Counting Sheep

Chapter 22

Every sense was aware in Julian's body from the feel of the air moving over his bare, scarred flesh, every sound that had yet to make itself known to him, to the intoxicating and lingering taste of Layla on his lips and tongue. After what seemed like an eternity, they had made it to his bedroom door and Layla's fingernails dug deeper into his skin. He didn't mind. He used it to ground him even further as he slowly grasped the door knob and flung the door open.

He flicked on the light, found the bedroom in the exact same state as the rest of the house-covered in writing. He pointed the gun to every seeable corner.

Nothing...

His brow furrowed. He looked at Layla behind him, finding her eyes already on him as she mouthed a silent question.

He gestured to the closet door and she swallowed, nodded. When they were in front of it, they both stilled as the sound of scratching met their ears. Before Layla could get even more frightened, he threw open the closet door, his own heart beating like a drum that reverberated through his ears. Instead of finding whoever had vandalized his cabin, he found his small white cat curled up in the back of the closet.

The animal was frightened, more so than Julian had ever seen, even when he had found her wandering the forest—nothing but skin and bones.

Not recognizing them, the cat hissed and cowered back up against the wall. Layla gasped besides him and he barely saw her move then when she was moving forward to pick up the cat. She didn't even flinch as the cat clawed at her arms in a fight or flight sense, but instead she held it to her breasts and cooed softly.

The cat seemed to realize then that it wasn't in danger, but Julian was still shocked to see the small thing shaking as Layla smoothed her fingers over its head. "The poor thing is scared to death." Whispered Layla softly and Julian's fists clenched.

Someone had been in his home.

Someone had fucked with his place, scared his cat and the anger that built in him was a silent, brewing storm that lurked just beneath his skin.

Someone did this and someone was going to pay.

"Stay here, Layla. I'm going to go check the bathroom." Before she could argue, he was gone. When he returned, having found nothing else, he pulled Layla back out into the living room, sitting her on the couch.

"One second. I need to get my laptop." He said and set the gun down in front of her on the coffee table. She stared at it for a long moment, her hands stilling on the cat.

Funny how something that could fit into the palm of your hands could also cause mayhem and destruction. The black handle glinted, taunting and mocking. When she was young, she never imagined in her wildest dreams that her future would be filled with such evil, such violence. That little word ran through her mind yet again and she wanted to scream.

Peace...

She startled slightly as Julian came back into the room. "Just as I suspected, found nothing else. Is...is she okay?" He asked, nodding towards the cat.

Layla blinked and looked down at the shivering animal in her arms.

The cat's usual pristine white silk-like fur, no had streaks of crimson running through it. Her small paws were coated as well, but Layla could find no cuts or scratches on the cat, thankfully. "She is okay, just scared." Layla murmured as the cat jumped from her arms to move next to Julian as he came up to sit on the couch beside Layla, his laptop in his arms.

Layla felt Julian's relief in the air that the small animal that he had taken care of and had come to love--was unharmed. His fingers stroked under the cat's chin as she curled into a tight ball at the small of his back, taking refuge in the protective sense that Julian so easily gave off. Layla needed it herself and was brought out of her thoughts as Julian spoke again, his words like a bomb going off in her chest.