responsibility, no matter what had become of the two other lords.
She mulled it over for three heartbeats before dropping it against her chest. No, she wouldn’t be pathetic and call Aiden just because she was lonely and scared. She had her pride—and a hell of a right hook. As long as she had those, she could handle whatever came her way.
As the heaviness on her shoulders increased, she picked up the pace, heading down Broadway toward the bay, slowing only after she crossed the train tracks.
She stopped and pulled the night air in slowly through her nostrils. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but it was close, practically trailing its claws down her neck. Her skin broke out in goose bumps, and the hair on her nape stood on end. She whirled and decided to head home. She didn’t need to see the ocean that badly tonight.
The wind picked up, blowing from the north through clear, dark skies, but Kara scented something like honeysuckle and storm clouds on the breeze. She quickened her steps until she was almost running back toward the train station, then she veered left and trotted past a row of old buildings.
Breathing hard, she ducked into an alley and rested her back against the painted façade of an office that had closed for the night. She felt ridiculous, as if she was hiding from the boogeyman, but she’d learned to trust her instincts over the years. Maybe she should have stuck to the Gaslamp and ventured out this direction during the day, instead.
She buried her head in her hands and smiled. Shit. Since when had she been scared to walk the streets? The streets should be scared of her .
She straightened up and rolled her shoulders, preparing to stroll out of the alley as if she hadn’t just had her tail tucked between her legs, when something sailed through the air behind her and hit the ground with a loud thud. Liquid from the impact sprayed the back of her boots before she even had the chance to spin around.
There, facedown on the asphalt, lay the body of a large man. He was clothed from the waist down in dark buckskin pants. Two bloody stumps protruded from his back where his wings should have been.
Kara retreated a step, realizing the wet stains on the bottom of her pants were from the blood that had shot from his body when he’d hit the ground. She couldn’t breathe. In her mind, she was instantly transported back to the island the night Julian was attacked. It was his body she saw there, her love lying limp and helpless with his lifeblood seeping from his veins.
Suddenly, at the far end of the alley, a dark, winged figure alighted. She couldn’t make out anything other than the ebony wings jutting from his back—wings so velvety black they seemed to devour the moonlight. A black-wing .
“No,” she whispered, her lungs seizing. Please, no.
When the black-wing took a step in Kara’s direction, she snapped out of her stupor and spun on her heel, ready to sprint as fast as her feet could carry her.
She bolted forward—and smacked into an invisible wall. She couldn’t see it, but it was so substantial, she slammed into it face first, cracking the cartilage in her nose with a burst of pain. She tried her limbs and realized she wasn’t frozen, just blocked from moving forward.
Blood ran from her nose to the corner of her lips. She turned slowly and to her horror, the black-wing was already halfway to her, his stride measured, like a jungle cat.
As he neared, she could make out the onyx shine of his hair and the wide build of his shoulders. His features were…his features were… Oh my God.
“Julian?”
Chapter Four
She blinked, expecting the black-wing to shift into something hideous instead of the striking vision before her, but as he approached, Julian’s visage remained. His eyes were cold and foreign, but every plane and dip of his features was perfectly placed.
“Julian?” she said again, hearing the frantic crack of hope and disbelief warring in her voice.
His lips
Learning to Kill: Stories