Chapter Six
Sleep eluded Kieran.
He tossed and turned, but there was nothing for it, he could not settle his thoughts.
If he wasn’t thinking about his problems at work, then he was musing over this growing attraction—not attachment—to Sera, and if he managed to will both thoughts away, memories of his siblings threatened to drown him in the last shreds of his sanity.
He threw on a shirt, hasty with the buttons—not so hasty as to miss one—but left the waistcoat.
The upper floors of his home were stripped of family portraits.
Kieran had them all moved to the ground level.
He had no wish to forget his family, or remove them from history, but upstairs was his retreat from the world and that meant removing the triggering reminders.
Walking to process his thoughts was not a rare occurrence.
He often suffered insomnia in moments of distress.
Usually, he ended up at the library, gathering books on various topics—he did not even know what his own preferences for books were anymore, his mind always preoccupied with work—but ultimately leaving them unread.
The upstairs of his home was divided into wings.
The family wing, where the master bedchamber was located as well as rooms for immediate family.
All empty now, of course. This house had not been full of relations in close to thirty years.
And the guest wing, where Sera and her friend currently lived.
Kieran’s normal routine brought him straight to the main hall so he could descend to the lower floors, but tonight he wandered.
He set his hands behind his back, strolling and focusing on the patterns in the carpet until something caught his attention.
He knew these halls from memory, every detail, and one of the decorative tables positioned under a mirror was not as he remembered.
This table had always been lopsided. Some incident in his father’s youth had damaged the legs, but now it stood oddly straight.
Kieran set his hand on it and pressed, expecting the normal wobble, but the surface was solid, unmovable.
The servants had commented about Sera’s wandering hands and interest in broken objects.
Was this her work? He recalled how she referred to herself as ‘stupid.’ The look in her eyes, always so full of fire and spark, grew withdrawn and detached in a way that did not suit her.
Whatever had caused her to view herself as unintelligent was entirely misguided and—
Movement caught his eye and pulled him from his thoughts.
He looked down at his hands briefly, shaking away clenched fists as he returned to the present.
A fleeting figure, their form obscured by heavy in the darkness, moved in the hallway opposite to the one he occupied.
In the guest wing of the house. That led to the guest rooms.
To Sera’s room.
All the servants would have left for the night, those who remained would not be moving at this hour.
The figure’s head shifted as if making sure they were alone.
He couldn’t tell the figure's proximity to Sera's room from such a distance.
The chance of an assassin breaking into his home with the added security measures was slight, but not impossible.
Kieran pursued.
How many times did he need to save this woman in one day? If Death was so fixated on her, maybe he was fighting a losing battle trying to keep her alive.
Kieran reached Sera’s door and tested the handle.
She normally kept it locked and he froze when it opened.
Controlling his breathing, he eased it open enough to check inside.
No figures or assailants. He listened, but he heard nothing save the occasional breath of sleep.
He closed the door, questioning his own eyes.
Was he tired enough to see shadows that didn’t exist?
Erring on caution, Kieran continued until he reached the far end of the hallway.
There were two paths, but the ripple of moonlight over a retreating form on his left chose for him.
He followed as swiftly as he dared to not make a sound, crossing from the guest wing and back to where the family suites were located.
He followed the direction of the movement until he noted a door ajar that should have remained closed.
Hesitation stopped him from turning the handle.
The room had once belonged to his younger brother.
No one had entered it in all the years since Kaul had passed.
Tentatively, he set his fingers on the handle.
Whispers inside prompted him to enter. He braced for a fight and the punch of memories, but what he found shattered what remained of his considerable, finely-honed composure.
Standing in the middle of the room and tracing the layout with a finger in the air, was Sera.
Kieran shut the door behind him with a resounding click. Sera whirled around, eyes wide and words dying on her lips.
“Kieran! I…”
He was angry. Hot, boiling fury pumped through his veins.
“Are you still working for Cole?” He asked, voice cold and thin as a blade. He did not wish to scare her. Or maybe he did. The thought that she could betray his generosity had him acting without filter. Worse, he had believed in her.
