Page 71 of Two Sides of Sin

“Fine,” I said, my voice dead and hollow. “I’ll do the sweep.”

Noah watched me for a long moment, clearly unconvinced by my compliance. “Don’t do anything stupid, Jules. If seeing her triggers you that badly⁠—”

“I said I’ll do it,” I spat out, the raw edge of my true nature bleeding through the disciplined soldier persona. I turned away before he could see the panic rising in my eyes. “Twenty hundred hours. Don’t be late.”

The sun had vanished by the time Noah and I reached the southern wall. The ruins were plunged into a heavy, oppressive darkness, lit only by the pale, cold wash of the moon and the harsh, focused beams of the heavy-duty work lights set up inside the chapel.

We moved silently through the cloisters, our night vision goggles casting the ancient stones in an eerie green glow. The movement the locals had reported turned out to be nothing more than a pack of feral dogs scavenging for scraps, but protocol demanded a full sweep.

“Clear here,” Noah whispered over the comms, his voice almost inaudible over the static. “Moving to the eastern entrance.”

“Copy,” I breathed back, my chest tight.

I rounded the corner of the nave, the bright, artificial glare of the work lights spilling out of the chapel doors, cutting through the shadows. I killed my night vision, letting my eyes adjust to the sudden brightness.

I intended to sweep the perimeter and leave without ever looking up at the scaffolding. I really did.

But as I stepped into the sanctuary, the scent hit me again—vanilla, books, and coconut shampoo—only this time, it was mixed with the sharp, unmistakable tang of human adrenaline.

My eyes dived towards the altar against my will.

She wasn’t on the scaffolding tonight.

She was standing on the ground level, near the back of the chapel, bathed in the harsh white light of a halogen lamp. The oversized white shirt she had worn days ago was gone, replaced by a dark, fitted tank top and cargo pants covered in plaster dust. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, but that wasn’t what stopped me dead in my tracks.

She wasn’t alone.

One of the local contractors—a burly, aggressive looking man who had been hired to help move the heavier debris, was standing far too close to her. He had her cornered against a stack of crates, his posture looming and predatory.

I couldn’t hear what he was saying over the hum of the generator, but I saw the rigid, defensive line of her shoulders. I saw her take a step back, her hand raising in a clear gesture for him to stop. I saw the man laugh, a sneer on his face, and step forwards, reaching out to grab her arm.

The human soldier I had been pretending to be vanished instantly.

He didn’t even get the chance to let his fingers graze her skin.

I crossed the floor of marble in a matter of seconds. I didn’t run. I hunted. Decades of military conditioning masked the supernatural speed that wanted to tear out of my muscles, translating my movement into a silent, terrifyingly fluid blur of tactical precision.

Before the contractor could complete his laugh, my hand shot out and clamped around the back of his thick neck.

I didn’t yell. Yelling was for men who lacked strength. Instead, I simply squeezed, just enough to pinch the nerves and viciously yanked him backwards, ripping him away from her.

The man let out a choked, wet gasp as his feet left the ground for a fraction of a second. I spun him around and slammed him face-first into the nearest stone pillar. The hollow, sickening sound of his cheekbone hitting the masonry echoed over the hum of the generator.

He cried out, his hands flying up to push off the pillar, but I drove my forearm into the centre of his back, pinning him flat against the stone. I leaned in, putting my massive weight against him, my combat boots planted firmly in the dust. I could feel the frantic, terrified flutter of his heartbeat through his shirt. It would be so easy. A fraction of an inch more pressure, a slight twist of my wrist, and his spine would snap like dry kindling. The dark, venomous part of my brain—the part Cain had forged, screamed at me to end him just for breathing her air.

Human. Be human, I ordered myself, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.

I leaned down, pressing my mouth near his ear. “If you ever step within a metre of her again,” I whispered, my voice a dead, gravelly rasp that offered zero mercy, “I won’t use the wall to break your face. I will use my bare hands. Do you understand me?”

He let out a pathetic, whimpering sound, nodding frantically against the unyielding stone.

“Get out.” I released him, stepping back and letting my hand drop to the grip of my holstered sidearm.

The man stumbled backwards, clutching his bleeding face, his eyes wide with terror as he took in the sheer size of me. He didn’t say a word. He just scrambled over the debris and sprinted out the side exit of the cloisters, vanishing into the night.

The heavy, suffocating silence rushed back into the chapel, leaving only the drone of the lights and the sound of my own ragged breathing.

I stood there for a long moment, my back to her, my hands curled into solid fists at my sides.