Chapter 16 Keira
KEIRA
The first thing I feel is pain.
A dull ache that's everywhere: my ribs, my head, and the side of my thigh. Then the second thing is warmth.
Soft blankets tucked around me. A pillow under my head.
I open my eyes and the ceiling is blurry.
I blink, trying to clear the fog from my vision, but everything stays soft around the edges. The smell of smoke clings to my skin and hair.
I shift slightly, and pain radiates through my side.
"Fuck," I whisper, the word scraping past my dry throat.
I blink again, and the ceiling sharpens into focus.
I'm home.
I'm not at the family estate I've been staying at. I'm in my own bedroom, in my own bed.
The pale gray duvet twisted around my legs, the pillows piled behind me like they always are.
How did I get here?
I try to piece it together. The event, the orchids, Octavian's arm around my waist, the heat of his hand against my hip, but it fractures into broken fragments. Screaming. Loud noises. The floor giving way beneath me.
Then nothing.
I shift slightly, and lightning shoots through my side. I wince loudly.
"Careful," a voice comes from the corner of the room.
I turn my head, feeling my muscles pull at something tender in my neck, and that's when I see him.
Octavian sits across the room in a chair by the window.
His massive frame folded into it like it was built too small.
His jacket is gone. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing the dark tattoos that wind up his forearms, and his tie hangs loose around his neck.
His hair is disheveled, strands falling across his forehead, and there's a smudge of soot across his shirt.
His eyes look different. Gone is that detached, tactical observation he usually does. This is different. His dark eyes are locked on mine, and there's something raw in them, something that tells me maybe he was thinking the same things I was.
He stands and moves toward the bed.
"You alright?" he asks. His voice is low, rough, like he's been shouting. Or maybe he hasn't spoken in hours.
I nod, though I'm not sure it's true. "I think so."
He stops at the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning my face, my neck, my shoulders. I can feel his gaze like a physical thing, cataloging every scrape and bruise.
It hurts, but I sit up anyway, resting my back against the pillows. The movement sends another jolt of pain through my ribs, and I bite down on my lip to keep from gasping.
I look under the blanket and see that my dress is torn.
The fabric is shredded along one side, exposing the pale skin of my thigh, and there's a dark stain, blood, maybe on one side.
I reach up and feel debris in my hair, small pieces of plaster and glass.
I pull them out one by one, letting them fall onto the duvet.
"I tried to get them all out," Octavian says. "Sorry about that."
I glance up at him. His expression is a mix between unreadable and relieved.
"What the hell happened?"
"There was an explosion."
I nod, closing my eyes for a second as the memories start to filter back in again.
I feel Octavian grabbing me, pulling me against him. Then fire and heat. Screaming. And then it just ends.
I open them again. He's still looking at me.
The room feels smaller with him in it. Safer, maybe. Or just harder to lie to myself.
"Anyone else hurt?" I ask.
His jaw shifts, a tiny betrayal. "Yes, but I don’t know how many."
I nod, and rub my fingers over the bridge of my nose.
The quiet that follows feels personal, like the room's waiting for us to say something we shouldn't.
And I do what I always do, I throw a joke at it.
"So, when you save someone's life, do you hold it over their head forever, or just for special occasions?"
His mouth twitches, not quite a smile. "Keira I would never. It's my job."
The words hit harder than they should. Like all the warmth in the room just left with them. I almost hate him for saying it.
"Of course," I say as I pick at the edge of the blanket. Maybe I'm just worked up over the blast. Maybe I'm tired of being treated like a mission. "The job.”
Something shifts in his face, regret maybe, or understanding, but he lets it go.
A sleeve of his jacket peeks out from beneath the duvet. I pull it free; smoke and his cologne cling to the fabric, sharp and warm.
I grip it for a second before holding it out to him. "You'll probably want this back.”
He studies it like it's a question. "Only if you don't need it anymore.”
"I don’t."
He doesn't move right away. When he does, his fingers brush mine, not an accident, not entirely.
We both hold still.
I look down at the jacket. "Guess it did its job too."
He huffs a laugh. It’s low and rough.
"Guess so."
I could ask him a hundred things: why he pulled me out first, why he looks at me like that, why he can be both the calm in the fire and the reason it starts. But I don't. He's made a career out of not answering questions, and I've made it clear I won't ask the ones that matter.
