Chapter Fifteen
Killian
Lyra collapses when I pull out of her, breathing harshly, trembling with little aftershocks of her multiple orgasms.
I’m a little bit ruffled, as well. She really did hold out longer than I expected, and when she came to me with glazed eyes and sheer desperation written into every feature, I nearly lost control entirely.
I stroke a hand over her shoulder blade, back, and down her ass. My eyes linger on the visible vertebrae of her spine. My Little Bird really hasn’t been taking care of herself, and I see it as my duty to correct the error in her ways. “Can you stand?” I ask, amused.
“I… don’t think so.” Her tone is dazed, and her legs shiver violently. Satisfaction fills me to the brim. I love seeing her wrung out and limp, sprawled over my desk like an offering.
I lift her into my arms, carry her over to the couch, and cover her with the silk throw banket draped over the back, arranging some pillows under her head. “Catch your breath, take a nap. I have some more work to do. We’ll go to dinner later.”
She stares at me with big, vulnerable eyes. A strange feeling, something akin to protectiveness swirls through my chest, so intense I brush a hand over it.
“I hate you,” she whispers.
I smile. It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than me.
“Sure,” I say amiably. “And I’m the pope.
” I kiss her nose, return to my desk, and spend the next several hours glancing at her every few seconds, reminding myself that she’s here, she’s safe, she’s mine, and I am never letting her get away from me again.
The evening of the dinner party I’ve been dreading comes around far too swiftly. I watch Lyra wince her way through getting dressed—she was particularly bratty this morning, so I spanked her until she thoroughly apologized, then put her on her knees and fucked her throat.
I retreat into the closet, select the blue velvet box where I put her engagement ring, and a few other boxes with appropriate jewelry.
I find my little bird in the bathroom, fussing over her hair and frowning at her expression.
A stylist came in earlier to do her makeup and hair; she looks stunning and so very sophisticated with curled, half-up hair, and dark, smoky eyes that really bring out the blue and grey of her irises.
“You look beautiful.” I set the boxes down on the counter next to her, move behind her, and start pulling jewelry out of them and draping it over her.
A diamond necklace to match her dress; pearl earrings; and, of course, her ring.
She stays still up until I pick up her hand to slide the ring on, at which point she flinches.
“I don’t want to wear that.”
“I don’t recall asking.” I press my body against hers deliberately, knowing that her bruised ass will sing with protest. “You will put on my ring and act the part of the doting fiancée tonight. Fight me all you want behind closed doors, Little Bird, but in public, you will conduct yourself appropriately.”
Her jaw clenches. She glares at me through the mirror, throat working with a swallow. I stare back at her, completely unmoved.
She looks away first, eyes lowering, even as she practically vibrates with indignance. That’s fine; I’ll fuck the attitude out of her later.
“There are a lot of powerful people in attendance tonight,” I say carefully, pushing her ring into place and turning her hand a bit so I can see it sparkle.
“Recognizable powerful people. Now, since I know an investigative journalist still lives deep inside you, I hope you’ll heed my warning.
Do not—I repeat, do not—go poking places you shouldn’t, or asking excessive questions. ”
“You want me to play the part of a society wife and breeding stock,” she hisses. “I fucking got it.”
“Good.” I wrap my hand around the nape of her neck. “There’s a lot more on the line than you might consider.”
“If you actually took time to explain that to me, I might—”
“No. There are things you don’t need to know; things that I do and will continue protecting you from. That’s the only thing that matters.”
“Keeping me in the dark won’t do either of us any favors,” she says harshly.
“I’ll take care of the threats. You don’t need to worry about them.”
“Have you paused to consider that maybe I could help you do that if you communicated with me—”
I cut her off with a laugh. I’m under no illusions that Lyra would sooner see me burn than help me with anything.
“Come on.” I take her hand, tucking it into the crook of my arm. “We don’t want to be late.”
Dinner parties with members of The Eyes are a fairly rare occurrence; they happen annually, sometimes every other year.
I think it’s the organization’s form of team-bonding, but really, it also serves as a warning.
Everyone in this room is off-limits. Wives, children, any person in attendance.
If any member of The Eyes goes after another member, it’s an automatic death sentence.
By bringing Lyra with me with my ring sparkling on her finger, I’m making it clear that Silas’s actions against her were a violation of our code—and I should be allowed to kill him.
