Blood and Velvet

Julian Sterling hit his twin brother with the force of a freight train.

The impact sent Silas flying across the bedchamber, crashing through a heavy mahogany armoire, showering the room in splinters and antique glass.

Julian stood in the center of the room, breathing heavily. He looked like a god of war. His immaculate regency clothing was shredded. His white shirt was soaked in crimson, a massive, silver-laced wound tearing across his shoulder—the work of wolfsbane. His eyes were not gray; they were the blazing, uncompromising amber of an Alpha defending his pack.

"Julian!" Clara cried, scooping the screaming infant into her arms and holding it tight against her chest, backing into the corner beside Genevieve’s bed.

Julian didn't look back at her, his eyes locked entirely on the wreckage of the armoire. "Protect my sister, Clara."

Silas dragged himself out of the debris, laughing, a wet, bloody sound. He spat a tooth onto the Persian rug. "Look at you, brother. Bleeding out over a human and a bastard. The Sterling legacy is a joke."

"The legacy," Julian growled, his voice dropping into a register that made the floorboards vibrate, "ends with you."

The twin Alphas collided. It was a vicious, blindingly fast display of primal violence that made a mockery of the opulent, civilized regency setting. They fought not as men, but as beasts trapped in human skin. Claws shredded velvet and flesh alike. They crashed into the four-poster bed, tearing the silk canopy down around them, their blood painting the pristine walls.

Clara shielded the infant with her body, gripping Genevieve’s hand as the young woman endured the beginning contractions for the second twin.

Julian was stronger, fueled by a terrifying, righteous fury, but the wolfsbane in his system was slowing his reflexes. Silas managed to drive a knee into Julian’s wounded shoulder, eliciting a roar of pain. Silas spun, grabbing a heavy brass candlestick from the mantle, and swung it wildly.

Julian ducked the blow, driving his fist directly into Silas's throat. As Silas gagged, Julian grabbed his twin by the lapels of his ruined coat and hurled him backward. Silas crashed through the massive, floor-to-ceiling glass window of the bedchamber.

The sound of shattering glass was deafening. The freezing urban wind instantly howled into the room, blowing out the remaining gas lamps and plunging the battlefield into shadows.

Silas caught himself on the stone balcony, hanging over the edge of the three-story drop. He looked back at Julian, blood pouring from his mouth, his toxic yellow eyes gleaming with unbroken malice.

"This isn't over, Alpha," Silas hissed over the wind. "The bloodline is mine."

With a mocking salute, Silas let go, disappearing into the dark, fog-drenched night of the city.

Julian lunged for the balcony, but the wolfsbane finally took its toll. His knees buckled, and he collapsed heavily onto the cold stone floor, gasping for air, his hand pressed against the massive wound on his shoulder.

"Julian!" Clara yelled. She placed the crying, breathing infant into Genevieve’s waiting, exhausted arms. "Gen, the second one is coming. Push! You have to push now!"

Without Silas's terrifying presence, Genevieve’s body surrendered to the natural process. Within five minutes, the second twin—a remarkably healthy, screaming little girl—was born into Clara’s hands.

Clara quickly clamped and cut the cords, ensuring both pups were stabilized and resting on their mother’s chest. Genevieve was weeping softly, pressing her face against the tiny heads of the children, entirely ignoring their twisted parentage in the face of absolute maternal love.

Clara didn't hesitate. She grabbed a roll of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic from her overturned bag and rushed to the balcony.

Julian was leaning against the stone balustrade, his head thrown back, his eyes closed. The freezing rain was washing the blood from his chest.

Clara dropped to her knees beside him. She pressed the thick wad of gauze hard against his shredded shoulder. Julian hissed, his eyes flying open, the amber fading slowly back into the exhausted, stormy gray she knew.

"You're an idiot," Clara breathed, tears mixing with the rain on her face as she applied pressure. "You were poisoned. You shouldn't have been able to stand, let alone fight an Alpha."

Julian reached up with his uninjured arm. His large, bloodstained hand gently cupped the side of her face. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone, smearing a faint trace of his blood against her pale skin.

"I heard him threaten you," Julian whispered, his voice incredibly soft despite the carnage surrounding them. "I would have crawled through hell to stop him."

Clara stared at him, the clinical, guarded walls she had maintained for years entirely crumbling into dust. She leaned her face into his palm, closing her eyes, letting the chaotic, primal reality of this world finally wash over her.