Page 53 of Feral King

Julian scans the space, looking for exits, sight lines, structural cover. I recognize it as the same kind of sweep he did back at my apartment, though without a gun in his hands this time, thankfully.

When his eyes meet mine, he grins.

“The east wall is a better placement for the bar,” he announces, his voice echoing in the vast space.

“I know. I just moved it.”

“Good.” He approaches, Ethan still at his side. His attention goes to Anya. “How are you?”

“Fine. Busy. Mom called.”

Julian winces at that, and something wordless passes between them—an entire sibling conversation condensed into a few looks.

“We’ll talk about that later,” he says.

Ethan steps over to the south wall, looking out the floor-to-ceiling industrial glass to the front stretch of lawn and the street beyond.

“Those are original to the building,” I say. “Same glass and everything. Nice, huh?”

“They’re also completely indefensible,” Julian says. “The offer a full view of the venue.”

I watch the street, noticing as two black SUVs come to a stop in front of the building, about 200 feet away. The windows roll down slowly, and?—

Ethan, having seemingly come to the same conclusion, turns back toward us.

“Julian, these windows?—”

Flashes illuminate from the SUV. The first bullet shatters the glass before Ethan can even finish his sentence, the sound filling the warehouse like a bomb going off. The window disintegrates into a thousand glittering fragments, as the world explodes into total chaos.

Julian moves faster than I can even process. He slams into me—a full-body collision that drives me into the concrete floor, shoulder first, causing pain to shoot through me. His weight pins me flat, his arms caging my head and his chest against my back.

I hear more gunfire. It’s rapid, and it tears through the remaining windows, glass and plaster raining down onto the floor.

“Stay down!” Julian shouts. “Don’t move!”

To my left, I hear Anya scream. Ethan shouts something that I can’t make out. Gunshots sound out from inside the building. It’s Ethan returning fire, followed by a sharp grunt of pain that turns my blood to ice.

“Ethan’s hit!” Anya calls, her voice high and tight but surprisingly not panicked.

The gunfire from outside continues. I'm still pressed flat against the floor, Julian's body over mine like a human shield. I can feel his heartbeat against my back. It’s slow and steady, even in the middle of the chaos.

Then he moves. He rolls off me and pulls a gun I didn't even know he was carrying from a holster beneath his jacket. He rises into a crouch. I see it all happen in fragments—he pivots toward the shattered windows, the muzzle of the gun flashing. I watch as a huge spiderweb crack forms on the windshield of the SUV.

The windows go up before the vehicle speeds off, fishtailing around the corner.

Silence returns to the warehouse, accompanied by the scent of gunpowder. My eyes are wide open with shock and disbelief about what just happened.

I look down at my body, half expecting to see blood, even though I don’t think I’ve been hit. But there’s nothing. I’m fine.

The others.

I push myself up on shaking arms. There’s glass and plaster everywhere — in my hair, on my clothes, glittering across the concrete like scattered diamonds. My ears are ringing, making everything sound like it’s underwater. Anya yells out something, her voice sounding miles away.

Julian is standing by the shattered windows. His gun is lowered and he’s breathing hard. I notice there's a line of red across the left side of his shirt—a diagonal slash below the ribs, the fabric torn and darkening fast. I stop cold at the sight of him.

Adrenaline courses through me. I should take a second to breathe, to process. But in that moment, I don’t care about myself. I need to make sure he’s OKAY.

“Julian—”