Chapter 17 Kit
Kit
The living room floor had become my world. Cold hardwood pressed against my cheek, the grain of the wood blurring in and out of focus as I stared at nothing. My wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin, agitated by my complete surrender to despair.
I’d been lying here since last night. Same clothes, same position, same crushing weight in my chest that made breathing feel like work.
This was it. My life, properly over. And I had no one to blame but myself.
The funny part was that a tiny sliver of me felt…
relieved. The torture of seeing Felix every day, wanting him with every fibre of my being whilst knowing I could never have him—that endless ache would be finally over.
There would be no more watching him quietly laugh at Rory’s jokes.
No more catching glimpses of his concentrated frown as he worked.
No more fantasising about running my fingers through that black hair that always fell into his eyes.
The part of me that hated what I’d become, a predatory stalker lurking in shadows, felt vindicated.
I’d promised myself that I’d never follow him again after he caught me outside his flat.
Then I couldn’t resist going to that fucking concert.
This was what I deserved. This crushing desolation, this complete isolation. Justice served.
My phone buzzed against the floor beside my head.
Felix
I’m almost outside your flat
My heart stopped. Started hammering so hard it would surely burst from my ribs.
Why was he here? The hoodie. Of course. He’d left it crumpled on the ground when he bolted. He wanted it back.
Another buzz.
Can I come in or do you want to come outside to talk?
My fingers shook as I typed back.
What would you rather?
It’s quite cold today.
I could sense him now, standing on my doorstep, his heartbeat rapid and nervous, echoing through my soul. My wolf stirred, desperate to comfort him, to take away whatever fear I’d caused.
I forced myself to my feet. My legs felt unsteady after hours on the floor. I probably looked as broken as I felt.
When I opened the door, Felix stood there in a long, thick navy coat, cheeks pink from the wind, clutching his hands together.
“Come in,” I mumbled, stepping aside without meeting his gaze.
I led him to the living room, acutely aware how his vanilla scent instantly filled every corner, making my wolf whine with longing.
“Are you… here for your hoodie?” I croaked.
“Huh?” Felix cocked his head. “Oh… well, Priya just came round, and she said I needed to come talk to you.”
Gratitude washed over me. Priya had given me this—one final chance to see him before I removed myself from his life. To apologise properly. To try to explain the inexplicable.
Felix shifted uncomfortably, his hands fidgeting with the zip of his coat. “She said…” He squirmed. “She said you told her you’re quitting Killigrew Street.”
I nodded, finally forcing myself to look at him properly. Those large eyes held a mixture of confusion, anxiety, and fear.
“Aye. It’s the least I can do, after everything.”
Felix pressed himself against the far wall like I might pounce on him at any moment. His shoulders hunched, body language screaming please don’t hurt me. He wouldn’t sit down, wouldn’t even step away from the wall. Just stood there, biting into his lower lip hard enough to leave marks.
Christ. Look at him. Terrified. In my own home, of me.
My chest started pulling itself tight, like someone had wrapped wire around my ribs and was tugging hard. The air felt too thin, not enough oxygen reaching my lungs no matter how deeply I breathed.
I’d done this to Felix. My mate. The one person in this world I was supposed to protect above all else, and I’d turned myself into his personal nightmare.
For months, I’d been the shadow in his periphery, the threat he couldn’t shake.
He might never recover from this—this level of betrayal from someone he trusted. Someone he saw every day.
I’d damaged my own mate.
I sucked in breaths determinedly, but it was useless. The tightness grew worse and worse, each breath more ragged than the last. My hand flew to my chest, fingers digging into the cotton of my T-shirt as my heart fluttered against my ribcage like a baby bird being squeezed to death.
Oh, fuck. No. Not now. Not in front of him.
But I recognised the signs. The shortness of breath, the crushing weight inside me, the blur at the edges of my vision. This had been building since yesterday, since the moment I’d made the decision to leave Killigrew Street—to leave the only life that I’d ever enjoyed.
“Kit?” Felix’s voice sounded far away, muffled. “Are you… are you okay?”
I wasn’t okay. I was the furthest thing from okay. And the concern in his voice, even after everything I’d put him through, just made it worse. Made the self-loathing dig deeper.
“You need to go.” The words came out strangled, desperate. “Please, Felix. Just… just go.”
“I’ll call someone,” he said, already reaching for his phone. “Rory, or—”
“No.” The word tore from my throat. “Please don’t call anyone. Please.”
