Born of Legend (77 page)

That was what Jullien could have sworn he'd said. But apparently, the Andarion words Eriadne heard were more akin to telling her that her dress made her ass look fat, and they had the same effect as pissing in his grandfather's pool on the man's birthday.

Because the severe ass-beating they'd resulted in had taught him to never,
ever
cry again.

Most importantly, he'd learned not to tell his grandmother that he had any intention of leaving Andaria to live with his father.

And with those bitter memories, and the sight of her in front of him now, came the full weight of his animosity for her. All the years of hatred and of her blistering, unrelenting scorn and humiliations.

Of his wanting her dead and gone.

It was time.

Before Jullien even realized what he was doing or what he intended, he silently opened his coil knife and was moving straight for Eriadne's throat, with the full intention of slicing through it.

But just as he would have reached her, the door of the next room opened.

That wasn't what saved her life.

Normally, he would have killed his grandmother and whoever came through it, without reservation.

Had it been
anyone
else, he wouldn't have hesitated.

Yet as he heard his mother call out for her own matarra, he froze instantly. Unaware of the fact that he stood barely three feet from her, Eriadne rose and rushed to the other room to greet her daughter.

“So … you actually came,
mu tina.
”

Cairistiona let out a tired sigh. “I told you I would. Did you doubt me?”

Eriadne glared at the guards around his mother. Guards that included the ever-beautiful Galene Batur and a garrison of males who kept his mother well protected from the former tadara. “Where's your sister?”

“Tylie isn't as forgiving.”

Eriadne rolled her eyes. “I just wanted to see my girls. Neither of you will take my calls.”

Cairistiona exchanged a bitterly amused smirk with Galene. “You have to forgive me, Matarra. I'm a little busy these days. I'm sure you can understand and appreciate the extent of my duties.”

While Jullien listened to them, he moved toward the Warsword that had been wielded in battle by a grandfather he'd never known existed. Had it not been for two rare genetic defects, he'd have never known about his grandmother's indiscretion. It would have been a secret his grandmother would have taken to her grave.

Like all such weapons, the ancient Warsword was a thing of absolute beauty and grace. Perfectly balanced for war. The guard fanned outward like ornate, spiked dragon wings from the center dragon head over the elaborately cut out, etched, and engraved blade and fuller. The worn leather grip was sewn with gold thread that led up to the pommel, which had been shaped like the
Kadorai Sojara
—“Kadora's Rose.” It was carefully cradled in and protected by the claws of a dragon.

A chill went down his spine as he felt an instant connection to that sword. It was as if something in his very blood remembered it, and his mind flashed on the image of a blond, battle-worn male clutching it in his hands. Yet even though he was badly bruised and bleeding, his pale eyes were charged by raw determination, and they held the image of lightning flashing in the sky.

Jullien knew instinctively that it wasn't Edon he saw in his mind, but rather Altaris Samari. Edon's father. The Samari who'd been born on the battlefield while his mother fought against Eriadne's.

And when Jullien touched the hilt, the dark red stone that made up the
Kadorai Sojara
on the pommel illuminated, making it appear as if the sword itself came alive. How strange that it hadn't reacted to Eriadne's or Nyran's touch at all. It was as if the sword knew it was in the hands of a Samari now.

And it welcomed him.

Unlike the women in the adjoining parlor, who were still talking, unaware of his presence. As they'd always done him. They gave him no thought whatsoever.

They never had.

A painful ache choked him as that reality slapped him. Gripping the cold, metal Warsword to his chest, he crept to the door to watch them. They sat as if no evil had ever taken place in their family. As if all were right in the Andarion Empire. Even Galene held her composure as she stood behind his mother's chair, ever her loyal protector. Since she was the prime commander of their military forces, she didn't have to be here for this. Her rank was too high for such a lowly task.

Yet her friendship with his mother was absolute, and had been for as far back as he could remember.

Speaking of memory … this was the only time he'd seen his mother sober in his whole lifetime. She sounded so …

Normal.
Intelligent. Even humorous. For once, he saw a grand, elegant tadara, and not the hate-filled creature who had cursed and condemned him every time he neared her.

As did Galene. Neither sounded like the monsters he'd painted them in his mind. Like the cold-blooded reptiles he remembered from his nightmares.

Had he known nothing of their past with him, and met them on the street, he would actually like them, and they could easily be friends.…

The thought screwed with his head.

Badly.

If everyone you meet is the asshole. Maybe the asshole's you.

Jullien stared down at the glowing sword in his hand and the knife he still held in his other.
I was going to cut the throat of my own grandmother.
A female who sat there cordially conversing with her daughter …

No, they weren't the monsters.

I am.

And before he could gather his thoughts and collect himself, the light came on in the room.

Eriadne gasped as she came through a side door, and stared straight at him.

 

C
HAPTER
29

Her face turning pale, Eriadne swallowed hard. “Edon?”

Hissing, Jullien expelled a burst of flames at her. Turning, he clutched his grandfather's sword and ran for the window, then ducked out before she could call for reinforcements. He used his grappling hook to quickly descend to the street below and vanish into the crowd. But with every step he took that separated them, he cursed himself. One, that he had missed another chance to kill her.

Two, that he was every bit the animal they'd accused him of being.

Not since the night Nyk had thrown him over that table had he seen himself so clearly.
You destroy everything you touch. You are nothing but a rabid lorina that needs to be put down …

They were all right. He was an Anatole. He could bleach his hair. Breathe fire. Lie all he wanted. But when all was said and done, he couldn't hide the truth. His roots would always come back. Blood was blood, and it never changed. The curse of his family would forever be his to bear.

What have I done?

He'd ruined a beautiful female. Caused strife in her family. Tainted her with the stench of generations of psychotic animals, who'd devoured their own.

