50. Julian #2
“You’re too charming today,” she mused, walking slowly towards me with a wicked, playful glint in her eyes. “It’s suspicious.”
“I am simply speaking the truth,” I defended smoothly, though I tracked the paintbrush in her hand with a wary, amused gaze. “June. Put the weapon down.”
“It’s just a little paint, Julian,” she giggled, stepping right between my parted knees. “You look a little pale.”
Before I could grab her wrist, she reached out and dragged the soft bristles of the brush right down the centre of my nose, leaving a bright streak of green paint behind.
I let out a low, rumbling laugh, the sound vibrating deep in my chest. It felt so incredibly real. The warmth of the sun on my skin, the softness of her dress brushing against my legs, the bright, infectious sound of her giggling as she tried to step back to admire her handiwork.
But I didn’t let her get far.
Before she could retreat, I reached out and caught her by the waist. I pulled her firmly forwards, dragging her right off her feet and into my lap.
She let out a breathless shriek of laughter, her hands instinctively flying up to brace against my shoulders—thankfully keeping the painted brush away from my pristine white shirt.
“Julian!” she scolded playfully, though she was smiling so hard her eyes crinkled at the corners.
“You missed a spot,” I murmured, my hands sliding up her back to tangle in the loose, messy up do of her dark hair.
I didn’t give her a chance to reply. I pulled her down and crashed my mouth against hers.
She melted into me instantly, her laughter dying against my lips, replaced by a soft, content sigh.
The kiss was deep and intimate, tasting of summer air, strawberry lip balm and the faint, lingering sweetness of the lemonade we had made earlier.
She shifted in my lap, her body pressing flush against me. She was safe, alive, and mine. I held her tighter, anchoring myself to the beautiful, vibrant reality of her, desperately wishing this afternoon would last for eternity.
The warmth of the Manor gardens vanished in an instant, the phantom scent of summer roses ripped away by the freezing, damp air of the stone cellar.
I blinked, my eyes adjusting as a gentle, hesitant hand shook my shoulder.
“Julian.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper in the dim, crowded sanctuary, but to me, it cut through the noise of the world like an angel calling me back from the dead.
I instantly realised what I was doing. I was lying on the narrow make shift bed, my massive frame still curled protectively around her back, my arm resting heavily across her waist. The blood on my gear had dried completely, but the reality of what I was—and the fact that I had selfishly crawled into her bed in the dark—hit me, causing a sickening pang of guilt in my chest.
I immediately pulled my arm back, shifting my weight to sit up on the edge of the mattress, running a trembling hand through my hair.
“Sage, I apologise,” I rasped, my voice thick with sleep and sudden guilt. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to overstep, I just…”
“Don’t,” she interrupted softly.
I stopped, looking down at her. She was propped up on one elbow, the scratchy wool blanket falling away from her shoulders.
“I’m glad you came back,” she whispered, her sleepy eyes searching my face in the glow of the rising sun. “I’m happy you’re okay. I was so worried.”
The sincerity in her voice melted me. I stared at her, genuinely stunned. “You were?”
“Of course I was,” she breathed, shifting closer to the edge of the bed. Before I could pull away, she reached out. Her small, warm fingers wrapped around my hand. I froze, terrified of dirtying her skin, but she held on tight.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice dropping, trembling slightly with the memory of the alleyway. “I think those guys would have done some really terrible things to me if you weren’t there last night, Julian. Thank you, sincerely.”
Looking down at her hand holding mine, the last bit of discipline and restraint I was holding onto evaporated.
“I would do anything for you,” the words slipped out of my mouth without thinking.
She looked up at me, her beautiful familiar eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“Why?” she replied in a hushed, breathless voice. “Julian… you hardly know me.”
I have known you for lifetimes, the yearning, broken part of my heart screamed. But I couldn’t tell her that. Not yet.
I turned my hand over, gently weaving my fingers through hers. “I don’t know how to explain it,” I murmured, holding her gaze with a desperate, starving intensity. “I’ve just had this overwhelming sense of wanting to protect you since the moment I first saw you.”
I brushed my thumb over her knuckles, grounding myself in the reality that she was actually here, and she was actually holding my hand.
“When this is all over,” I said, my voice dropping to a gravelly, vulnerable rasp, “I’d really like to see you again.”
A slow, beautiful smile touched her lips.
“I’d really like that,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling as she looked at me.
The fragile, quiet bubble we had built in the corner of the vault shattered the moment the heavy security doors groaned open above us.
Harsh morning light spilled down the steps, accompanied by the deafening roar of heavy diesel engines and the shouting of commanding officers echoing across the cathedral plaza. The evacuation convoy had arrived.
The reality of the morning meant I had to let her go.
I was a soldier actively deployed in a war zone, but more than that, I was a madman with centuries of blood on his hands with an immortal brother who was far colder and calculating, who would slaughter her the instant he realised who she was.
I couldn’t be with her. Not yet. Not until I knew she was safe from him.
I had to figure something out, and fast.
But watching Sage pack up her small bag, the crushing sadness in her eyes nearly brought me to my knees.
“Here,” I rasped, pulling a small, battered field notebook and a pen from the cargo pocket of my tactical pants. I scribbled down a secure phone number of mine and a mailing address. I tore the page out and pressed it into her palm.
She took the paper, her fingers brushing mine and grabbed the pen from my hand quickly writing down an address on the next page, tearing it out and handing it back to me. Her hand was shaking as she reached out.
“I will write to you when I can,” I promised.
I carefully folded her paper and tucked it into the pocket right over my heart.
She looked up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Thank you again, Julian,” she whispered, her voice shaking slightly. “For everything.”
“Evacuees, move out! Boarding in two minutes!” a sergeant bellowed from the courtyard plaza above.
I walked her up to the plaza. The air was thick with the smell of diesel as the armoured convoy idling on the cobblestones prepared to move.
Dozens of people were filing onto the crowded transport buses.
I stopped at the base of the metal steps of the third bus, my hands shoved deep into my pockets just to keep from reaching out and dragging her back, to never let her leave my side, but she wasn’t safe here.
She turned to face me one last time. She offered a small, heartbreaking smile, gave me a single nod, and turned around to grab the handrail of the bus.
Every instinct in my body rebelled. I couldn’t just let her walk away. Not like this. Not after years of nothing but her memory to keep me comfort.
“Sage.”
I reached out and grabbed her arm. Not hard enough to hurt her, just enough to stop her in her tracks.
She gasped, spinning around just as I closed the distance between us.
I didn’t care about the swarms of civilians, the soldiers, or the chaos of the convoy.
I dropped my hand from her arm, my fingers instantly tangling deep into the silky, dark waves at the nape of her neck, and pulled her against my chest.
I crashed my mouth down onto hers.
It was a desperate, bruising, emotionally charged collision.
All the fury of the night, the terror of almost losing her, and the starving, decades-long ache in my soul poured into that single kiss.
Sage melted against me with a soft, desperate sound, her hands flying up to grip the front of my blood-stained vest, kissing me back with an intensity that matched my own.
I devoured the taste of her, pressing her back against the metal side of the transport bus, branding her mouth so deeply she would feel it all the way back home. It was a reclaiming. It was a promise.