Chapter 25 Keira
KEIRA
I'm still sitting at the kitchen island, trying to calm my racing heart when I hear rustling from the pantry.
"What the hell are you doing?" I speak as loud as I can to Octavian without breaking what I'd call a whisper.
He doesn't answer, just continues rummaging through my food, and when he pulls his hand back out, he's holding a gun.
I blink. "Did you just get a gun from my pantry?"
"Yeah," he says, checking the magazine without looking at me. "I stashed it in a bag of chips you don't eat."
My jaw drops. "Are you serious? What if I wanted to eat them?"
He slides the magazine back into place with a sharp click. "Then you would have found a gun."
"You are nuts, Octavian.”
He finally looks at me, and just smirks. "No, Keira. Come on. I put it in a side panel I found, just in case."
Another knock sounds at the door, louder this time, more insistent.
He turns and walks down the hall, gun held low at his side. I slide off the kitchen chair and creep to the corner of the hallway, peeking around the edge to watch him approach the door.
He checks the peephole first, then opens the door, his body angled to block entry. He's keeping the gun behind the door, out of view, so I guess that's a good sign.
I shift my head to try and see out, and I catch a glimpse of someone in a brown uniform. It's a delivery guy, and he holds a clipboard and something else.
The man says something I can't hear as Octavian signs awkwardly with his left hand, takes whatever the man hands him, and shuts the door. He turns around as he inspects a large envelope in his hand, like he's half-convinced it might explode.
When he seems satisfied it's not going to detonate, he walks back down the hall toward me.
"For you," he says, holding it out to me.
I take it, fingers brushing his. The contact sends me back to less than thirty minutes ago, when those same fingers were gripping my hips, pulling me back onto him, making me scream his name.
I swallow hard and focus on the envelope.
The paper is thick, expensive. Cream-colored with gold foil embossing along the edges. I recognize it immediately.
"It's the Shadowharbor Foundation's major fundraiser gala," I say, tearing open the seal and pulling out the invitation. The lettering is elegant, scripted in gold ink.
You are cordially invited to the Annual Shadowharbor Foundation Gala. Black tie. November 12th. The Fairmont Mandarin Plaza.
That's one week from now.
"They overnight invitations?" Octavian asks, his tone skeptical.
"Yes." I flip the card over, scanning the details on the back. "It's one of the biggest events in Boston. Think politicians, corporate bigwigs, Boston's elite. Everyone who's everyone will be there," I say, looking up at him. "Big donors. Power players. The works."
I look back down and read it over again, my mind already cataloging who will be in attendance. Shadowharbor's board. Their major investors. For sure someone connected to the Morrígan Order.
I look up at Octavian. "You know I'm going to this, right?"
He leans against the wall, rubbing his chin with the barrel of his gun, his dark eyes distant, thinking.
"What?" I ask.
"I'm trying to think of how to get you not to go."
I turn on my heel and walk away, heading back toward the kitchen. "You'll have to do a lot more than what you did earlier to stop me."
"You're really gonna throw sex in my face right now?" he asks, following me.
I smile. "Hey, if the shoe fits."
"If the what?"
Just as I'm about to explain what I mean, my phone rings. I run up and snatch it off the counter, glancing at the screen.
It's Declan.
I swipe to answer, my pulse already jumping. "What the fuck, Dec?"
"Did Callum call you?" he asks, his voice strained.
"No," I say, glancing at Octavian as he walks back into the kitchen, still holding the gun. "But he went looking for Martin, didn't he?"
"Yeah. Hey, about that. He may have shot himself."
"I know, Declan. I was on the phone with him when he did."
Silence.
"What?!"
"Yeah," I say and turn to face Octavian as I lean against the counter. "He called me. Started rambling about the Phantom King and feathers and how my family destroyed his. Then he shot himself. Right there. On the phone."
My throat tightens. I can still hear the gunshot. The echo of it hasn't left my head.
"Jesus Christ, Keira." Declan's voice drops with something between anger and worry. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." I'm not, but that's not the point right now. "Are you with Callum?"
