Jules Hedgehog Novels & Stories

before disappearing out the door without looking at me. I turned my back, feeling incredibly uncomfortable, as Jules cleaned up and got dressed. With my back still turned, I said, "Jules, you gotta be more careful than that. If I've caught you twice now..." "Yeah, I know," Jules interrupted, his voice strained. "I wasn't thinking clearly, okay? I was just trying to clear my head. I... fuck, man... I started to think I was seeing and feeling things. Like, I could have sworn it felt like you have... breasts or something, man."

the slender man snapped, pulling his arm loose. “Our babies are eight and ten. All she needed to know was what to feed them, when to put them to bed, and where we keep the fire extinguisher.” The giant caught sight of me and stopped short, causing his mate to run into him. “Our apologies for the late arrival.” His mate looked around him, breaking into a big grin when he saw me. “You must be Saraya! I’m Jules and this insensitive asshole is Risk.” Jules threw his arms around me, delivering a bone crushing hug.

Too quiet. Jules tugged her hoodie tighter around her shoulders and crouched lower in the abandoned gas station bathroom. The door had no lock, but she wedged a broom handle under it. Just in case. Her backpack was light. Two water bottles. A knife. An old hoodie that smelled like citrus and gunpowder. And the phone. Always the phone. She hadn’t cried in weeks, but she almost did now. Because she was alone. Because she was alive. Because she hated that being alive cost her so much.

Aegon’s POV Jules hadn’t moved from her spot, but her eyes hadn’t left mine either. The flickering torchlight painted shadows across her face, Highlighting her gaunt cheeks and sharp eyes. I could almost feel the way her mind was working. It was evident through her eyes. She was Fast, Suspicious, wary as a wounded wild animal. It was smart. I’d always preferred that over the other kind—the loud ones. The ones who begged or threatened or cried. Jules didn’t cry. She watched.

The wound was even more gory after Fatima’s surgery on it, but the fingers were straight again. Jules screamed, a shrill shriek of pain, and he propelled himself backward, away from Harry, scuttling across the floor using three limbs, until he all but disappeared into the shelter of the half-collapsed trundle bed, curling in on himself in the shadows and the wall.

I was content to let her roam my periphery vision, but it didn't mean I was going to allow the hag bully take advantage of her. “Keep your claws hidden Jules, or I'd give you someone your size you can pick on,” I growled, clenching my fist and seeing Kalden step up behind me out of the corner of my eye before the wicked hag of the mountains nodded, bowing so low I was sure she had lost something on the glossy expanse of the green linoleum tiles before she snapped her head up. I watched as Ma Jules threw a smirking Nola one last accusatory look before striding past, the crowd parting around her as though they were being careful not to let the witch touch any part of their bodies.

A cornered, wounded animal. Wounded animals were dangerous and unpredictable; that much Jules knew. Jules looked around until he found a bottle of blood stancher. Clicking his tongue in disgust—why wouldn’t his uncle’s people use it on the Xeus when they had it right there?—Jules grabbed it and headed back to the alpha. He hesitated, meeting the hostile gaze. He was soft-heartened, not suicidal. “I don’t mean you any harm,” he said, keeping his voice as non-threatening as possible. “Will you let me treat your wounds? That gash on your arm looks nasty.”

I hug her and look around for the baby. "Oh hey, he kept the earmuffs on," I say. He's sitting on the floor in a corner, holding tightly to a noisemaker he's waving around. He's got bright green noise reduction headphones on. I found them at a sporting goods store and figured he'd need them if he ever came to a game.

wasn't optional, so I was stuck standing in the corner of the living room, nursing a red plastic cup and watching the door. And then Jules walked in, and my brain completely short-circuited. He wasn’t wearing his usual oversized hoodies or team gear. Instead, he was dressed in a pair of black, skin-tight jeans that hugged every line of his legs, and a sheer, dark mesh top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. You could see the lean, toned lines of his stomach and the faint dusting of hair on his chest through the fabric. He looked dangerous, he looked edible, and he knew exactly what he was doing. I gripped my plastic cup so hard the rim dug into my palm, telling myself to look aw