Born of Legend by Sherrilyn Kenyon Page A

paused to look back at her.
    â€œYou breathe one word of this to either Tylie or Cairistiona and I will see you buried in the crypt beside Nykyrian. And your death won’t be nearly as painless. That I promise you. You will die in pieces, screaming in agony.”
    Wincing at the memory, Jullien took another drink as he tried to put his grandmother and her never-ending threats out of his mind.
    Ironically, he’d never wanted that minsid throne. All he’d wanted was his parents’ time, and to stay alive.
    He’d gotten half that wish. Though in retrospect, he should have just let them have his life, too. It didn’t seem worth the pain of it most days.
    His thoughts drifting, he glanced down at the tattoo on his arm.
    Indurari. Through blood misery we conquer and endure. Out of the bad, comes the good. By our challenges, we are strengthened. Ever strong. Forever onward. That was the War Hauk legend and family motto, which was certainly better than his family’s— lie and murder your way to the top. Take whatever you can grab. Fuck everyone who gets in your way.
    And as he stared at the patch, another image came to his mind. For once, it wasn’t the horrors of his past. It was the image of a beautiful blond angel with silvery-white eyes and lips that tasted sweeter than honied nectar. One with hair of the softest silk. Even though he knew there could never be anything between them, that he wasn’t worthy of someone so untainted and beautiful, it didn’t stop his fantasies from torturing him with a dream he knew could never be.
    Females like Ushara always chose males like his brother. Celebrated heroes who were respected. Those who’d been wanted and treasured by the world.
    Everyone followed Nykyrian. They listened to him when he spoke. Jullien was too scarred and broken. Too screwed in the head by his psychotic family—he always had been. No one had ever listened to him. And his past sins were far too grievous to be forgiven. The stories for his kind were always the same.
    Horrible life. Bad decisions. Grisly demise at an early age.
    Unforgiven by everyone around him.
    Creatures like him were never allowed a way out. They always died horribly.
    A dog returns to its vomit. That was what his grandmother had quoted and used to justify her evil against others. Why she never gave anyone a second chance.
    Why she’d always been so hard on him.
    You’re just a worthless, half-human byblow.
    Still, he wanted to change. He was sober now. No longer a pawn or a victim of Merrell and Chrisen, or Nyran. He’d broken away from his grandmother’s stranglehold.
    For the first time, his life was his own.
    Yeah and you’ve done such a stellar job with it. Homeless. Broke. Wandering and lost. Starving.
    He reached for the bottle, then stopped himself. Any more and he’d be loaded. He knew from experience that would lead him to a fight and lock-up.
    Belligerent when sober, he became obnoxiously belligerent while drunk. Worse, he tended to turn his self-hatred into acts of violence against those charged with enforcement roles, or anyone with an ounce of authority.
    Make the right decision for once.
    Jullien capped the bottle, got up, and put the badge in his pocket. With one last, longing glance at the alcohol, he headed back to his meager accommodations and went to bed so that he could get up early and clean his only set of clothes for his new job.
    *   *   *
    Dripping wet, Jullien froze as he heard a knock on his door. He drew his weapon from the counter by his side before it dawned on him that assassins didn’t knock. They just attacked.
    Still …
    No one ever visited him. That would require him to actually make and have a friend. What the hell?
    Convinced it was a mistake, he ignored it and finished rinsing off.
    Until they knocked again.
    â€œJullien?”
    His heart sped up at the lilting sound of Ushara’s sultry voice though the