I sounded pathetic. Broken. Which I was. Utterly and completely.
The room tilted sideways, or maybe I did. When had I ended up back on the floor? The hardwood pressed cold against my cheek, my whole body shaking like I’d been dunked in ice water. My teeth chattered so hard I thought they might crack.
Soft footsteps approached. Felix, moving closer despite his fear of me. A blanket appeared, settling over my shaking form with gentle hands.
Then, the lightest touch. Fingertips through the fabric, hesitant and careful, like he was touching a wounded animal that might bite.
“What can I do to help?” His voice was so quiet, so gentle.
“Please just go,” I said, between chattering teeth. The shaking wouldn’t stop, my whole body convulsing like I was seizing. “I need to… I just need to ride it out.”
The overhead light clicked off, plunging the room into softer shadows. Felix moved to the window, tugging the curtain until only a thin strip of grey afternoon light filtered through. The harsh fluorescent glare that had been stabbing at my eyes disappeared, replaced by something gentler.
“Better?” he asked quietly.
I managed a nod, though the shaking hadn’t stopped. My wolf was still pacing frantically, feeding off my panic in an endless loop.
Felix crouched beside my coffee table, his fingers hovering over the glossy leaves of my monstera deliciosa. “This one’s beautiful. How long have you had her?”
The question caught me off guard. “W-What?”
“This plant?”
“Two… two years. Got her as a cutting from the florist on Killigrew Street.”
“She’s massive.” Felix’s voice held genuine curiosity. “What’s this white stuff on the soil?”
“Perlite.” The word came out almost steady. Almost. “Helps with drainage. Monsteras hate wet feet.”
Felix nodded seriously, as if this was the most important information he’d ever received. He moved to the snake plant by the window, running a finger along one of the thick, upright leaves.
“And this one?”
“Sansevieria trifasciata. Mother-in-law’s tongue.” My breathing slowed fractionally. “Nearly impossible to kill. Only needs water once a month, maybe less in winter.”
“Really?” Felix picked up the pot, examining it from different angles. “Does it flower?”
“Mine did last spring. Tiny white flowers, smell like vanilla at night.” The memory brought an unexpected warmth. I’d stayed up late that evening, just breathing in that sweet scent.
Felix’s lips quirked upward. “Vanilla? My favourite.”
Fuck. Of course he’d latch onto that detail. “It’s… it’s quite subtle. Not like—” I stopped myself before I could say not like yours, which would probably send him running again.
He moved to the fiddle-leaf fig in the corner, the one I’d been nursing back to health for six months after nearly killing it with too much love and water.
“This one looks fancy.”
“Ficus lyrata. Bit of a prima donna, honestly. Hates being moved, hates drafts, hates when you look at her wrong.” I pushed myself up to sitting, the blanket still wrapped around my shoulders. “Nearly lost her last winter when the heating went out.”
“But you saved her?”
“Took her to work for a week. Set up grow lights in the weapons room. Rory thought I’d lost my mind.”
Felix laughed—a real, genuine sound that loosened the knot behind my breastbone. “Growing lights in the weapons room. That’s very you.”
Was it? I supposed it was. The need to nurture, to keep things alive and thriving. Even when I was a complete disaster at taking care of myself.
Felix wandered over to the windowsill, where my collection of succulents crowded together like a miniature desert landscape. “Do you talk to them? Your plants?”
I found myself smiling. “Sometimes. When I’m repotting or pruning. Nothing deep, just… commentary, I suppose.”
“What kind of commentary?”
“‘Hold still, you dramatic thing. Aye, I know the water’s cold.’ That sort of rubbish.” The shaking in my hands had finally stopped. “Priya says plants respond to sound vibrations, but I think she’s taking the piss.”
Felix picked up a small pot from the windowsill—my newest rescue, a half-dead pothos I’d found abandoned outside someone’s flat. “You might be able to help with something, actually.”
“Oh?”
“Christmas present for my sister. She’s managed to kill a cactus, Kit. An actual cactus.” Felix’s expression was so serious I nearly laughed. “I need something absolutely bulletproof. Something that thrives on neglect.”
“ZZ plant,” I said immediately. “Zamioculcas zamiifolia. Practically indestructible. Can go months without water, tolerates any light condition.”
“Perfect.” Felix set the pothos back down carefully. “Where would I find one?”
“There’s a good nursery in Borough Market. I could…” The offer died in my throat. I couldn’t offer to go with him. Not anymore. Not after what I’d done.