It didn’t matter now. If she was working with Cole then it was all a lie.
“What? No. I swear.”
“Then explain.”
Sera backed away a step, but he advanced. There was fear and panic and a hint of guilt in her eyes, but he was too furious to care. He towered over her. Outmatched her in strength and speed.
“We’ve been here before, Seraphina.” He used her full name, but the taste had soured. His muscles tensed. Fury poured into his thoughts, blinding him. “You’re not going to get out of an explanation this time.”
He continued to advance on her, no longer concerned with proximity, only with her answer.
He was generous, but he was not a fool. If this was all some ruse, some con to get whatever Cole was after, then it ended now.
Hospitality withdrawn. Sera and her friend could fend for themselves and Kieran would be down a few problems.
It was not his usual tactic to intimidate, but he had very little sleep, too much stress, and hurt was needling into the rage. He had believed her. Trusted her.
He would only wait so long for an explanation for why she was searching his dead brother’s room. If she refused this time, then he’d have no choice but to rescind his offer to protect her.
Sera stepped closer, tentative. Slow. His eyes narrowed, unsure what she intended. Wide eyed, movements more convulsive than fluid, she pressed her chest against him.
“What are you—”
Her mouth silenced his question, her lips hard and forceful against his.
No. She did not get to charm her way out of this.
He tensed. Intended to thrust her backward. Determined not to succumb to manipulation. He did not move. Did not breathe. Seconds passing while he made no attempt to stop her.
Her lips softened, the pressure shifting into pleasing and…
He brought his hands around her, fingers pressed into her bodice, braced to move, to push her away.
To end whatever the fuck she was trying to do.
Was their some sort of poison in her lipstick?
He couldn’t move the way he wanted. Could not push her away, only pull her closer.
A toxin designed to draw him into her magnetic charm.
The warm, wet glide of her tongue eased his lips apart, alighting sensations that he had not experienced in close to a decade.
Why wouldn’t his arms obey? It may not be poison, but it was a tactic. A ploy. Her aim was to distract him, lure him into complacency with…
His eyes drifted closed. Despite all logic and reason, his body refused to listen. His hand slid higher, his crushing grip easing into a caress as the ends of her raven hair danced on his skin. Breathing unsteady and drowning in sensations. He surrendered.
This was definitively not the Game, but something else. Something wrong, though he couldn’t bring himself to care. Because it did not feel wrong. She tasted like his every fantasy, felt like endless promise. The pressure of her, the physical presence of another body—of her body was overwhelming.
Whether an act or real, his participation elicited a feminine moan that vibrated against his lips, down his throat, throughout his entire being. The hand not consumed in the liquid tendrils of her hair glided further around her waist, gripping instead of pushing.
His head angled so he could consume every ounce of pleasure from her mouth. He was intoxicated with the taste of her, with how right every curve of her body felt against him.
The poison was Sera. And his resistance had shattered.
She started to gasp. The most exquisite sounds cascaded from her throat with wanton abandon.
Sera was loud.
Her arms grasped his shoulders, then down his chest so her fingers could twine into the fabric of his shirt. The scent of almonds and sex flooded his senses.
She is manipulating you.
An unsettling sense of wrongness that he couldn’t comprehend hovered over him, but he was actively fighting conscious thought, refusing to allow this to end.
Something is wrong! Let her go.
He drank her moans, unwilling to listen. Unwilling to stop.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Gods the pleasure of just her mouth threatened to bring him to his knees. There was no limit she couldn’t push. No demand he would have refused. There was no thought. No control. Only Sera.
He lifted his hand higher, laying his palm flat on the exposed nape of her neck, attempting to capture every inch of warmth.
She wore a mere chemise, a wisp of cotton.
It would be nothing at all to tear it from her body.
His other hand clawed into the fabric. One tug and he could reach everything, drown in the heavenly heat of her bare skin.
This is all a lie.