Chapter 17 Kairo #2
And layered over all of it was my father’s scent, clinging to her hair and skin because she had slept in his room, not because of anything else.
Nyx stopped in the doorway, taking inventory. She was still wearing his shirt, and it stretched slightly over her chest, slid over her curves.
One shoulder was bare. Her legs were bare. She looked like temptation and trouble and the woman you could not pretend was a strategy.
“Smells good,” she said.
“It is not even cooked yet,” I said, immediately hating myself for sounding twelve.
Nyx studied me for a long second, and her gaze flicked to my hands.
“You are doing the thing,” she said.
“The pretending you are fine thing.”
I set the spatula down and wiped my palms on my sweatpants, because suddenly it mattered that I looked steady. Then I pulled a clean mug from the cabinet and set it in front of her.
“Coffee,” I said. “If you want it sweet, tell me now so I don’t mess it up.”
I slumped. “I am not fine.”
She crossed the room slowly and leaned against the counter across from me.
“You are pouting.”
“I am not.”
I paused. “Okay. I am pouting.”
She smiled, softened just a little. “Why?”
The honest answers crowded my throat.
“You did not say good morning like you meant it,” I said instead.
Nyx smiled, small and real. “That is not what this is about.”
“It is a little about that,” I admitted, and my cheeks warmed.
She said my name, and the way she said it did something to my chest.
“Kairo.”
“I know he is the prime,” I blurted. “I know he decides. I know you did not choose the bed like it was romantic. I get it.”
Nyx studied me. Then she tugged lightly at the hem of my shirt.
“You look like someone took your favorite toy,” she said.
“That is rude.”
“It is accurate.”
She leaned closer, warmth brushing my side, heat restrained but present.
“But I came down here,” she said.
That cracked something open.
“You ran,” she added.
“I did not run.”
“You ran.”
I exhaled. “Okay. I ran.”
She watched me for a long moment. Then she said, “You think you have to earn affection.”
I laughed weakly. “Do I not.”
“With me,” she said, “you do not get to perform your way into safety.”
She turned away, then glanced back.
“How do you feel about calling dibs?”
My entire body lit up.
“For the day,” she added. “All play. No work. You want dibs, then you do it right. Court me back.”
I stepped closer, slow enough to give her space to change her mind, and stopped where her warmth brushed my chest without contact.
“Okay,” I said. “Then you tell me what feels good and what feels like a trap, and I do not cross the line.”
Her lashes lowered, and her scent shifted, sweetening for half a second before she pulled it back under control.
“Dibs,” I said anyway, softer.
She smiled. “Dibs.”
Something eased in my chest, and it was enough to make me brave instead of just loud. I set the spatula down and stepped closer, keeping my hands visible the way you did with a woman who had learned to watch wrists and exits.
“Okay,” I said. “It means I plan it. It means I keep you safe. It means we do not pretend the world outside Meridian stopped being ugly just because I want to see you smile.”
Nyx’s eyes narrowed, not angry, just assessing. She did not want a babysitter. She wanted proof.
“Safe is a big word,” she said.
“I know,” I answered. “That’s why I’m not offering you comfort. I’m offering you control.”
Her brows lifted. “Explain.”
I leaned my hip against the counter across from her, close enough that her warmth slid against me, not touching but present. My alpha wanted to press in, to put my scent on her throat and call it a promise.
I swallowed the urge. Want was easy. Discipline made a man dangerous.
“You pick three things,” I said. “Where we go, what we eat, and what you want to bring back for your nest. I pick the route and the perimeter, and I handle anyone who forgets how to behave.”
Nyx’s mouth twitched. “My nest.”
“You have one,” I said. “Even if you refuse to call it that. Your body already knows what it needs, and your heat’s on the horizon whether or not you want it to be.”
Her scent spiked, sweet and sharp, and my pulse jumped with it. There it was, that subtle shift that had been getting louder the last couple days.
Nyx’s gaze held mine. “You think you can handle that.”
“I think I can handle anyone who tries to use it against you,” I said, and the cheer drained out of my voice without my permission. “Including us, if we’re not careful.”
That landed between us.
Nyx stared at me for a beat, then nodded once. “Fine. Three things.”
I exhaled.
“First,” she said, “we do not go somewhere you own.”
“That’s fair,” I said.
“Second,” she added, “I want food that does not come from a private chef who hates seasoning.”
I laughed, and it came out real. “Also fair.”
“And third,” she said, eyes narrowing, “I want something for my room that is mine, not borrowed from Meridian.”
The words were simple, but my alpha heard the need under them.
“Done,” I said. “Finish your breakfast. I’ll make a call.”
