Page 69 of Born Wicked

I shake my head, still in utter disbelief. “I didn’t know why I followed those thugs the night I first saved your life.” I regretted it the next day, though not really. “And then I didn’t hesitate when I realized Archer was going to kill you, when I threw you out of that window. Then when Sebastian staked you?”

My voice breaks, and there’s suddenly something large and thick in my throat. I blink twice, expecting emotions to be welling there, but they aren’t. This isn’t painful or heartbreaking. It’s confusing as hell, but there’s something in the pit of my soul that whispers I’ve known all of this from the moments these events happened.

“I’ve had some really bad things happen in the past,” I say, shaking my head. “But watching you die was one of the absolute worst.”

Roman’s expression softens. He breathes deeper, a little harder.

“Why, Roman?” I ask, my voice little more than a shaky whisper. “Why was that one of the absolute worst moments of my life?”

Roman takes a step forward. “Juliet, I—”

But his attention suddenly shifts over my shoulder. Suddenly, I see his entire stance shift. His knees bend just slightly. His fingers curl. His jaw tightens.

“What is it?” I ask, turning to scan the dark.

“Someone is watching us.”

The image of Sebastian flashes through my brain, the way he looked when he crashed through the window of Roman’s apartment, the fury and jealousy.

But it isn’t Sebastian who steps out of the dark. It’s a man I’ve never seen before.

From his scent, I immediately know he’s a vampire. But his lack of any kind of rose tattoo screams he is not one of us.

“Orlando quiere una palabra,” the man rattles off in what I recognize as Spanish. His voice is deep, dark, and dangerous.

“Vas a tener que explicar mucho mas que eso,” Roman growls back. His eyes ignite with red embers, every instinct in him ready for a fight.

Roman told me once that he speaks Spanish and Italian just as fluently as English, though he has no idea why. He still remembers nothing from before he resurrected.

“What did he say?” I ask, my nerves more on edge by the moment.

“He said Orlando would like a word,” Roman translates. “I told him he was going to have to do a lot more explaining first.”

“He’s on his way,” the man says, switching to accented English. He stops ten yards away on the sidewalk. He’s huge. I always thought Rick, Sebastian’s bodyguard, was the biggest guy I’d ever seen. But this man puts him to shame. He wears a leather jacket and scuffed and stained leather boots. “He’d like a word. A private word.”

“I don’t think so, buddy,” I say, folding my arms over my chest, facing him down, standing beside Roman. “You’re not getting anyone alone until you tell us who you are and why you’re in Chicago.”

The man walks forward, gaze fixed on me. “Leave, girl.”

“Watch your damn mouth,” Roman growls.

“I was given clear instructions,” the man says, his eyes shifting over to Roman as he continues his slow walk toward us. “Find you. Set up a private meeting.”

“I don’t think I like your tone,” I say, my eyes narrowing. “I think you should leave.”

The man chuckles, and it’s a chilling, evil-sounding thing. “Last chance,rubia. Leave, now.”

“No, thank you.”

My vision goes white as the man’s hand suddenly snaps out, wrapping around my throat, and he cracks my head back against the brick wall behind me. And it’s all too familiar feeling as something pointy and wooden presses into my chest, right above my heart.

Instantly, a snarl tears through the night. Roman’s fist meets the side of the man’s head. I’m knocked sideways as he’s thrown off balance. With a roar, the man swipes his hand through the air, catching Roman across the face with his nails. And in the same movement, he swings with the other hand.

Roman rushes into the man with an inhuman growl. And I hear a wet tearing sound, at the same time I hear wood splintering against bone.

“Roman!” his name rips from my lips as I dart forward.

But Roman pins the man against the wall. There’s demented fury filling his face. And his hand is gone. Completely buried in the man’s chest, blood dripping down his arm and then off his elbow.