We are chromosomally damaged. Genetically wrong.

And he had no idea how to fix any of this. His heart pounding, Jullien looked down at his wedding ring.

I promised not to hurt you, Shara.
Yet he hurt everyone he was around. Sooner or later. There was something deeply rooted inside him that was suicidal and nuclear. It was a daily struggle to keep it leashed.

It'd always been disastrous those times when it escaped his tight control. For everyone near him. He'd always been self-destructive. A complete and utter prick.

I need clarity.

Jullien glanced down at the Warsword, and in that moment, he caught a vivid image of Edon Samari. Of this sword being ripped from his dying hands by Eriadne's sister before she used it to finish Edon off.

The legacy of his family was that of blood and violence. Brutality. Hatred. Jealousy. Cold-blooded treachery. He couldn't take that home to Ushara. Maybe if their daughters were raised without him, they would be like Nykyrian, and be spared the Anatole curse. His brother, alone, had escaped it. He was the only one of them who wasn't broken and mentally damaged. Perhaps that was why. Nyk hadn't been around any of them during his formative years.

He'd grown up around humans.

And that was what Jullien wanted for his girls. He wanted them to be like Jay and Ana. Close and tight. Inseperable. The way twins were supposed to be. Not to hate each other and be eternally divided like he and his brother were. To have one of them despise the very air the other breathed.

To swear out a death warrant for them.

“I have to leave you.” It was the only hope his girls had for a life worth living. Before either he, or his blood, or his birth family did irreparable harm to them. It was just a matter of time. He knew that now. Whatever it took, he had to secure them.

Now and forever.

Please, Shara, forgive me, and understand.

*   *   *

Jullien came awake with a start as his ship's alarm screeched to notify him that another ship had invaded his perimeter.

When he went to move, his head throbbed from a vicious hangover. Cursing the pain, he stumbled half-dressed to the bridge to see what new “fun” he was facing. Honestly, he figured at most a cargo ship passing through.

It wasn't.

Stunned, he stared at the readings.
Am I still flagged? That can't be right.…

“What the Tophet?” He actually thumped the screen to see if it was malfunctioning.

Nothing changed. There were six heavily armed ships coming straight at him. All were locked on his position.

They weren't League. Was it his cousins? Surely they weren't
that
stupid or suicidal.

Then again …

His sight blurry, he slid into the captain's chair and was just about to initiate some awesomely aggressive maneuvers when he heard a deep sultry voice call out to him.

“Jules? I know that's you. If you start those engines and flee me again, I swear to the gods, I will find you and unleash my full Andarion wrath on your ass with such venom that you will physically feel the pain of every single nanosecond of worry you've given me.”

“Yeah!” Davel said. “And I'll help … with a lot of backup! Which I have, as every one of my sisters is here with me, and they all want their turn at you! Fear us!”

Jullien actually smiled at the lunatic threat. His hand lingered on the controls. A part of him was tempted to run, consquences be damned. It would be the best thing to do.

For all of them.

But he couldn't.

The last four months had almost killed him—and that wasn't counting the assassins and other suicidal runs he'd made. It was the excruciating loneliness of not having Shara by his side. Of watching over her and not speaking to her.

Honestly? He'd rather be dead than live without her another day.

Unable to stand it, Jullien was still sitting in the chair with his hand on the controls when Ushara entered the bridge. The look on her face was one she only wore when Vas failed to take out the trash or Jullien forgot to reset logs.

I'm in so much trouble.…

Ushara hesitated as she saw Jullien for the first time in months. She was pissed, relieved, happy, and hurt—all at once. The little snot had skillfully evaded every single member of her family.

Even Trajen and Thrāix. With a stubbornness that could only come from an Anatole, he'd refused to answer any of their calls. Not even Vas or Nadya had been able to get through to him. The only reason she'd known he was still alive was his band, which would send his heartbeat to her whenever she buzzed for it, and she continued to get care packages that showed he continued to monitor her through the system he'd installed.

The aggravating beast had even finished off the nursery for their daughters with everything she'd wanted, right down to the tiniest detail, such as the baby socks she'd picked out and the twin mobiles. Thus letting her know that he was keeping extremely close tabs on them, while ignoring them completely.

Would he ever stop being such a frustrating dichotomy?

“Not one call?” she whispered.

He refused to look at her. Instead, he kept his gaze locked stubbornly on the control panel in front of him like some sullen child.

Even though she was furious and hurt enough that she wanted to shoot him, her heart broke at the wretched sight of his neglected condition. Honestly, she'd never seen him like this. Not even when he'd been homeless and destitute. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, as were his whiskers. Shirtless and barefoot. His pants were barely fastened around his hips—and their loose fit said he hadn't been eating. He reeked of excessive alcohol consumption.

Gah, his hair even stood up on end, as if he'd had a bad scare or electrical shock. It would be comical were her heart not broken by the sight of his obvious anguish.

When he continued not to speak, she closed the distance between them, wondering if he'd get up and run.

Slow and easy, so as not to cause him to bolt, she reached out to touch his hair so that she could smooth it down. He drew a ragged breath the moment she touched his scalp. Finally, he clutched her hand in his and kissed her knuckles as if they were sacred.

His eyes filled with shame, he met her gaze.
“Zēritui.”

“If you're sorry, why did you leave?”

His gaze fell to her belly, which was now enormous. Anguish furrowed his brow as he placed his hands there. “We are cursed.” Tears swam in his tired eyes. “I don't want our daughters to know the horrors of my lineage. I want them to grow up like you. With love, and without fear. Safe and protected, where they're free to laugh and to play. To know nothing of my bloodline.”

“They need their father.”

He shook his head. “I don't deserve them. Or you. I only want you to be happy and safe.”