Chapter 22 Octavian
OCTAVIAN
I'm not sure of anything right now. Not Nicolae. Not the job. Not myself.
But her little gym downstairs might help clear my head.
I walk through the house again, checking every window latch, every door lock. Old habits. The kind that kept me alive in places where a single mistake meant a bullet between the eyes.
I pause at the front door, my hand on the deadbolt, and I can still hear Nicolae's voice in my head.
Let her be taken.
The fuck I will.
I grind my teeth at the thought.
I move to the garage next, slipping inside through the connecting door. Keira's cars sit there like trophies. I pop the hood on the Mercedes first, disconnect the battery. Then the Audi and the Range Rover.
I pocket all three sets of keys.
She's not going anywhere without me. If she gets pissed later, so be it. It's second nature to eliminate exit points before things go sideways.
The rational part of my brain knows this is excessive, however. She's inside. She's safe. But the other part, the part that's been unraveling since the moment I saw her unconscious in my arms, doesn't give a shit about rational.
I head back upstairs, strip off my suit, and change into gym shorts. My reflection in the mirror stares back at me. Tattooed skin, scars, and my brother's face, frozen at fifteen, the age he was when he died.
I grab my phone and head back down.
I turn on the basement light and descend the stairs. The basement gym is cool and quiet, and I go straight for the weights.
I've always relied on discipline. Wake at five. Cold shower. Cardio. Gym. Combat drills. It's the structure that keeps the chaos out.
Lately, though, even that doesn't work.
Keira Killaney is chaos, and I'm opening the damn door.
I lie on the bench and start bringing the bar over my head.
Up.
Down.
I need to plan. I need to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do when Nicolae calls again and demands I hand Keira over like she's cargo.
I grip the bar harder and push. I don't count reps; I continue until the burn overrides the noise in my head.
I rack the bar, wait a few seconds, and bring it back up over my head. I go again until my muscles burn and sweat starts dripping down my sides.
I sit up and quickly go over to the dumbbells. I don't wait; I grab some and start a set, pushing through the burn in my shoulders.
I just can't focus. This isn't working.
Because the truth is, I don't want to. I don't want to think about Nicolae or the Morrígan or the fact that I'm standing at the edge of a choice that will destroy me either way.
I just want her.
I want her in a way that's irrational, possessive, and fucking dangerous.
I want to know what she tastes like. What sounds she makes when she's losing control. What it feels like to have her warming my bed, underneath me, looking up at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
I drop the weights onto the mat.
"FUCK!" I growl.
I switch to pull-ups, then push-ups, and back to the dumbbells. Anything and everything to keep moving. To stop thinking about the sound of her voice or the fucking way she smiled at the café this morning.
I zone in on my reps.
One.
Two.
Three.
My mind starts to clear, just a little.
Four.
Five.
And then I hear footsteps on the stairs. I freeze mid-rep.
"There you are." Keira's voice cuts through the silence, and I feel every nerve in my body come alive.
I glance up. She's standing in the doorway, arms crossed under her chest, red hair loose around her shoulders. Always looking perfect.
"Do you always work out shirtless?" she asks, head tilted.
I feel my biceps straining under the weight of my incomplete set, and I rack them back where they belong.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. "Does it bother you?"
"No," Keira says and shakes her head, but her gaze drops to my chest, then lower, before she catches herself and looks away. "I was just wondering."
I can see the flush creeping up her neck. I thought I saw it last time we were here, but I wasn't sure. Thought it was me being hopeful, but there's no mistaking it now.
"What's up?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
She steps farther into the room, that smile—the one that always means trouble, spreads across her face. "Well," she says, uncrossing her arms, "your girl did some digging, and I found the mole. Declan's images of the guy who let in the bomber confirmed it, but still."
Your girl.
The words hit me harder than they should, and I force myself to stay still, to not react.
She's proud of herself. I can see it in the way she stands, the way her chin lifts just a little. She wants me to acknowledge it.
