Blood of Night: An Enemies to Lovers Paranormal Romance (Kings of Sterling Book 2)

by Leeah Taylor

  “Asshole.”

  Within a breath, he had her pressed against the bookcase, wood and thick leather tomes jabbing into her spine, a large hand on her throat. She dragged in a breath. Emotions crashed over her.

  Lucien was there in a beat with a firm grip on his brother’s arm. “Let her go. Now, Damien.”

  Damien stood over her, a hulking shadow, his body nearly shaking with effort, his breath hot and fast in his chest. His eyes gray-blue as thrashing waves, turbulent. Focused on her face. On her throat. His fingers never tightened. Stroked under her jaw—a lover’s caress.

  She could wiggle out of the grip but remained against the bookshelf, waiting. Staring. He held her gaze.

  “You have a lot of nerve.” His eyes darted to her lips. “Trying to blame me for this.”

  “You let the barrier spell fall right into their hands, Damien.” She blinked hot tears away. “Where’s my mother’s grimoire? Please tell me it wasn’t in there too.”

  He shook his head, shifting his weight with guilt twisting in his expression. His grip fell from her throat.

  “No,” Damien hesitated. “It’s too valuable.”

  “You really are a miserable son of a bitch. Where is it? At the house?”

  He only nodded.

  “Somehow that’s not any more comforting assuming one of the many sluts I’m sure you’ve brought into that house—”

  “Watch yourself,” Damien warned.

  “Oh, I’m watching myself. It’s the only reason I haven’t thrown you out that window,” she gritted out, pointing towards the boarded-up window behind the desk.

  He cocked his head to the side with a narrowed gaze and came at her, voice raised. “Are you threatening me?”

  Lucien pressed a hand in his brother’s chest.

  “Enough.” He considered them both. “Jules, I’ll take you and Riley home—”

  “That’s not my home,” she said, gauging Damien’s reaction. His jaw ticked, and a hint of hurt flashed in the charcoal blue waning storm. “I’ll stay at the loft, and tomorrow, I’ll fix the barrier. Then I’m taking my mother’s grimoire and leaving.”

  “Jules—” Lucien began to protest.

  “No, I’m just as angry with you. How could you have let him be so careless with my spell book?”

  He didn’t say anything. What could he say? A promise had been made and broken. Even back then, with Damien raging and spiraling, he’d had enough compassion to make one last promise to her. And she trusted him, when he didn’t deserve it, to keep it. But even more, Lucien, to ensure Damien did.

  “That book is just as powerful and valuable as my mother’s. At least you two had enough brains to actually keep her book safe, or we could be facing something much worse.”

  She shoved past Damien to the door. The walls were closing in on her. His convoluted everything was drowning her. She needed out of the office. The building.

  “Jules, come on,” Lucien pleaded.

  She ripped the door open. “Screw off.”

  Slamming the door behind her, she sagged against it and sucked in a breath. She needed to muster up the strength to walk out of the place. It might be the only she sees it.

  Chelsea stopped at the top of the stairs. “Jules.”

  Her lips pulled up gently, and fifty years of memories, friendship and a sisterhood shone through glassy eyes.

  Juliette pushed off from the door, bottom lip quivering. “Chelsea… “

  She crashed into her arms and tried not to break when Chelsea hugged her back. Long before Riley and well after Ollie, there was Chelsea Greaves. Her partner in crime in terrorizing and keeping the Frost brothers on their toes. Chelsea was nearly seventy-five years old now, but hardly looked a day over thirty. They were inseparable back then. Both smitten with Frost brothers. Both orphaned.

  “God, I’ve missed you so much,” she said.

  Chelsea chuckled. “Been hella hard keeping these brothers in line without you.” She pulled back. “Had me worried to death.”

  Juliette swiped her hand across cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  “You okay?” Chelsea eyed the office door. “You see Damien?”

  She sniffled. “Yep. Went as you’d expect.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Probably bad.”