The fact that she disappeared does me no favors, but as no one can disprove my cover story, my desire to see Silas dead can’t be dismissed out of hand.
Rather than a formal sit-down dinner, hors d’oeuvres are distributed among the mingling crowd by finely-dressed waiters and waitresses.
Vladimir sits with his wife at one of the sofas placed around the edges of the room.
While they both occupy the same space, there’s a cushion separating them, and they don’t speak.
Herald is the first to greet me and Lyra as we walk in, his wife on his arm and their daughter and son also accompanying them.
He smiles at me with some hints of warmth, but mostly, warning.
“Killian,” he says. “So good to see you again. And I’m just delighted that you brought your lovely fiancée with you.
” He peers at Lyra, equal parts curiosity and suspicion in his gaze.
“Lyra, this is Griffin,” I introduce, using his civilian name—not his Eyes honorific. It tastes odd on my tongue. “We’re old friends.” Loose allies at best, though he’s recently proven useful.
To Lyra’s credit, she smiles warmly and shakes his hand. “So wonderful to meet you.”
“And you,” Griffin agrees, returning her smile. “Killian’s done an admirable job, hiding you away from the world thus far. It’s nice to see that he’s finally showing you off.”
Lyra tenses slightly at his words, but manages to maintain her smile. Good girl. If she keeps up with this behavior, she’s in for a reward tonight.
We exchange idle small talk for a bit. After a while, Griffin floats away, only to soon be replaced with the very last person I have any desire to see or speak with.
Silas Black.
We haven’t shared a room since the last quarterly meeting with The Eyes.
We certainly haven’t exchanged any words since the night I had him mutilate himself to make reparations.
I’ll give him this; his bounce back from being a sniveling, beaten-down child to growing a pair has been impressive, but I know his confidence is a farce.
He has some powerful backers, and that’s the only reason he has the nerve to walk up to me.
“Lyra, is it?” Silas flashes Lyra a cold smile. “I don’t believe we’ve ever been formally introduced, though I think I’ve spotted you at some events. You made quite the jump from working for Killian to—”
“She never worked for me,” I interject.
“My mistake, of course not.” Silas appraises Lyra. “What did you think about that expose that came out shortly after your time shadowing Killian concluded?”
Mother. Fucker. It’s not difficult to connect the dots and assume that Lyra’s the one who published it, but nobody can actually prove it—and the proof is what matters above all.
Without it, she has deniability. But Silas cornering her…
he must have formed a very close alliance with Vladimir, indeed.
“I thought it was pages of nonsense,” Lyra replies without flinching. She’s clocked Silas as the enemy, and her composure is impressive. “Business is business, right? Everyone in your tax bracket gets their hands dirty. It shouldn’t come as any surprise.”
Silas cocks his head to the side, examining Lyra with curiosity and more than a little lust. I shift closer to her, tightening my hold on her hand.
“It is, indeed. And, regarding the tape that came out—I’m so sorry someone saw fit to impersonate you, or go through the trouble of making an AI video of you, or whatever it actually was that happened. It couldn’t have been pleasant to know that half the country saw that—”
“Silas.” My words are a warning growl. “Step. The fuck. Back.”
“Oh, did I hit a nerve? My apologies, I was trying to comfort, not—”
“I will not say it again. Go the fuck away.” Lyra’s face has drained of all color. The expression in her eyes is slightly faraway, and her posture starts to hunch with humiliation.
I would beat Silas to death right here and now if I could, but one of the security people guarding the door would doubtless fill me with bullets before I could finish. His time will come. Our time will come, but not just yet. There will be a reckoning one day, but not today.
Silas smiles again, but there’s a hint of nerves in his eyes that wasn’t there previously. He’s uneasy. Good. I’m going to enjoy killing him slowly when my request is approved, which will happen. I won’t allow anything else.
I turn to Lyra, stepping in front of her and shielding her with my frame. Nobody else should approach while we appear to be in an intimate moment. “Are you alright?”
“Fine.” Her tone is clipped.
While I might not be an expert on emotions, I have gleaned that when a woman says she’s fine, she very rarely actually is. “We can go home soon. An hour or so. We’ll eat a few appetizers, mingle with a few people, and leave. Okay?”
“Fine,” she repeats.