"Just pulled up."
"The main house?"
"Yes."
"Stay there. I'm coming."
I hang up before he can argue and look at Octavian. "Come on. I'll fill you in on the way."
He doesn't move immediately, just watches me with that unreadable expression he does so well.
"Keira—"
"Don't." I hold up a hand, cutting him off. "I'm going. You can either come with me or stay here and stare at my pantry for more places to hide guns. Your choice."
"I was just going to say we need to change. You're in a towel, and I'm in gym shorts."
"Oh," I say, realizing my defiance kicked in unnecessarily. "Sorry. Yes," I sigh, "let's get dressed, and then we'll go."
"Okay. I'll meet you at the front door," he says and walks toward his bedroom.
I head upstairs and take a few deep breaths to calm myself. It's all just so much.
Once I relax, I get dressed.
I throw on some black jeans, boots, and a fitted sweater that doesn't scream I just had sex with my bodyguard in my basement gym.
When I step back into the kitchen, Octavian is waiting by the door, keys already in hand. He's changed into a black long-sleeve shirt, black jeans, and tactical-looking boots.
Even out of his suit, he's damn handsome.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Yeah."
He opens the door and steps out first, scanning the driveway, the street, the trees. Always looking.
I follow him to the SUV, and he opens the passenger door. "From now on, maybe you ride up front with me."
I look at him and slide in without a second thought, giving him my answer. He shuts the door, and I watch him walk around.
He climbs into the driver's seat and starts the engine. He pulls out of the driveway, and we drive in silence for a few minutes, the city blurring past the windows.
"Okay, so fill me in," Octavian says finally, his voice low.
I glance at him.
"Where should I start?" I ask.
He looks at me. "The beginning."
"You sure? It might make you reconsider your assignment," I say jokingly but secretly worried.
We stop at a red light, and he looks at me. He then grabs the back of my neck and pulls me toward him as he leans in and kisses me. His lips feel soft and inviting.
"Nothing on earth could make me reconsider being at your side," he says and then releases me, and starts driving.
I turn bright red and rub my lips, feeling way more giddy than I should.
"Okay," I say softly, more to myself than him. "Here it goes."
Improved Scene
I'm still sitting at the kitchen island, trying to calm my racing heart when I hear rustling from the pantry.
"What the hell are you doing?" I speak as loud as I can to Octavian without breaking what I'd call a whisper.
He doesn't answer, just continues rummaging through my food, and when he pulls his hand back out, he's holding a gun.
I blink. "Did you just get a gun from my pantry?"
"Yeah." He checks the magazine like this is perfectly normal. "Cheddar jalapeno. You haven't touched that bag in three weeks."
My jaw drops. "You've been tracking which chips I eat?"
"I've been tracking everything you do." He slides the magazine back into place with a sharp click. "The chips were just convenient."
"That's—"
"Smart?" He looks at me now, and there's something satisfied in his expression. "I know."
Another knock sounds at the door, louder this time, more insistent.
I wave toward the door. "Can you please go be paranoid over there instead?"
"That's my job now." But he's already moving, gun held low at his side.
I slide off the kitchen chair and creep to the corner of the hallway, watching him approach the door.
He checks the peephole first, then opens the door just wide enough, his body angled to block entry. The gun stays behind the doorframe, out of view.
I shift to try and see out. Brown uniform. Delivery guy. Clipboard and a large envelope.
Octavian signs awkwardly with his left hand, takes the envelope, and shuts the door. He inspects it like he's half-convinced it might explode, turning it over twice before he seems satisfied.
When he walks back, he holds it out to me.
"For you."
I take it. Our fingers brush and my brain unhelpfully replays those same fingers gripping my hips less than thirty minutes ago, pulling me back onto him, making me scream his name into my forearm because the gym echoes.
I look down at the envelope very deliberately.
The paper is thick, expensive. Cream-colored with gold foil embossing along the edges.
"It's the Shadowharbor Foundation gala," I say, tearing it open.
