Julian Novels & Stories

“This is about Lia. And you’re going to make her wish she never laid eyes on Kade.” Julian leaned back, tucking the envelope into his jacket with a satisfied hum. “Consider it done. But don’t forget, Selene….I don’t take orders from anyone.” Then he raised his glass in a mock toast. “To old flames and new toys.”

I take a good long whiff of her scent as I stare into her chocolate brown eyes. “Her name is Julia. She is not pregnant. It has been more than six weeks since she has been with a lover. Her blood type would be O positive. She more muscle than body fat, so her weight is around one hundred and fifty four pounds. She uses natural deodorant but puts products in her hair. She also has a thing for sweets” I state evenly. I walk back to the good doctor and push the clip board into his chest. He fumbles as he takes it from me but immediately starts to write down what I said.

Julian growled softly, his thumb tracing the soft line of her lip, "I keep my promise." ​Maya’s eyes sparkled with playful curiosity. "Which promise?" ​"The one where I take my wife on a real honeymoon," Julian purred, his storm-gray eyes darkening with a familiar, possessive heat that made her heart skip a beat. "No corporate board meetings. No tactical alerts. No financial takeovers. Just forty-eight hours... in Arthur's private villa in the south of France."

"Red, Red, Red, Red…" sings Julian irritatingly. He's sitting by the kitchen counter, sipping wine from a crystal goblet. "Hah! You can keep calling me that. Imma calling you Jully…or Jully Biscuit. Yeah! Jully…Jully biscuit sounds sooo cute!" I exclaim. "Jully biscuit sounds like a girl! You can't call me that! I'm a manly man," he argues.

*** Julian adjusted his rimless glasses with two fingers, his face returning to its stoic, robotic composure as if he had just read a routine logistics report. “Since that night,” Julian added, his voice flat once more, “I have refused to consume blood directly from a living vessel. I will not participate in the predator’s feast.” I stood there in the cold drizzle, looking at him. All this time, I thought he was just a cold, starch-collared aristocrat who cared more about suit lapels and logistics receipts than real human lives. I thought his stoic, robotic demeanor was the arrogance of a high-born lord looking down on Sump labo

My fingers were slick with sweat, making them slip occasionally on the glass-topped keys of the old machine, but I couldn't afford to slow down. Julian was at the mahogany cutting block, his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows to reveal forearms that were entirely clear of the Vane network’s silver circuitry. Without those biometric implants to regulate his stamina or process mechanical layouts at a glance, he looked distinctly human—exhausted, his shoulders slumped, but his focus entirely unyielding. He was hand-feeding the heavy ledger pages into the manual cutter, his movements falling into a steady, rhythmic cadence with the clack-clack-clack of my typ

Julian interrupted with a tight grinding voice. With one wide motion, Julian lunged forward erasing the distance, immediately standing right behind Vivienne's chair. His two rough, muscular hands tightly gripped the back of the woman's leather chair, trapping Vivienne's chubby body between his broad arms that were completely sturdy completely this night. The blast of Julian's hot and short-racing breath felt like it was burning Vivienne's luscious nape, spreading a thick masculine aroma that demanded absolute obedience.

It had simply burned away the last remnants of her hesitation. Across the table sat Julian, a high-level corporate lobbyist whose quiet discretion was bought at a price that could fund a small navy. He was a small, immaculate man with silvered hair and eyes that had seen forty years of dirty politics. He slid a thick, unmarked leather binder across the obsidian surface.

For a moment, the nightmare of the mountain cabin, the sound of shattering glass, and the cold bite of a bullet felt like another life. "You need to eat something, sweetheart," her mother said, reaching for a piece of fruit. "You’re still too pale." "I’m fine, Mom. Just tired," Ariana replied, though her eyes kept darting to the door. The click of the latch made her jump. The door swung open, and Julian Hale strolled in. He was Lucas’s distant cousin, a man who navigated social circles like a shark in silk. He carried a bouquet of yellow roses so large it nearly obscured his face.

“The wind shifted. You feel it too, don’t you?” Julian closed his book. “Yes.” She finally looked at him. “Who?” “Her name is Mirra Quell,” Julian said. “She’s not like the others.” Charlotte studied him. “Is she a problem?” Julian shook his head. “She’s a signal.” “Of what?” He stood slowly, walked to the bar, and poured them each a neat scotch. He handed her one. “That we’ve leveled up.”