  “We should probably talk about—”

  “Hey.” Riley appeared beside Juliette, looking Chelsea over with an arched brow. “We going or staying?”

  “Staying for tonight,” Juliette said.

  “Are you going to the house?” Chelsea asked.

  “Chel.”

  Juliette twisted around, and Lucien stood in the office door. It was one thing to hear him say they were together but to see him with all the reverence that used to be for her was a kick to the gut. For a moment a pull of jealousy tried to take up residence, but she buried it deep. His love had always been wasted on her. Lucien knew it. So did she. Now things were the way they always should’ve been. Mostly. Juliette caught Damien watching her from behind his brother, fury dancing in his stare.

  I need to get the hell out of here.

  “You alright?” Riley asked.

  “No, not even a little.” She hugged Chelsea. “It was good seeing you. I missed you.”

  “Wait…” Chelsea called after her.

  She made it to the bottom step when she heard his voice. “Juliette?”

  Blowing out a breath toward the ceiling, she stopped and turned around, wishing she didn’t give him the power. Damien stopped at the bottom step.

  “What, Damien?” Juliette asked, crossing her arms.

  “Just…” He rolled his eyes, looking anywhere but at her. “Just go to the house and stay there.”

  “No.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Luv.”

  His eyes widened, and she heard his heart shudder. The endearment ripped open the wound that had never healed in her heart. Ice blasted through her veins.

  “No, I’m not your Luv. I will not stay at that house.”

  Damien sighed. “Juliette, please.”

  She fell back. “Did that hurt? The all-mighty Damien saying please. Careful, bad ass, people may think you give a damn.”

  “Damn it, Jules. I’m just asking you to stay at the house. Why are you making it into a thing?”

  Juliette jabbed her finger into his chest, “You don’t get to act like you care.”

  He grabbed her hand, and a spark of passionate rage rippled through her. Every inch of her body pulsed to life for a need she’d turned her back on years ago. The need for him. It was too late. She yanked her hand free.

  “I played that game, and I lost… everything. I do not want to stay in that house with you. Frankly, I don’t want to see you at all.”

  “And if Lucien had asked?” His tone darkened. “Would you have said yes?”

  “No, Damien. Not even then.” Juliette shook her head. He hadn’t changed a bit. “Come on, Riley.”

  9

  Juliette

  She pushed the key into the door, half expecting the locks to be changed, but it clicked, and the metal door opened. A familiar scent of woodsy spice lingered in the air. He’s already in my head. Shit.

  “Probably won’t be much here. I never really got the chance to decorate it.” Juliette felt around the wall ‘til she found the switch and flipped it on. “Because I lived at the—” The lights flickered on, and she froze. “Oh my god…”

  Soft light bathed the space from the hanging fixtures above. A black leather sectional sat in front of a flat screen on the wall in the living area just to her left. A thick and furry cream-colored rug underneath the black coffee table.

  Opposite the living room, the kitchen was fully equipped with stainless steel appliances. The cabinets were a dark chocolate with the exact knobs she had picked out. The marble countertops a replica of what she wanted.

  She blinked away the sting of tears blurring into her vision. Damn it, Damien. Why? Why
did you do this? For me?

  On the other end of the loft, stairs led up to an open space with a black four post king-sized bed. Even from the door she could make out the plum-colored comforter. She hiccupped, and Riley spun around.

  “Jules? What’s wrong?”

  There were bookcases built in the space under the loft. Juliette didn’t have to look to know what books filled the shelves. They would be her favorites.

  Bright and vibrant paintings hung on the walls all around the room. Many she had watched him paint.

  “Damien did this,” she murmured.

  It was exactly as she pictured it. Hours were spent planning how she’d decorate the space after he bought for her, down to the placement of the paintings,. He was really listening.

  Riley went over and rubbed her arm. “It’s just a loft, Jules. I don’t think it warrants tears.”

  On the wall beside her, just next to the doors leading out onto the balcony, hung a picture. She went to it, the deep rich but vivid colors stealing her breath, and touched to the corner. It was a depiction of Sterling from the perspective of Sterling Point across the water. Dark purple swirls like a galaxy collided with a charcoal blue raging storm over the city.