You are cordially invited to the Annual Shadowharbor Foundation Gala. Black tie. November 12th. The Fairmont Mandarin Plaza.
One week from now.
"They overnight invitations?" Octavian's tone suggests he already knows the answer and doesn't like it.
"It's one of the biggest events in Boston. Politicians, corporate bigwigs, everyone who's anyone." I flip the card over. "Big donors. Power players." I look up at him. "Definitely someone connected to the Morrígan Order."
"You're not going."
I turn on my heel and head back toward the kitchen. "You'll have to do a lot more than what you did earlier to convince me of that."
"You're really gonna use sex as leverage right now?"
I glance back at him. "I'm just saying. Your persuasion techniques need work."
"My techniques seemed pretty effective when you were—"
"Octavian."
He follows me into the kitchen, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "What? I'm just saying, you were very convinced—"
My phone rings.
I snatch it off the counter. Declan.
"What the fuck, Dec?"
"Did Callum call you?" His voice is tight, strained.
"No." I glance at Octavian as he leans against the counter, still holding the gun like it's an extension of his arm. "But he went looking for Martin, didn't he?"
"Yeah. About that. He may have shot himself."
"I know. I was on the phone with him when he did."
Silence.
"What?"
"Yeah." I turn to face Octavian fully. "Martin called me. Started rambling about the Phantom King and feathers and how my family destroyed his. Then he shot himself. Right there. On the phone."
My throat tightens. I can still hear the gunshot.
"Jesus Christ, Keira." Declan's voice drops. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." I'm not. "Are you with Callum?"
"Just pulled up."
"The main house?"
"Yes."
"Stay there. I'm coming."
I hang up before he can argue and look at Octavian. "We need to go. I'll fill you in on the way."
He doesn't move. Just watches me with that unreadable expression.
"Keira—"
"Don't." I hold up a hand. "I'm going. You can either come with me or stay here and find more creative places to hide weapons. Your choice."
"You're in a towel."
I blink. Look down. Right.
"And I'm in gym shorts," he continues. "So unless you want to show up to a crime scene looking like we just—"
"Okay. Yes. We should change."
"Probably."
I head for the stairs, then pause. "For the record, I wasn't going to let you stop me."
"I know." He's already walking toward his room. "Doesn't mean I wasn't going to try."
Upstairs, I take a few deep breaths. Pull myself together.
I throw on black jeans, boots, and a fitted sweater that doesn't scream I just had sex with my bodyguard in my basement gym.
When I come back down, Octavian's waiting by the door. Black long-sleeve shirt, black jeans, tactical boots. Keys already in hand.
He looks unfairly good.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Yeah."
He opens the door and steps out first, scanning the driveway, the street, the trees.
Always looking.
I follow him to the SUV. He opens the passenger door.
"You're riding up front now."
It's not a question.
I look at him. Slide in.
He shuts the door, walks around. When he climbs into the driver's seat, he doesn't start the engine right away. Just looks at me.
"What?" I ask.
"You're going to tell me everything."
"I said I'd fill you in."
"No." His hand comes up, fingers curling around the back of my neck. Not rough. Just... there. "Everything. No more half-truths. No more protecting me from whatever you think is too much."
My pulse kicks up. "Octavian—"
"I'm not going anywhere." His thumb brushes the side of my neck once. "But I can't keep you safe if you keep me in the dark."
I should argue. Point out that I've been handling this family for years without him.
Instead I hear myself say, "Okay."
Something shifts in his expression. His hand slides away and he starts the engine.
We pull out of the driveway. The city blurs past.
"So," he says after a moment. "Start talking."
"Where should I start?"
"The beginning."
"You sure? It might make you reconsider your assignment."
We stop at a red light. He looks at me, then reaches over and pulls me toward him by the back of my neck.
The kiss is brief. Certain.
When he lets go, he doesn't look away. "Nothing on this earth could make me reconsider being exactly where I am."
He starts driving again like he didn't just make my stomach flip.
I turn toward the window so he won't see me smile. Touch my lips.
"Okay," I say quietly. "Here it goes."