Sommersgate House (Ghosts and Reincarnation #2)(113)
Author: Kristen Ashley

Now, he’d pay for that mistake.

God, Ronnie. He hoped they hadn’t found her first.

As he came forward, he sought to allay Julia’s fears with his eyes but as the Russian talked on, making grandiose and threatening statements about taking something that wasn’t his, Douglas finally took in Julia’s face.

And he was stunned at what he saw.

Julia, his bride-to-be, looked annoyed.

Not frightened as he assumed she’d be, or, more accurately, terrified out of her mind.

No, she looked annoyed.

She looked like he’d kept her waiting and they were going to miss their booking at a restaurant she particularly wished to sample. Not like she was being held at gunpoint in the drawing room of her own home by a vile Russian who dealt in white slavery.

If she had checked her watch and tapped her toe, Douglas wouldn’t have been surprised.

And in that moment, he knew.

She trusted him. She believed in him. She knew, without any doubt, that he would know what to do, that he would save her, make their home safe again.

All she had to do was wait.

He felt this knowledge hit him like a physical blow.

Tamsin had believed in him, but she was his sister.

No one else had. Not anyone in his life.

No one.

Except Julia.

Memories of her slid by in seconds, her blowing in his ear at the snooker table; telling him of Sean’s abuse in the study; giving him her Christmas present at dinner; wriggling her engagement ring at Nick proudly; wrapping her legs around Douglas’s waist passionately, protectively, lovingly while he was inside her.

“What am I going to do with you?” he’d asked.

“Whatever you want,” was her reply.

Bloody hell, he loved her.

He came to within a foot of the doorway and her eyes shifted quickly and meaningfully to the side of it, telling him there was another man behind it.

Douglas didn’t react.

He just smiled.

The Russian was still talking, threatening, his voice getting panicky because Douglas hadn’t dropped his gun as asked.

Douglas ignored him.

In an even, calm voice he said simply, “I love you, Julia.”

Her face changed, even from across the expanse he saw her eyes darken and that raw, tender look came about her and he knew what it meant.

Finally he understood.

“Oh Douglas,” she replied, her sweet, husky voice shaking, not with fear but with feeling. “Sweetheart, I love you too.”

And then it all happened at once.

The house rumbled, the windows flexed in dangerously then out like the house was about to implode.

Julia jerked her head back at the same time she jammed her elbow into her attacker’s ribs, drawing a confused yowl from the man. She threw herself over the back of the couch and the last Douglas saw of her was a flash of black netting and her legs ending in two high-heeled black sandals disappearing behind the couch.

Douglas wasted no time; he aimed at her attacker, fired and cursed.

He caught the man in the shoulder but didn’t bring him down.

The door flew toward him and he was ready for it. He caught it with his forearm, violently throwing it back with all his weight and strength. He heard an “oomph” of pain come from behind the door but ignored it.

The lights flashed, off and on, then again and again. The chandeliers were swaying dangerously, their crystals tinkling.

A shot was fired at Douglas by the Russian that held Julia but it was wide and Douglas aimed another shot at him and caught him in the thigh but, before the man dropped to the floor, Julia had re-emerged from her position, holding aloft a Waterford vase that Douglas knew was one of his mother and father’s wedding presents. She hurled it at the Russian and it smashed against the side of his head causing him to grunt and hit the floor with a heavy thud.

The lights were still flashing, not only in the drawing room but behind him as well and likely everywhere in the house. The walls were creaking as if Sommersgate was about to crumble in on itself.

Douglas had no time to worry about the bizarre disintegration of his ancestral home. The other man stepped wide from the door, his gun raised but Douglas caught his wrist, needing to drop his own gun to do so. The man managed to squeeze off a shot which caught Douglas, stinging his upper, left arm.

As Douglas grappled with the man, an otherworldly moan drifted ominously through the house and then another missile, this time a heavy glass paperweight, flew through the air, hitting his opponent on the side of the neck, making him squawk in angry pain.

“Stop throwing things!” Douglas ordered Julia, his hands full with the man who was fighting both a terror of Douglas, the unknown of Julia and her priceless glass bombs and a house gone mad. “You could hit me.”

“I’m not going to hit you! I played softball for seven years!” she retorted, as if that meant anything in a death match.

He noted out of the corner of his eye she was standing there with her hands on her h*ps as if to say, Get on with it, I’m hungry.

He would have laughed if he hadn’t noticed her original attacker slowly pulling himself to his feet, still armed.

“Julia, down!” Douglas barked.

His clever soon-to-be wife noticed the Russian too and disappeared behind the couch in an instant.

A flame of fire shot out of the fireplace at this point even though no fire had been blazing in its grate the moment before. The moan was still howling through the house, the windows flexing, the chandeliers veering crazily side-to-side.

Douglas whirled, gaining position on the gun, he used his attacker’s weapon and aimed at the other Russian who had already fired, this time toward the spot where Julia had been.

Douglas’s shot went wild as did his mind.

If he hit Julia, Douglas would rip him apart.

He let out a roar of rage and used his newfound fury to plant his feet and throw his attacker over his shoulder onto his back on the floor. Without hesitation, Douglas wrested the man’s gun away, calmly aimed and fired two rounds into him, one in each kneecap.

The man’s howls joined the unearthly thunder of the house and Douglas turned again to the other man who had decided against shooting him to give way to the crazed violence that blazed in his eyes. Charging toward him like a bull, Douglas braced for impact when two things happened at once.

First, the blast of a shotgun unloaded itself into the ceiling by the side doors that led toward the greenhouse.

This happened thanks to a wild-eyed Roddy Kilpatrick who followed the blast with an outcry of, “What the bloody hell is going on here?” and yet stood calmly as plaster rained down on him.