  “I can’t believe he’d do this,” she whispered.

  Riley dropped her bag on the couch. “Jules, you aren’t making any sense. What’s so important about Damien decorating the place? I mean, he did a pretty good job, but I know we’re on a hate Damien campaign right now.”

  “Because the paintings on the walls are his. The furniture is exactly how I imagined it. And the bed has the perfect plum sheets. Only he would have known those details.”

  “Girl,” Riley whistled. “He never planned on you being gone forever.”

  “Maybe,” Juliette muttered.

  It didn’t erase the fact that he’d punched his fist through her chest and nearly killed her. Or that he‘d taken her home and family away from her. Yet staring at the cream walls and inhaling the faint scent of woodsy spice, she couldn’t help but see the space as a shrine. One he made for her. He could have sold it. Why? Why go to all the trouble and never come find her?

  “What’s the plan tomorrow?” Riley asked.

  Juliette remained fixated on the painting. “I’m going to restore the barrier, collect my mother’s grimoire, and leave.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yep, just like that.”

  “Jules.” Riley gave her hand a squeeze. “I love you, and I know that you think running is your only option here, but,” she said, pausing with a shrug, “I don’t think it is this time.”

  “I can’t stay here. I don’t know which Damien I’m going to get from day to day.”

  “Maybe you should go talk to him? I saw the way he looked at you. The last thing he wanted to do was kill you. Hell, not that I was looking, but I think that man’s cock twitched for you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “His dick twitching for me does not mean he doesn’t want to kill me. Just means that head has a different agenda. I’m only useful to him until I’m not.”

  “Come on, Jules.” Riley gestured around the room. “He wouldn’t do this unless he hoped you’d come home. Talk to him. If for no other reason than to make peace with it and move on.”

  She didn’t want to move on or make peace. Juliette wanted Damien to stop being such an impossible stubborn vampire. It was time for him to stop acting like a child and be honest.

  “You really think I should go over there?”

  “Yep, take your sassy little ass over there right now and talk to him. Have it out with him if you have to but get this behind you. Do you really want to spend another twenty years miserable and angry?”

  She wasn’t sure she could stomach the idea of ending it once and for all. Walking away from him and them.

  “I don’t know, Riles. Feel like I’m setting myself up to have my heart ripped out both figuratively and literally.”

  Riley rolled her eyes. “He isn’t going to kill you. He said it himself. Worst that happens is it ends in a clean break, and he breaks your heart one last time. You eat a pint of ice cream. Stuff your face with nasty pineapple pizza and move on.”

  She giggled. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this.” She went to the couch and collapsed. “Like, I should not be letting you talk me into this.”

  Riley sat down beside her and leaned back into the cushion. “It’s why you keep me around.”

  “To help me make bad choices?”

  “Sure.” Riley shrugged. “If that’s what ya need me for.”

  She wondered what he was doing. Did he go home? Was he still at the bar? Is he off wallowing somewhere in a bottle? God, my luck he’s buried between some slut’s legs or something.

  “Go or don’t go but at some point, Jules, you’re going to have to face him and deal with this. If just for your own sanity.”

  Juliette nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

  10

  Damien

  Rage reared up watching her walk out. Why didn’t I stop her? Juliette had a lot of nerve after everything she had done. Yet his dick was happy to see her. Hard as a rock in his jeans, begging to go after her.

  Damn this girl.

  Damien went over to the bar, slipping between a group of people to get behind it, and scanned the liquor shelves. He let a powerful spell book fall into the hands of a powerful witch. Successfully pissed Juliette off with just his presence and he was pretty sure the werecat already wanted to kill him.

  How much worse could it get?

  He swiped a bottle of aged whiskey from the top shelf. “Ollie, I’m taking this.”

  “Dude, the whole bottle?” Ollie dumped a pack of water bottles into a cooler full of ice. “Like, does this look like a liquor store?”