"Actually," he says, voice shifting, hands restless for once. "There's something I need to tell you."
He hesitates, eyes flicking to mine. "When it happened, when you were—"
The door bursts open.
The sound hits like a shockwave; I flinch, pain knifing through my side. Octavian’s hand hovering near my shoulder but stopping short, a habit, or a boundary, or both.
And in that small distance between his hand and my skin, everything we haven't said hums like live wire.
I see Callum storm in, Declan and Lyra behind him.
"You okay?" Callum demands, eyes scanning me.
"I told you, she's fine," Declan says. "Lyra already checked her out."
"God, Keira," Callum says, looking me over.
"I'm fine," I say quickly and clear my throat. "Really. I'm ok."
"You sure?" he asks.
"I already checked her vitals when we got her," Lyra says.
"I know, I know, but I want to hear it from her," Callum says.
"Yes, Cal. I'm ok."
He breathes a sigh of relief and then nods to Octavian. "Thanks to him, I suppose."
I glance at Octavian, who's moved back to the chair like he's trying to give us space.
"Yeah," I say. "Absolutely."
Lyra sets her bag down on the bed and starts pulling out who knows what.
She doesn't ask permission. She just starts working.
"Now that you're up," she says, shining the light in my eyes, "I want to just check some things. How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Two."
"Good. Follow the light."
I do as she says, and she hums, satisfied.
Declan leans forward, his arms crossed. "What do you remember?"
I try to piece it together. "Not a whole lot," I say, my throat tightening. "You'd have to ask him," I say and point to Octavian.
"Already did," Declan says. "Motherfucker put a bullet in the guy's head who detonated the bomb, plus a few more."
I look at Octavian, who doesn't give me anything.
Callum paces. "We're working on identifying him. Declan's man Shane is already pulling footage."
"Shadowharbor, obviously," I say. The word tastes bitter. "It has to be. I was supposed to meet with their VIPs and they all canceled last minute. Now I know why."
Lyra presses her fingers against my ribs, and I hiss, jerking away.
"What the hell, Lyra," I say. "Fucking hurts."
"Well, you're lucky. Nothing's broken," she says and looks over at Octavian. "Good job."
Callum nods and looks at Octavian. "We'll have to discuss what comes next."
"I want in," I say suddenly.
Callum's head snaps toward me. "What?"
"Whatever you're planning. Whatever comes next. I want in."
"No," Callum and Octavian say in unison and we all turn to look at Octavian for a moment.
"Callum,” I protest.
"Sorry." His voice is sharp. "You're not going anywhere near this."
"It was my event. They came for me."
"And you almost died," Declan cuts in. "You think we're going to let you walk back into that?"
"I don't need your permission."
Callum's eyes flash, and he steps closer. "Yes, you do. You're not thinking clearly. You're in shock. And you're staying here until we figure out what the hell is going on."
"I'm not a child."
"Then stop acting like one." His words are cold, and they silence me.
Lyra finishes looking me over and steps back, her expression neutral. "She'll be fine. Just needs rest."
Callum nods and turns to Octavian, who's still standing by the chair, silent, watchful.
"Stay close to her. Within reach at all times."
Octavian's gaze doesn't leave mine as he nods. "Understood."
Callum gestures to Declan and Lyra, and the three of them head for the door.
Declan pauses, glancing back at me. "We'll fix this, Keira. I promise."
Then he's gone, and the door shuts behind them.
Octavian doesn't move. He just stands there, his dark eyes locked on me, and the silence stretches between us like a wire pulled too tight.
I feel embarrassed. I almost tell him to leave, to give me space, but I stop myself, because right now, with the smell of smoke still clinging to my skin and the memory of glass raining down around me, I don't want to be alone without him, even if I'm not ready to admit it to him.
"You don't have to stay," I say, soft and low. "I'm just going to rest for a bit and then shower."
I see his gaze drop to my lips, just for a second, then he nods.
"Get some rest," he says and takes his seat again. "I'll stay."
I turn away, trying to hide the smile and my relief. I wonder if he notices.
I lean back and look up at the ceiling, and think what it would feel like if he wasn't just doing his job.
If he was here because he wanted to be.