39. Julian #2
I reached over and flicked on the radio. “Run to You” by Bryan Adams was playing, I was a traitor, a liar, and a marked man. But as I looked at June, I knew I’d never made a better decision in my life.
The sanctuary of the cabin was still three hours away. We just had to hope we were far enough ahead of a man who had undeniably no concept of mercy.
The car screamed. The V8 engine roaring under the hood, we were flying down the two lane highway, the night air whipping through the open windows, I couldn’t have felt more free.
The dashboard glowed with a dim light, casting shadows across June’s face.
She looked radiant, terrified, but alive in a way the Manor never allowed.
I could feel the adrenaline cooling into something thicker, something heavier.
The fear of Cain was still there, a cold shadow at the edge of my mind, but it was being drowned out by the sheer, proximity-induced heat of the girl sitting next to me.
I reached over, my hand moving instinctively. I let my palm settle on her thigh.
The second my hand was on her, a jolt of electricity surged through me, nearly sending my foot dangerously heavy onto the accelerator.
The heat radiating through the silk of her dress was utter arson against my palm.
I heard her breath snag in her throat—a sharp, desperate intake of air that drowned out the highway.
She didn’t freeze, and she didn’t retreat.
She simply shifted, pressing her leg up into the heavy cage of my hand, yielding to the exact claim I was making.
I didn’t let go, my thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over her tense muscles. She was a live wire sitting right next to me, humming with a frantic energy that was my fault.
“Julian,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the tires.
“We’re almost there.”
“I know,” she said, and she turned her hand over on the seat, lacing her fingers with mine. Her palm was damp, her pulse racing against my touch.
She looked at me then, her eyes dark and searching in the strobe light flicker of the passing street lamps.
There was a challenge in her gaze, an invitation that made my stomach tighten into a hard, painful knot.
We both knew what tonight was. It wasn’t just an escape—it was a transition into something irreversible.
We were both walking into the dark for the first time, and the weight of that shared innocence was a heavy, intoxicatingly thing.
The bracelet on her wrist clinked softly as she adjusted her grip on my hand. I squeezed back, my fingers digging into her warm flesh. I wanted to tell her how much it was costing me to keep my eyes on the road.
I looked down at my hand on her leg, my large fingers against her small frame. The contrast was a reminder of the power I held, and the way I wanted to use it to cherish her, to worship, and protect her, to finally bridge the gap I’d spent a lifetime maintaining.
“You’re driving too fast,” she murmured, a tiny, teasing smile playing on her lips.
“I’m trying to get you to a bed before I lose my mind.”
The air in the car suddenly felt thick, charged with a sexual tension so potent I could taste it on the back of my tongue. It was a mixture of the champagne we’d shared earlier and the forbidden attraction that had been building for years. I felt the pressure behind my eyes, the ache in my chest.
Tonight, there would be no Cain. No books of blood. No graves. There would only be the sound of the lake, the smell of the roses I’d tucked into her bags, and the shattering of the last wall between us.
Suddenly, I felt the weight of her hand leave mine. I heard the distinct click of her seatbelt retracting.
“June, what are you—”
I didn’t get to finish. She moved with a fluid, unexpected grace, sliding over the centre console. In the cramped cockpit of the Camaro, there was nowhere to go but up. She straddled me, her knees digging into the leather on either side of my hips, her weight settling firmly into my lap.
I had to kick my legs wider to keep my feet on the pedals, the steering wheel pressed against her lower back.
“June, stop,” I rasped, my heart leaping into my throat.
She didn’t care. She leaned in, her small hands sliding into my hair and pulling my head back. Her lips found the sensitive spot of my neck, her teeth grazing the skin just above my collar. I felt the sharp, electric sting of her kiss, followed by the wet heat of her tongue.
The car swerved slightly, the tires chirping against the asphalt, but I couldn’t bring myself to slow down. The friction of her grinding against me, the scent of her and the cold night air—it was a sensory overdose.
She was humming with a nervous, erratic heat against me.
her chest heaving against mine. Every time I shifted gears, my hand brushed against the curve of her thigh, the connection igniting a heavy, burning ache that traveled straight to my cock.
She trailed her kisses up to my jaw, her breath hot against my ear.
“Drive faster, Julian,” she whispered, her fingers tightening in my hair.
I looked down for one second—one second I couldn’t afford, and saw her looking up at me. Her eyes were blown out, her pupils swallowing her iris, reflecting the green glow of the dash. She looked possessed. She looked like she wanted to consume me.
I took a hand off the wheel, my fingers splaying across the small of her back, pulling her even tighter against me. The contrast was staggering, my bruised, ink stained skin against the white silk of her birthday dress.
“We’re almost there,” I managed to choke out, my voice thick and desperate. “June. If you keep doing that, we aren’t going to make it past the next turn-off.”
She didn’t pull back. She just leaned in and kissed me, a deep, soul consuming invasion. I was a traitor, a liar, and a man who had just traded eternity for a girl and a night in a cabin, and as I pushed the Camaro harder, I knew I’d do it a thousand times over.
We were outrunning the Ritual. We were outrunning Cain. And for the first time, the name over my heart felt like it finally belonged to me.