  Damien’s brow pulled together. “Are you still pouting over the premium?”

  “No,” he snapped. He’s still pouting. “Just wondering if you plan on drowning in that bottle to forget why Jules just wrote you off. That’s all. Because that ain’t going to fix it, brother.”

  “You really want to give me advice about fixing it with Jules?” Damien pointed upstairs. “I see Drew is still on the clock. Why don’t you go up and see him?”

  “You really do need to get laid.” Ollie laughed it off. “Stick your dick in something.”

  Why did everything have to be turned into a thing? He just wanted Juliette safe at the house. Safe and alive. Why do I need her alive? He knew why, and it had nothing to do with the barrier spell or the wolves.

  “Hell, even just go get your dick sucked. Something!” Ollie kept on with no regard to the people lined up to get food. “Seriously, Damien, do anything because your attitude is making it all a thousand times worse.”

  He rubbed at his eyes and pushed his fingers through his hair. “I’m taking this bottle and going home.”

  “Dude, there’s liquor at home,” Ollie called after him.

  Damien held the bottle up as he made his way towards the door. “I pay for it; I’m taking it.”

  When he made it outside, Damien stood in the middle of the street with his face to the sky. He unscrewed the cap on the whiskey bottle and drank. Didn’t fix anything. Didn’t make it better. Just something to do to distract him from going to the loft and stopping her from opening that door.

  She was going to have something to say about that loft when she saw it. He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation or the explanation she’d want. Assuming he got a chance to give her an explanation. She was adamant about leaving tomorrow, and it bothered him more than it should.

  He started for home, wishing the bottle was enough to get him drunk. It wasn’t, but it would leave him with a decent buzz if he finished it.

  Damien hardly ever found a reason to drive down to the bar. The house was a block away. He could make the walk in less than five minutes.

  The bottle felt lighter in his hand by the time he stood in front of the house glaring up at it. The three-st
ory brick home looked ominous in the light of the moon. Vines were starting to take over the black shutters. Damien thought it added character. A house as old as theirs had earned the right to have some character.

  He stepped up onto the curb and up the stone walk to the front door.

  The house encapsulated over three hundred years of bad. Some good. But a lot of bad. How many vampires did their father, Julian Frost, play judge, jury, and executioner to in that house? Forcing Damien and his brothers to watch like future soldiers with firm, emotionless expressions. Their father demanded nothing less of his sons and if they slipped, showing even the smallest hint of emotion, they got what they had coming.

  Lucien usually bore it all if he could.

  Their father stole just as much from them as Juliette’s mother did from her. Born wolves and forced into something else. Damien shuddered. He wasn’t sure which was worse. The painful change into a werewolf every month for five years or the burning thirst of being a vampire every day.

  He took the last swig of the whiskey bottle. How long had he stood out on the sidewalk? He turned off the stone path and went to the trash can by the driveway and tossed it in.

  Now he wanted to forget those brilliant purple eyes that saw right through his bullshit. He fumbled with the keys at the door and pushed inside. Slamming it behind him, he headed for the study. Lucien kept the bar in there well stocked, but he kept the best in the bottom drawer of his desk. The better the liquor, the faster he could get drunk.

  Not bothering to turn on the light he dropped into the desk chair, yanked open the bottom drawer, and swiped the whiskey from inside. He unscrewed the cap, threw it across the desk, and started chugging with no regard to the wicked burn that chased it down. A flash of a swirling galaxy nearly sent the bottle soaring across the room with the last half of its contents. He tightened his grip to the bottle and hung his head.

  I’ll never survive her. I can’t do this with her again. I miss her so much.

  He brought the bottle to his lips, already regretting the hangover he’d have in the morning, and finished it off. The liquor hit him, and his head filled with a welcomed foggy haze. Still not enough. He left the empty bottle on the desk and went to get up. Lucien is going to go all Dad mode. Oh well. The room tilted, forcing him to steady himself. Okay, maybe that is enough. He collapsed back into the chair, the room spinning, and closed his eyes.