Chapter 9
Kane
With Blair slung over my shoulder, I push open the front door to the cabin.
Arms flailing, heels kicking, body twisting with all her strength, she’s fighting like hell as I step inside and kick the door shut with my boot.
“What the fuck?” Rook questions, his eyes darting between me and the woman slung over my shoulder.
“Holy shit, Kane!” Cal shouts, already on his feet.
“She’s fine,” I say, breathless but controlled. “I mean, she’s real fucking pissed at me, but she’s fine. She’s safe.”
That part matters the most to me. She’s safe, even if she hates me for it.
Kylie’s eyes go wide, and Rook moves instantly, pulling her into his side.
He’s protective, as he should be. Not only do the elites want us dead, but they also want anyone associated with us dead too.
And well, he doesn’t know the full reality of this just yet, but I’ve made shit a hell of a lot worse with what I’ve just done.
Blair bucks harder, and I adjust my grip on her waist.
“Who is she?” Cal asks.
“Her name is Blair.”
The second Rook’s eyes lock on hers, something shifts. He goes still, and it’s then that I register she’s still thrashing but she’s not screaming. I can feel her lungs working, but she’s not making any noise at all.
I frown slightly. Is that because of me?
Rook meets my eyes. His brow is furrowed, and his mouth is set in a firm line. It’s clear not only is my elder brother reading Blair’s thoughts right now, but he would appreciate an explanation for my current situation. “Kane, why do you have her?”
“I had to,” I say. “I had to save her.”
I feel Blair’s chest move with force against my back, and I know she’s trying to scream. But again, nothing comes out.
Rook’s astute gaze flicks from her to me and back to her.
And that’s when I feel it—the bond. Even with her this pissed at me, even with her thinking I’m some kind of lunatic who has ruined her life, the draw to her is pulsing inside my ribs.
I can feel her intentions bleeding into my veins, into my mind, and I know without a doubt she’s still too fucking na?ve for her own well-being.
I know that her screams are being directed at the wrong people.
And I know that I’m able to stop them.
Holy fuck.
I swallow and focus on trying to explain. “She thought she was being chosen,” I expand. “Thought it was an honor. A fucking privilege. She was just going to walk into the viper’s fucking den willingly. She has no idea what they were planning to do to her.”
That part makes my jaw tighten.
Because she really didn’t know. Still doesn’t know.
She thought Damien Snow was a potential fairy-tale fucking husband.
Thought it was exciting to get to fly to New York and spend time at his penthouse.
Thought it was just the beginning of this new, glamorous life she’s been preparing for since she was a kid.
“Fuck me,” Cal sighs. “You met her at the preview, didn’t you?”
“What preview?” Rook asks, his head swiveling back and forth between the two of us.
But neither one of us wants to admit to him the big risk we took by following Holland to that masquerade party—the same event that Holland planned on bringing Kylie to.
Cal’s jaw ticks as he stares at me. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.”
He’s pissed. And I don’t blame him. I’ve kept him completely in the dark on purpose like a total fucking asshole.
“She didn’t know the truth, Cal!” I snap. “She thinks it’s some kind of fucking fairy tale! Her goddamn mother was helping her shop for clothes! I couldn’t not step in. I couldn’t not save her. I had to. I fucking had to.”
I don’t mention Mark. Or Evan. Or the fact that I left their lifeless bodies in front of the Windsor mansion.
I also make a concerted effort not to think about it, so Rook can’t use his telepathy voodoo on my brain.
It’s an unfair omission, but fuck, my brothers aren’t ready to hear the rest of this story.
They’re not ready to learn that I’ve probably—definitely—put us in an all-out war with the elites.
“Fuck, Kane,” Rook mutters. “Fucking fuck.”
“She thinks she knows,” I continue. “But she has no clue. I couldn’t let her go there. I had to stop it.” Because if I hadn’t, the odds of her coming back were zero.
“You’re locked in,” Rook whispers.
Cal’s head snaps toward him.
“This isn’t just any woman, Cal,” Rook says. “This is her.”
The word lands heavier than it should.
Her.
Fated mate.
Mine.
“Oh fuck,” Cal breathes. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Kane. Do not tell me this is what I think it is. Please, do not fucking tell me.”
Sorry, brother, but it is. It most certainly is.
I adjust a still-bucking Blair on my shoulder. And I know it’s high time I stop tiptoeing around the truth. Clearly, my brothers know.
“Cal, you remember when you asked Rook if it was immediate with Kylie?” I toss out, my voice sounding steadier than I feel. Between the pulsing bond that threads me to Blair and the reality of what I’ve done, I’m a bundle of nerves. “Well, I can confirm that it is, in fact, immediate.”
Rook looks up toward the ceiling, running a hand through his dark hair.
Cal stares at me with his jaw gaped open.
Both of their minds are probably racing with the reality—I’m still twenty-seven years old. The change, this bond, isn’t supposed to be possible until I turn twenty-eight. And sometimes, even then, it can take male vampires until they’re thirty to find their fated mate.
As far as we all know, this is too early. This shouldn’t even be possible. And yet my body recognized her like it had been waiting for her for centuries.
Silence crashes down around us.
Blair is still fighting me. She’s still terrified and thinking I ruined her life. And she most certainly has no clue that I just declared open war to keep her breathing.
The elites won’t call this a misunderstanding. They’ll call it retaliation. Add in the fact that they were already hunting us because of Kylie, and it’s clear shit has hit the proverbial fan.
Not only did I kill two more of their gofers, I took from an important elite. Damien Snow believes Blair is his, and I’ve stopped that. To him, to them, I’ve stolen something they believe is rightfully theirs.
They won’t ignore that. They won’t forgive it.
And the irony of it all? Blair Windsor doesn’t even want to be here.
But I’d rather she hate me than be dead.
If I could do it all over again, I’d do worse if I needed to. For her.
That realization settles deep in my chest like a promise.
This war isn’t theoretical anymore.
It’s here.
And I just lit the match.