Chapter 279. Sweet Julie II

Chapter 279: 279. Sweet Julie II

Juliette

Juliette flew across the room, her instincts acting quicker than her mind, and her arms wrapped around Phillip as a rifle went off, aimed for the cat.

It missed him by an hair’s breadth, and Juliette scrambled for the door, barely getting it open before she felt the presence close in behind her.

An iron grip wrapped around her waist and yanked her back like she weighed nothing.

She cried out as she flew across the room, slamming into the small table that held all of her books. The wood cracked, the edge of the table carving into her rib with a jolt so blinding, she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes watered from the pain and she let out a wordless cry for help as her arms slipped from around Phillip.

A thick cloud of violence soaked into her skin as she scrambled for anything to protect them with.

The intruder stepped into the light and Juliette balked. He was a large man, more than twice her size, and combat was the one class she failed woefully at, for all of her hybrid strength.

"Not everyone is born to wield a sword, Juliette, and that is perfectly fine," her mother would always soothe her in french, when she felt inadequate and weak. Too meek. Too kind. Too naive. Not strong enough when it counted.

"Some are meant to be soldiers and there are some who are meant to be the light everyone runs to when things get dark. Like the first ray of sunlight after a cold, dark night, you are just as special, magical. It doesn’t make you weak. There is plenty of strength in simply bringing joy and warmth into a room."

And she had been completely fine with that. With having a brother that shielded her from every harm before it ever presented itself. A father that baby-proofed every place before she ever walked in.

Until now.

Juliette had never quite faced danger before arriving at Ashbourne, and she was trying really hard not to think of that day in the hallway when she’d been about to die and Phillip, the cat, had saved her life. More than half the time, she was sure her concussion from hitting her head too hard during the attack had alluded to that hallucination.

This time, however, she knew she wasn’t going to be as lucky. Being a ray of sunshine wouldn’t help her tonight. The danger was very real. And she knew without a doubt that the man who stood in front of her was a mercenary.

Her fingers scrambled clumsily in the dark, closing around the jagged table leg she’d fallen against.

The man lunged.

Juliette swung, her entire right arm reverberating as the wood connected with the side of his head.

Blood sprayed across the antique white rug, but the brute barely swayed. He merely paused, wiping a thick smudge of blood from his jaw as he reassessed her.

His left eye socket was a hollow, twisted mess, but it was his one good eye that made her skin crawl.

It swept slowly down her body, tracking the rise and fall of her chest, lingering on her bare shoulders and the thin fabric of her nightgown where it clung to her sweaty skin. She’d always slept light and had never had cause not to. Now, she felt like she was being stripped naked.

A dark greed flooded the mercenary’s expression. It was a look so predatory and dehumanizing, that Juliette froze, her mind going blank.

And when he lunged for her again, she didn’t move out of the way in time.

His hand slapped into the table leg, knocking it out of her hand so hard, she heard the snap of her own wrist.

Pain flared up her arm and she screamed as thick fingers grabbed her hair, yanking her head back until her back slammed into his chest.

A rough, heavy hand pinned her waist, sliding up her ribcage to crush her breast through the thin cloth. Juliette gagged as his large hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams.

"You are so much lovelier than she mentioned," he grunted, his breath hot and foul against her ear, his chin rough against her skin. "She paid me to leave you with a few bruises, flower... but look at you. The border packs would tear each other apart to breed a sweet, soft thing like you. I’m going to make a fortune."

Quinlan had warned her once about rogues and exiles from the borders who would do anything to get their hands on a Lycan female. She had thought he was just being paranoid.

Panic flared inside her and she began kicking, her eyes darting frantically around the shadows, searching for a small black shape.

She couldn’t find Phillip. Her chest squeezed with a sudden, aching relief through the panic. "Good. Stay away. Don’t let him hurt you," she thought before sinking her teeth into the mercenary’s palm.

He swore, knocking her forward into the floorboards.

She landed hard on her face and felt something break. Her nose, maybe. The room spun out into blinding light and blood flooded her mouth.

Juliette crawled forward on hands and knees, blinking back the tears blurring her sight. A hand seized her ankle. Her fingernails snapped against the hardwood as he hauled her backward like dead weight.

"No, no!"

Her unbroken hand struck the base of an unbroken ceramic vase. She whipped it back with everything she had, cracking it straight across his good eye.

The mercenary let out a guttural snarl. He lunged, driving her flat onto her back, and struck her across the face with a backhand that rattled her skull.

She had never been slapped in her entire life.

Her ears rang with. The room blacked out. It disoriented Juliette far before she ever felt the pain sink in, and the terrifying shock of it had her frozen as he as he seized her nightdress and tore it off.

The world went dead silent.

It started as a vibration in the floor, a deep, ancient, bottomless growl that rattled the bones in Juliette’s body.

It didn’t sound like an animal or anything she’d ever heard. It sounded like the earth under her was splitting.

The mercenary froze and when he lifted his gaze, his hands on her slacked instantly.

Juliette’s sight blurred on his face and she watched his face drain of all colour, leaving his skin gray. His one good eye dilated until it was entirely black, fixed on the space behind Juliette’s head.

His jaw fell and his lips began trembling like a child’s.

There was a shadow against the far wall and Juliette saw it expand from the small form of a cat. Phillip? She wondered, but it couldn’t have been. The shadow was no longer small. It was climbing the walls, consuming the ceiling, swallowing the moonlight whole as it bloomed higher, broader, impossibly dense.