46. Julian #2
She was standing on the ground level, near the back of the chapel, bathed in the harsh white light of a halogen lamp.
The oversized white shirt she had worn days ago was gone, replaced by a dark, fitted tank top and cargo pants covered in plaster dust. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, but that wasn’t what stopped me dead in my tracks.
She wasn’t alone.
One of the local contractors—a burly, aggressive looking man who had been hired to help move the heavier debris, was standing far too close to her. He had her cornered against a stack of crates, his posture looming and predatory.
I couldn’t hear what he was saying over the hum of the generator, but I saw the rigid, defensive line of her shoulders. I saw her take a step back, her hand raising in a clear gesture for him to stop. I saw the man laugh, a sneer on his face, and step forwards, reaching out to grab her arm.
The human soldier I had been pretending to be vanished instantly.
He didn’t even get the chance to let his fingers graze her skin.
I crossed the floor of marble in a matter of seconds. I didn’t run. I hunted. Decades of military conditioning masked the supernatural speed that wanted to tear out of my muscles, translating my movement into a silent, terrifyingly fluid blur of tactical precision.
Before the contractor could complete his laugh, my hand shot out and clamped around the back of his thick neck.
I didn’t yell. Yelling was for men who lacked strength. Instead, I simply squeezed, just enough to pinch the nerves and viciously yanked him backwards, ripping him away from her.
The man let out a choked, wet gasp as his feet left the ground for a fraction of a second. I spun him around and slammed him face-first into the nearest stone pillar. The hollow, sickening sound of his cheekbone hitting the masonry echoed over the hum of the generator.
He cried out, his hands flying up to push off the pillar, but I drove my forearm into the centre of his back, pinning him flat against the stone.
I leaned in, putting my massive weight against him, my combat boots planted firmly in the dust. I could feel the frantic, terrified flutter of his heartbeat through his shirt.
It would be so easy. A fraction of an inch more pressure, a slight twist of my wrist, and his spine would snap like dry kindling.
The dark, venomous part of my brain—the part Cain had forged, screamed at me to end him just for breathing her air.
Human. Be human, I ordered myself, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.
I leaned down, pressing my mouth near his ear. “If you ever step within a metre of her again,” I whispered, my voice a dead, gravelly rasp that offered zero mercy, “I won’t use the wall to break your face. I will use my bare hands. Do you understand me?”
He let out a pathetic, whimpering sound, nodding frantically against the unyielding stone.
“Get out.” I released him, stepping back and letting my hand drop to the grip of my holstered sidearm.
The man stumbled backwards, clutching his bleeding face, his eyes wide with terror as he took in the sheer size of me. He didn’t say a word. He just scrambled over the debris and sprinted out the side exit of the cloisters, vanishing into the night.
The heavy, suffocating silence rushed back into the chapel, leaving only the drone of the lights and the sound of my own ragged breathing.
I stood there for a long moment, my back to her, my hands curled into solid fists at my sides.
“Julian?”
Her voice was a soft, trembling whisper that nearly brought me to my knees.
Slowly, warily, I turned around.
Sage was still backed against the wooden crates, her eyes wide. But she wasn’t looking at me with the terror the contractor had shown. She was staring at me with a profound, breathless shock, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Are you hurt?” I asked. The words came out harsher than I intended, rough and clipped, a desperate attempt to keep the trembling out of my voice. I kept my distance, refusing to step into the halo of the halogen light with her.
“No,” she breathed, shaking her head. She swallowed hard, her hand coming up to rest defensively against her collarbone, right where the phantom ache of my gaze always seemed to land. “No, he didn’t… he didn’t touch me.”
“He was out of line.” I stared at the floor between us, focusing intensely on a chip in the marble. If I looked into her blue eyes for too long, I was going to lose my mind. “You shouldn’t be working in this sector alone after dark. It isn’t safe.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be alone,” she said softly, taking a single, tentative step towards me. “The rest of the team went to get dinner. I just stayed behind to finish a sealant layer. I hadn’t realised he had locked the main doors.”
Locked the doors. A fresh wave of murderous rage crashed over me, making my vision edge in red. If I hadn’t come through the cloisters… if Noah had sent someone else…
She took another step. The scent of her—that intoxicating and heartbreaking mix—washed over me, consuming me, tearing down the walls I had spent the last three days building.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice dropping to a register so intimately familiar, it felt like a knife twisting in my gut. “For stepping in. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did,” the words slipped out before I could stop them. Raw. Real.
Sage stopped, her breath hitching. She tilted her head, studying my face with those impossibly observant ocean eyes. The wariness from a few days ago was gone, replaced by a magnetic, dangerous curiosity.
“Why have you been avoiding me?” she asked, the question striking the air like a match.