And I do. Because she deserves it.
"Congratulations," I say, and turn to pick up the dumbbells again. I need something to do with my hands before I do something stupid. "Did you tell your brothers?"
"Yep. And I'm going to go with them to get him." She pauses, then adds, "Well, we are. You have to come."
I set the weights down carefully, my back still to her. "No."
There's a beat of silence.
"Okay, you don't have to come, I guess, but—"
"No." I turn to face her, and the look on her face shifts from confusion to irritation in half a second. "You're not going."
Her brows lift. "Like hell I'm not."
"You heard what I said," I tell her and turn back, looking at her in the mirror.
She crosses her arms again and steps closer. "You may be my bodyguard, Octavian, but you sure as hell don't control me."
"Well, maybe I should," I say, my voice hard.
"Oh, screw you."
"Dammit," I say, turning fully to face her. My pulse is pounding in my ears, and I can feel the control I've been clinging to starting to slip. "You don't get it. Out there, there are people who clearly want you dead. Nothing can save you from that if you keep running toward dangerous shit."
"Declan agreed to let me go," she snaps.
"I don't give a fuck about Declan." I take a step toward her, and she doesn't back down. "You're who I care about," I stop for a moment, realizing what I said, "protecting," I add quickly. "I care about protecting you."
She stares at me, and for a second I think she's on to me, but if she is, she only makes it worse by taking another step forward so I can catch her scent. It makes my body tense; my cock stirs.
I'm fucking losing it.
"Yeah, well," she says, looking up at me. "I'm going."
She turns to leave, and something in me snaps.
I reach out and grab her wrist.
She whirls around immediately, her free hand coming up to hit my arm. "Let fucking go."
But I don't.
I step into her, backing her up until she hits the wall, and I pin her there with my body, my hand still around her wrist.
"Stop running headfirst into fire," I say, my face inches from hers.
Her breath comes fast, her chest rising and falling against mine, and I can feel the heat radiating off her skin.
"Then stop blocking my way," she says and shoves me with her free hand. I don't move.
She hits my side again. Harder. And I barely feel it. The impact is nothing compared to the way my body is screaming at me to close the distance between us.
She hits me again, then again. Her fists small but wild, and I tighten my grip on her wrist.
"Are you done?" I ask, my voice rough.
She doesn't answer. She just stares up at me, her green eyes blazing, her lips parted as she catches her breath.
She hits me two more times, each blow weaker than the last, and then she stops.
We're face-to-face, the heat between us rising fast and sharp. Her skin glows with anger. Mine is slick with sweat.
I don't know how to explain that the thought of her walking into danger makes me feel like I'm drowning. That the idea of losing her is worse than anything Nicolae could do to me. That she's become the one thing I can't afford to lose.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, just for a second, and that's all it takes.
I don't think. I just move.
I fucking kiss her.
It's not gentle. It's not careful.
It's electric and desperation and every ounce of restraint I've been clinging to finally breaking apart.
My mouth crashes against hers, and the world narrows to her lips, her taste, the way she gasps against me.
I release her wrist and cup her face with both hands, tilting her head back as I deepen the kiss. She makes a sound in the back of her throat.
She tastes like fire and fury and something I'll never get enough of.
She pushes me with both hands, and I step back, looking at her panting.
I have no idea what she's going to do. Did I mess up? Cross a line I shouldn't?
Should I apologize? Tell her I made a mistake?
But it's not a mistake. It's the only thing that's felt right since I've been here.
"Should I stop?" I ask, my voice low and rough.
"Don't you fucking dare stop," she says and comes at me. Her hands fly around my neck as she kisses me back.
Her hands fist my hair as we kiss, and I lift her up. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I press her against the wall, our bodies flush as her nails dig into my skin.
"Octavian," she says, and if she ever stopped saying my name, I think I'd lose my mind.
I kiss her like I've been starving for it, like she's the only thing keeping me alive.
Her body fits against mine like it was made for this, and now that I have her, I'm not stopping.