Chapter 17 Octavian
OCTAVIAN
Everyone's gone now, and I'm sitting here watching her stare at the ceiling.
Even in pain, she argues. Even bruised and shaken, she wants to be involved. I shouldn't be surprised. That's just the type of person she is, fire incarnate, refusing to be smothered.
She's lying in bed, quiet now, but only just. Her fingers twitch every so often, and I know it's taking everything in her not to sit up and do something, seek out answers.
I like that about her. I like knowing that even bruised and furious, Keira Killaney is dangerous.
Not just to her enemies. To me, too.
So I'm thankful her family showed up when they did and saved me.
What the hell was I about to tell her? My feelings?
That I almost lost my mind when I thought she stopped breathing? That carrying her limp body out of that ballroom made something break inside of me?
That never happens, but with her, everything shifts. My control breaks. My discipline fractures. I don't recognize the man who sits in this chair, staring at a woman who drives him insane in ways that have nothing to do with duty.
Am I just being wrapped up in the moment? Confessing something I don't even fully understand myself.
Nah, I never say shit like that. I don't feel shit like that.
But something about her makes all my walls look like goddamn tissue paper.
Maybe it was a gracious act from the universe, so it's probably for the best. Better to keep it all wrapped up until after all this is over. Besides, if I tell her how I'm feeling and it makes her uncomfortable, one word to Callum and I'm gone.
And I don't want that. Not anymore, clearly.
On the way over here, I've never checked a rearview mirror so many damn times.
I was so worried, so stressed. My hands gripped the wheel until my knuckles turned white, my eyes darting between her unconscious form in the backseat and the road ahead.
Every time a car got too close, my finger twitched toward the gun, worried someone was coming for her.
Every time she shifted, even slightly, my heart jumped.
She mentioned not liking being at the main house, so I brought her here. To her own place. Where I know she'd be most comfortable. I carried her inside, gently laid her in bed, and made the calls I needed.
I should've left after. Should've walked out and waited in the hallway or anywhere but here.
But I didn't.
Because every time I try to leave, something in me freezes at the thought of not being able to see her breathing.
So I sit and wait, my eyes never leaving her face, watching the rise and fall of her chest like it is the only thing keeping me sane.
"Octavian," she says, her voice cutting through my thoughts.
I look at her. "Yeah?"
She shifts, wincing slightly as she turns toward me. "What do you think we should do?"
She looks so small. So fragile in a way she never allows herself to be when she's standing, talking, breathing fire into every room she enters. Her red hair flows across the pillow, still tangled with debris I couldn't get out. Her green eyes, though tired, shine.
"What do you mean?" I ask, leaning forward.
"Well, like, someone targeted me. So I need to do something."
I exhale slowly. Here we go.
"Let your brothers handle it."
"What?" she asks and raises her head up sharply, staring daggers at me.
I instantly see her spark return, and even if it's directed at me, I'm sure as hell happy to see it. That defiance, that refusal to bow, it's what makes her impossible to look away from.
"Obviously you don't agree," I say and rub my forehead. "But I think you staying here is best."
"You," she says as she pushes herself upright despite the pain and glares at me, "should go. I need to be alone."
"You're mad."
"No shit I'm mad."
"Your brothers are right," I say calmly.
She laughs in disbelief. "Oh, of course you agree with them," she says, her eyes flashing. "Of course you side with Callum and Declan. What else is new?"
"I side with keeping you alive," I counter, my voice firm. "And for the record," I tell her, standing, "you just almost died. So excuse me if I'm not thrilled about the idea of you running headfirst into more danger."
She sits up straighter, ignoring the pain that flickers across her face. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't feel it? I was there, Octavian."
"Then act like it."
"Act like what?" She's almost shouting now, her voice raw. "Act scared? Act helpless? Sorry to disappoint you, but that's not who I am."
"I'm not asking you to be helpless, Keira. I'm asking you to be smart."
"You mean controlled."
"Yes," I say flatly. "Controlled, by me. Because control keeps you safe. That's my main goal here."
"Stop fucking reminding me I'm just your job!" she snaps, throwing off the covers. "I'm a person, asshole. Every time I need you, you act like you're punching a clock."
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Because what can I say that won't make it worse? That I want to tear off this job title and touch her like she's mine?
I want to tell her I'm scared that if I let her slip into any other category, I'll lose the clarity I've spent years surviving with.
I've been pushing her into my job box over and over because I don't know if I can keep my distance otherwise. I don't know if I'll be able to walk away when this is over.
"Look," I tell her, forcing my voice to stay level, "if there's one thing I've noticed about you, you're good with people.
You're relatable. You know how to pry without being awkward.
You charm them, disarm them, get them to tell you things they shouldn't.
That's your strength," I say and take a step closer to her, "Running around Boston chasing people down, kicking in doors, firing bullets, that's not what you'd be good at.
That's your brothers' area. Let them do that," I continue, "Focus on something only you can do. "
She grabs a pillow and tosses it across the room in frustration. "Oh, don't act like you know me."
"That," I say, pointing at the pillow, "that's the problem."
She scoffs.
"You're fire, Keira, but you can't control yourself. You think it makes you strong, but you can't aim. Instead of burning who deserves it, you'll torch the whole damn city."
Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think she's going to reach for another pillow to throw at my head, but she doesn't.
Instead, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands, wincing as pain shoots through her ribs. I almost rush in to help her, my body already halfway to her, but she shoots me a look that stops me cold.
"Thank you for that unsolicited suggestion," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Keira—"
"No, really," she says, walking stiffly to the bathroom. "You can leave now. Your 'job' is going to shower."
Before I can say anything, she walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.
I stare at the closed door for a long moment.
I can hear the faint sound of water running. I imagine her stripping out of that torn dress, the fabric sliding off her shoulders, pooling at her feet. I imagine the water hitting her skin.
Everything in me wants to storm after her. Not just to argue. To touch her. To grab her by the waist, pull her in, and ask if she really thinks this is just a job for me. To show her it isn't.
But if I do, I won't stop.
I'll tell her everything. That I can't sleep without checking the doors twice now. That when she walked on stage I forgot every exit in the building because all I could think was please don't let anything happen to her while I'm standing here.
That when she blacked out, my whole world narrowed to her pulse.
I turn around.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I drag a hand down my face, forcing myself to take a breath. To think. To remember why I'm here.
But all I can think about is the way she felt in my arms when I pulled her against me at the event. The way her body fit against mine, warm and alive and trusting, even when she shouldn't have been. The way she leaned into me without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Nothing has ever made me want to burn the world down just to keep them safe.
I should go. Give her space. But the thought of her alone makes my chest tighten. What if they're watching? I've checked everything. Locks, cameras, perimeter, but it's not enough. It'll never be enough.
Because the threat isn't just outside.
It's in here, too. In the way I can't stop thinking about her. I clench my fists, forcing myself to focus.
This is temporary. This assignment. This proximity. Once the threat is neutralized, once Callum and Declan handle Shadowharbor, I'll go back to Bucharest. Back to my life. Back to the missions that don't make me question everything I've built.
But even as I tell myself that, I know it's a lie.
And for the first time in years, I don't know what to do.