62. Julian
Julian
The iron security gates of the estate parted silently as the Land Rover approached, welcoming us into the dense, now overgrown tree line.
The winding driveway stretched on hidden from the main road, before the trees finally broke to reveal the house.
It was a massive, sprawling piece of modern architecture—sleek lines of dark cedar, forged steel, and expansive walls of floor-to-ceiling glass built seamlessly into the side of the mountain.
Money had never been an object for my brother or I, long before this cursed life.
We had been born into a suffocating, aristocratic wealth long before this modern world had even taken shape.
Over time, that fortune had only compounded into something limitless.
Cain and I owned properties, penthouses, and hidden estates in almost every country on the globe.
But out of all the fortresses I had built to hide in, this one was my favourite.
It was situated far out from the suburbs, isolated from the noise and the suffocating crush of humanity. When the bloodlust grew too heavy, or the turbulent, chaotic memories of my past threatened to break my mind, this was where I retreated to block the world out and forget.
Nature was the only thing that had ever made me feel remotely close to June after she died.
Every time I bought a new property, no matter what continent I was on, I made it a strict, sacred tradition to build a massive flower garden on the grounds.
I had spent years planting roses, nightshade, and daisies in the dirt with my bare, bloodstained hands, desperately trying to keep June’s memory alive through the roots.
I put the car into park, killing the engine, and turned to look at the girl sitting next to me.
She was looking out the window, her eyes wide and reflecting the towering pines. She wasn’t a memory anymore, no longer a ghost I had to plant flowers for. She was breathing, she was warm, and she was sitting right here in my car.
A fierce, protectiveness flared in my chest. The universe had miraculously given us a second chance. A chance to actually live the life that Cain had so brutally ripped from our hands before it had a chance to ever begin. And I would slaughter anything that tried to take her from me.
I stepped out of the vehicle, the crisp, clean mountain air filling my lungs. I walked around to the passenger side, opening the door for her, and easily slung her heavy duffel bag and tote over my shoulder.
“Come on,” I murmured, offering her my free hand.
She stepped out onto the polished stone driveway, her head on a swivel as she took in the imposing scale of the estate.
I led her up the wide stone steps, pausing briefly as the concealed facial recognition scanner hummed to life. A thin line of red light swept across my features, mapping the bone and shadow of my face before the heavy doors clicked open with a hiss of pressurised air.
The grand foyer immediately gave way to a massive, sunken living room.
The entire back wall of the house wasn’t a wall at all—it was a soaring, two-story expanse of reinforced glass.
It offered a complete unobstructed, breathtaking view of the dense, moody forest pressing right up against the property line, and the slow flowing, shallow, crystal clear stream cutting directly through the backyard.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy, casting long, peaceful shadows across the polished hardwood floors.
Sage stopped dead in her tracks. Her hand slowly slipped out of my grip as she took a few hesitant steps towards the glass, mesmerised by the beauty of the wilderness that surrounds us.
She pressed her fingertips lightly against the cool pane of glass, letting out a soft, breathless gasp.
“Julian…” she whispered, her voice echoing faintly in the massive, quiet space. She turned her head to look back at me over her shoulder, “It’s breathtaking, is this all yours?,”
I dropped her bags onto the floor, the heavy thud grounding us in the reality of the room. I closed the distance between us in three long strides, stopping right behind her. I reached out, my hands settling firmly and possessively on her hips as I looked over her head at the endless forest.
“No, baby girl,” I murmured, my voice dropping to a dark, devoted rumble as I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head. “It’s ours.”
The suffocating dread that had been sitting on my chest since this morning was finally beginning to dissipate, replaced by the warm, golden glow of the kitchen lighting and the miracle of having her under my roof.
I stood at the massive marble island, a cast-iron skillet hissing over the gas as I seared two steaks. The smell of melting butter, crushed garlic, and fresh rosemary filled the air. It was a mundane domestic and painfully human ritual—cooking. But it grounded me.
Sage was wandering the open concept living space behind me, a half empty glass of expensive red wine dangling loosely from her fingers. She had kicked off her shoes, her bare feet padding softly against the polished hardwood floor as she explored the fortress I had built for her.
