—wholeheartedly. “You will never need to. You can have everything you want. Bitter and sweet. Light and dark. The earth, the stars, the world.”
“Julien…” The way she says my name. So soft and filled with disbelief at my proclamation, because that is what this is, a proclamation to her.
She softly shakes her head, before slipping another forkful of food between those beautiful lips.
“And what about you, Julien? Which do you prefer?”
“In what context?” I smile just enough to reveal a hint of fang. Her gaze latches onto it and she becomes quiet. So I decide to answer, “Sweet. Night. You.”
I break her haze as she scoffs at my answer. “You can’t prefer me over the others.” A curl escapes the mound piled artfully upon her head. I clench my fingers tighter. “The things you’ve been through together... I know I don’t know everything, but I know enough.”
Then she peers up at me. “Sai told me about the two of you.”
She places the fork down gently and my darkness pulses forwards, needing her to eat more, to regain her energy and replenish what we took—but she’s lost to a memory.
The words that Sai shared with her.
“He would still be there now, in that cage…” She grimaces, her darkness curling around her body in delicate vines of smoke. “I feel sick imagining it.”
“But I did find him,” I remind her gently, leaning over the table.
“You saved him from a life of torture and solitude.” Her eyes flicker between mine, filling with tears I don’t want shed.
“He also saved me.” She frowns, not understanding my words. “You only see this version of me. But there were many more… unsavoury ones.” I study the table, the soft swirls encased in marble.
“Tell me.” Her voice is so gentle it almost caresses me. “Please, I want to know everything.”
Her gaze never wavers from mine and, hidden in their intensity, I hear the words she didn’t quite say.
I want to know you.
And I want her to.
“I was born in the year 1502, France, in what would now be classified as a Human District.” I let her digest the information, the date specifically.
Her brows raise as her eyes widen. “Five hundred and twenty three years old.”
“Your mathematical skills are excellent.”
A laugh bursts from her, and my lips tug into a smile. “I always knew you were old, but….” She laughs again, then shrugs. “I did think your eyes looked ancient when we first met.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Ancient?”
There’s a glint of mischief in her gaze. “Oh yeah. The first time we met, I remember thinking you had this really old, ancient vibe.”
Slowly, the gleam fades away, smile disappearing as her tone becomes something more serious. “Like you’d seen a lot. Maybe more than anyone ever should.” She swallows, voice quieter. “I want to know more. Please.”
“During that time, there was only knowledge of the Earth Realm. Humans knew nothing of the others and there were only whisperings of other beings. Childhood was brief. Violence was rife. You either learned to wield it or succumbed to it. And my father wanted to ensure his only surviving children—my brother and I—would never be the latter. He was a cruel man, sharp-edged and unyielding, but he forged us into survivors.”
I pause, my gaze drifting and losing focus as the memories claw their way back.
The sound of cracked ribs. The smell of iron and sweat. The roar of a man who didn’t know how to love—only conquer.
Her eyes shimmer with quiet horror. “And your mother? Was she as… cruel?”
“No.” The word cracks from my throat. I swallow. “No, she was gentle. Far too kind and gentle for him—for the world.”
It’s impossible to remember her face now, only a fleeting scent of lavender and the shimmer of silvery auburn hair. A ghost I can never truly grasp.
“My brother and I were opposites in many ways, but we both loved our mother. And she… she loved our father. When a sickness spread, she nursed him, never leaving his side. She loved him, and us, but love didn’t heal. Medicine did.”
There’s bitterness now, five hundred years old and still raw.
“We needed money, quickly. So we combined our strengths. My brother was always the better fighter, whilst I am far more strategic. Together, we turned to fighting in illegal pits for survival.”
Jasmine’s gaze softens, her brows pinching with concern.
“I organised the bets, scheduled his fights, ensured he always had the best outcome. His fists and my strategies enabled us to buy medicine—for a time, but it was never enough. My father died.”
The faint echoes of my mother’s sobs still linger in my mind. How she crumpled beside his bed.
“In many ways, it was a relief. Life became easier.”
I nod towards her plate, noting the empty fork resting between her fingers. When she realises I’ve stopped, she dutifully complies, taking another bite.
Her eyes flick up at me, urging me to continue. But this is when the descent began.
“And then, my mother fell ill.”
Jasmine immediately stills, and I wait. Eventually, she takes another bite, mechanical, her gaze never leaving mine, understanding now that this is the only way I’ll continue.
“For her, we fought harder—more often. When she became bedbound, we’d gained enough money that we could hire a carer.
But it wasn’t enough. We needed more. We started searching the streets for young men.
We housed them, fed them, trained them, and they fought for us.
Our business rapidly expanded, and in a way, we became a family.
We called each other brothers—our brethren. ”
I catch Jasmine’s gaze, and in the flicker of understanding there, I know she recognises the weight of the phrase.