I reached out again and used the tips of my fingers to touch the back of his hand. “He is not worthy of you. Come. Let me find you a lovely woman.” I took a step toward the door, pitching my voice to an even softer tone. “I’ve dreamed of hunting with you, of learning from you. Let Philip have this one.” I took another step toward the door.
Julian’s mouth opened slightly as he stepped after me. His eyes seemed puzzled and pleased at the same time as I could see him mulling over the sweet portrait my words painted of him as the teacher, me as his grateful student, working to please him, to find him better prey.
Philip hadn’t moved in several moments, and he was watching silently, allowing me to take over.
“Come into the city with me,” I whispered to Julian.
He took another step.
Then, suddenly, he glanced over at Wade, and his eyes changed. He shook his head as if to clear it and looked back at me in shock . . . and then rage. His large hand flashed out and gripped my wrist, jerking me up against him.
“What are you doing?” he snarled. “You would try that on me?”
He whipped his free hand back to hit me, and I braced myself.
“Julian, don’t!” Philip shouted.
The blow never landed—but not because of Philip’s angry shout. Instead, the room exploded in a deafening sound, and I fell back against the floor, looking around wildly to see what happened.
Another explosion sounded, hurting my ears.
Julian’s chest was bleeding from two gaping holes as he stumbled backward. Wade was holding his Beretta out in both hands, beads of sweat trickling down his narrow face.
He fired again, catching Julian in the shoulder.
I’d forgotten about the Beretta.
“His throat!” Philip yelled. “Aim for his throat!”
I twisted over to sit in a crouch, uncertain what to do. Wade fired again, but Julian dropped low, and the bullet missed him completely.
But his pale face was so shocked I wondered how he had the presence of mind to even act.
Philip bolted across the room, his loose flannel shirt billowing behind him. He grabbed Julian by the shoulder and leg, lifting him into the air and throwing him at the window. Julian’s body crashed against the drapes.
Glass snapped and crackled.
Let him fall through. Please, let him fall through.
Dropping twelve floors to the pavement might not destroy his body, but he’d be out of working order for a while.
But in despair, I saw his hand catch the drape. He managed to steady himself, pain and confusion twisting his features as he stared back in shock—as if unable to believe Philip would attack him to defend me.
Philip actually snarled at him.
I realized this was a new situation for Julian. Fearing a psychic combat he could not win, he’d always hidden himself away, striking only unaware victims. Physical battles with an equal were almost unknown . . . and he was wounded, bleeding.
But Philip was strong. He charged forward again and swung hard with his right fist, catching Julian across the jaw. The crack echoed as Julian’s head snapped back.
Wade moved past me, looking for a clear shot.
“Don’t!” I called. “You might hit Philip.”
We needed Philip whole.
“Stay behind me,” Wade spat back, still holding the gun with both hands.
Philip reached down to try and get another grip, but this time, Julian swept out with his leg, knocking Philip off his feet. Julian lunged up to stand behind the couch, his face a mask of hatred, and then his eyes grew more focused, emanating his gift.
The fear hit me like a wall.
I started gagging.
Wade didn’t even get off one shot. He fell to his knees, dropping the gun. His mouth was open in terror but no sounds came.
Philip cried out from fear, and he tried struggling up to crawl. Julian kicked him in the chest so hard his body flew against a wooden chair, smashing it to pieces. When he hit the floor, his shoulder popped out of its socket and his arm lay at an odd angle.
Julian ignored him and strode directly to Wade. The waves of fear washed over and over me, but despair flooded in as well when Julian grabbed Wade’s hair with one hand and the Beretta with the other. He smashed the butt of the gun against Wade’s cheekbone.
“You like this gun?” Julian asked. His chest and shoulder were still bleeding, soaking his black shirt. He pressed the barrel to Wade’s temple. “Do you like it now?”
He wasn’t