Page 48 of Feral King

“How long has the house been open?”

“Six years. He funded it personally before the foundation took over operations. Named it after his mother, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” She pauses. “He never lets anyone photograph him here. No press, no publicity. He does it because he wants to, not because anyone’s watching.”

Tears sting my eyes, and I quickly blink them away.

I watch Julian crouch down to tie a little girl’s shoes, his massive hands gentle on the tiny laces.

Unbidden, Alexander appears in my thoughts. I think about how he used to use the foundation for photo ops, taking money out of the budget for yacht parties. He couldn’t care less about any of this. Never in a million years could Iimagine him playing Go Fish with a group of kids, let alone sitting in a beanbag and helping children tie their shoes.

This is the man Sophia warned me about months ago—the one she said chewed people up and spit them out. This is the man Alexander never missed a chance to trash behind his back.

And it’s the man I’m falling hard for.

He looks up and catches me watching, that almost smile appearing once more on his lips.

The kids are pulling him into the backyard, a big, fenced-in area with a playground and sand pit.

“Lyra,” he says, extending his hand. “Come on.”

I take his hand, his fingers closing around mine, warm and certain. We step outside, and one of the girls introduces me to everyone as Julian’s girlfriend.

He doesn’t correct her.

And neither do I.

CHAPTER 17

LYRA

The laughter of the kids is still echoing in my ears as we drive back to Manhattan. Julian has one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console. I want so much for him to lift his hand and place it on mine. I want so muchto feel that rough warmth.

The space between us feels alive, crackling with an unnamed energy.

Neither one of us has said a word since we left the orphanage. My mind is too busy playing it all back, remembering how Julian was with those kids, how he gave them his total attention and care, and how strange and wonderful it was to see a man as terrifying as him be so sweet and gentle.

It’s a little after three, still plenty of time in the workday. But Julian turns east, toward Queens.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off.” It’s not a suggestion. “Good worktoday.”

It takes an enormous amount of effort to suppress the smile forming on my face from his compliment. Then again, I could’ve saved his life. At the very least, I’ve averted a catastrophe.

“Thanks.”

Soon we’re back in Queens. As much as I’m looking forward to the nap I desperately want to take when I get back to my place, part of me is already aching at the idea of parting from Julian.

But as soon as we turn onto 30th Avenue, that no-nonsense look of focus appears on his face. He slows the car.

“What’s—”

He holds up a finger, then nods ahead. I look and see it right away—a navy blue sedan parked across from my building. The engine is off, windows tinted. It’s nearly in the same spot as the watcher from before, parked at the curb in front of the hardware store.

No doubt the intent is the same.

His hand moves from the console to my thigh. But it’s not a sexual thing, it’s more steadying, like he wants to hold me in place to make sure nothing happens to me.

“Don’t stare.”

“Too late.”