“Oh my god,”
I looked over my shoulder. She was standing in the corner of the room near the massive bookshelves, staring down at the vintage, solid walnut turntable resting on a custom credenza. Next to it was a meticulously organised crate of vinyl.
“You have a record player,” she breathed, her eyes lighting up as she ran her free hand reverently over the smooth wood of the casing. “Julian, I love these. I’m obsessed with anything nostalgic and vintage.”
I smiled, turning the heat up on the stove slightly. “Go ahead. Put something on.”
She set her wine glass down, her fingers immediately dropping into the crate.
“It just sounds so much more authentic this way,” she murmured, flipping through the worn cardboard sleeves.
“Digital music is too clean. On vinyl, you can actually hear the imperfections. You can feel the soul in the room.”
She slid a record from its sleeve, carefully placing the black vinyl onto the platter. She lifted the tonearm with delicate precision and set the needle into the groove.
A soft, static crackle filled the massive room.
And then, the slow, hauntingly melancholic piano chords of Billie Holiday’s —I’ll Be Seeing You drifted through the high end speakers.
I’ll be seeing you —In all the old familiar places —That this heart of mine embraces —All day through…
The spatula in my hand snapped cleanly in two, beneath my sudden crushing grip.
I froze, the air vanishing from my lungs. It was like getting hit by a freight train made of pure memory.
It was our song.
Decades ago, in another life, in a parlour room smelling of velvet and fire, June used to play this exact record.
I slowly turned around.
Sage was walking back to the kitchen, unaware of the century old ghosts swirling in the room.
She was swaying slightly to the slow, jazzy beat, a soft, beautiful smile curving her lips.
The amber light caught the dark waves of her hair, and for a terrifying, heart-stopping second, the past and the present collided.
She stopped in front of me, looking up through her dark lashes.
“Is this okay?” she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the music.
“Perfect,” I murmured, my voice a thick, gravelly rasp.
I tossed the broken pieces of the spatula onto the cutting board and reached for her.
My massive hands swallowing her waist, and with effortless strength, I hoisted her off the ground and set her down on the cool marble of the kitchen island. Sage gasped softly at the sudden elevation, her hands instantly flying to my shoulders to steady herself.
I stepped right between her thighs, crowding into her space, letting her feel the heavy reality of my body pressing against hers.
“Julian,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering shut as I trailed the back of my knuckles down the soft column of her throat.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” I swore against her skin.
I tilted her chin up and brought my mouth down on hers. There was no hesitation this time. The sexual tension that had been fizzling between us all day finally came to a head. She tasted like red wine and salvation.
Sage let out a soft, desperate moan, her fingers tangling tightly in the short hair at the nape of my neck as she pulled me closer, her legs wrapping around my hips to anchor me to her.
I slid my hands under the hem of her heavy sweater, my large palms finally making contact with the bare, searingly hot skin of her waist. I dragged my hands upwards, tracing the delicate curves of her, my lips moving from her mouth to the sensitive skin just below her jaw.
She arched her back into my touch, totally surrendering, entirely mine.
I was going to take her right there on the marble counter.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The shrill, ear-piercing shriek of the smoke detector instantly shattered the intimate, heavy fog in the room.
Sage practically jumped out of her skin, tearing her mouth away from my neck with a startled shriek.
I whipped my head around. Thick, black smoke was rapidly billowing out of the skillet on the stove, engulfing the kitchen. The steaks were practically charcoal.
“Shit!”
I stepped back from her, grabbing a kitchen towel and frantically waving it at the screaming alarm on the ceiling. Sage slid off the counter, her hair a wild, beautiful mess, her lips thoroughly kissed red.
For a second, she just stared at the smoke pouring out of the pan. And then, a sound bubbled out of her chest that stopped my heart all over again.
She started to laugh.
It wasn’t a nervous chuckle, it was a bright, bell-like, full bodied laugh of pure human joy.
The sound of it broke the tension. A wide, helpless grin spread across my face.
“Open the doors!” I shouted over the blaring alarm, grabbing the skillet by the handle and yanking it off the burner.