I did not call a driver because Meridian always had a driver waiting. I called to change the city.
Within ten minutes, the tower’s private elevator was cleared and the lobby’s cameras were running on a mirrored loop. The route from the garage to the street was swept twice, not once.
After the alert earlier, nobody was pretending we did not have eyes on us.
Nyx walked out of the bedroom wing in Malachi’s shirt anyway, like a provocation. I tried not to stare. I failed.
“Put on shoes,” I told her.
She arched a brow. “Or what.”
“Or I carry you,” I said, and let my grin show even while my gaze stayed on the corridor corners.
Nyx made a sound that was almost a laugh and disappeared into her room. When she came back, she was in jeans and a fitted long sleeve, hair pulled up with curls spilling loose, and a small bag slung across her body.
“Ready,” she said.
“Always,” I replied.
The SUV waiting for us looked civilian if you did not know what you were looking at. Inside, it was reinforced, armored, and wired into Meridian’s security feed.
Nyx paused at the passenger door. “This is a lot.”
“It’s Chicago,” I said, and kept my voice light even as my body went sharp. “And you are an unbonded omega walking around with a target on her back. The lot is not about you being fragile. It’s about other people being stupid.”
Her eyes held mine, and then she nodded once and got in.
We did not drive far. Nyx had asked not to go somewhere Meridian owned, so I took her to a place Meridian respected.
A little spot on the South Side that sold jerk chicken so spicy it made grown men sweat. The kitchen door was guarded, not because of cops but because of syndicates.
Nyx blinked at the storefront. “You brought me here.”
“I brought you to people who mind their business,” I said. “And who will mind it even harder when they see who I am.”
We walked in together, and the room shifted. Eyes lifted. Shoulders squared. Nobody smiled too wide.
I angled us toward the back booth with the wall at our backs and a clean line to the door, the way Meridian men sat when they wanted the room to understand they were paying attention. Then I paused, palm open between us.
I did not reach for Nyx’s hand right away. I waited until she chose it.
She did, after two steps, her fingers sliding into mine. My alpha purred and I kept my grip gentle.
Touch was not a trap. I wouldn't treat it that way.
Halfway through lunch, the room changed again. This time, it was recognition with an edge.
Two men came in wearing coats too heavy for the weather. Their eyes swept the room in the same pattern mine did. Nyx’s shoulders went still.
I did not move fast. Fast made people nervous. I moved deliberate.
I shifted my chair an inch, putting my body between Nyx and the new arrivals without making it obvious. My hand stayed on the table near my water glass. My other hand rested lightly on Nyx’s thigh under the booth.
“Eat,” I told her softly.
Nyx glanced at me. “Kairo.”
“I got you,” I said.
One man started toward our booth. My smile stayed in place. My eyes did not.
He stopped two tables away.
“Cross,” he said.
“Wrong neighborhood,” I replied.
He looked past me, aiming for Nyx. “That her.”
“That’s my date,” I said, still polite. “And you’re done looking.”
He leaned closer. “We heard the tower got itself an omega problem. Heard the Underworld Council been sniffing around.”
Nyx’s fingers tightened on her fork.
“You heard wrong,” I said.
“And if I didn’t,” he pushed.
I leaned in too, keeping my voice soft.
“Let me be generous,” I said. “You walk out. You forget what you saw. You do not say her name in any room that has a door.”
The man’s eyes sharpened. “And if I don’t.”
My smile widened.
“Then you’ll learn why people call me cute,” I said. “It’s because I’m the one my father sends in first when he wants the room calm, and I’m the one he sends in last when he wants the room empty.”
A beat passed. Then he stepped back.
“Enjoy your lunch,” he said.
“I will,” I replied.
They left, and the room loosened by degrees. Nyx exhaled slowly, and her scent shifted, sweet with adrenaline, sharp with the aftertaste of fear. My alpha wanted to erase it with something safer.
I kept my hand on her thigh and waited for her to decide what she needed.
“You were different,” she breathed.
“I’m always different,” I tried, aiming for a tease.
Nyx’s gaze held mine. “No. You were… mean.”
I huffed a laugh. “Polite mean.”
“Mm,” she said. “You can do that.”
“I can do more than that,” I admitted. “I just don’t like showing it to you. I’d rather you get my soft first.”
Nyx reached for my wrist and brushed her fingers against it. She did it slow and deliberate. “Soft is not the opposite of scary,” she said.
No. It wasn’t. Not in Meridian.
Nyx kept her fingers on my wrist for a beat longer than necessary. Her thumb moved once, a slow stroke over my pulse, and my body lit up.