Chapter 23 Kaian
Kaian
Kaian shifts and rolls onto his side. He lets his fingers trail over the expensive, soft sheets, trying to catch Quinn’s whiskey-smooth drawl, tinged with something Kaian had only ever heard when he’d been hiding in the bayous and oldest parishes of Louisiana.
He remembers the feel of Quinn’s hand on the back of his neck, his chest pressed against Kaian’s in solidarity, as Kaian faced Vincenzo’s men, giving his confidence a much-needed boost.
He hears Soren’s deeper tones, sharper bursts of words meant to convey something in the shortest way possible.
But Kaian had seen those words turn flirty, had heard them talk about his favorite movie, and had heard that voice rumble “angel.” Heat floods Kaian’s cheeks as he remembers Soren’s full mouth on his, his tongue seducing him through his first-ever kiss.
He may have noticed similar things about people passing through his life, but never has he been curious about what more he could learn if he truly paid attention.
What else can he learn about them if he stays?
There’s no doubt in Kaian’s mind that he wants to stay, but his stomach churns because he’s already stayed too long. He’s putting them at risk—putting them in the Academy’s sights.
In the past, questions like this meant he’d flip his coin, but he hasn’t flipped his coin once since he met them.
Fate has been loud as hell this time. More like a sledgehammer to the head.
Insistent like the ache between his legs and the one in his chest that says he’s right where he needs to be, right now.
Beyond the closed bedroom door, bodies move through the light that trails down the hall, and new voices join Quinn and Soren. One is higher, sweeter. Another lower. Older. That voice sounds tired.
Sitting up, he drops his bare feet to the floor, feels the hardwood beneath his soles, and places his hand over his heart.
It’s not racing like it normally would be at the idea that there are strangers in the safe house, and maybe it knows something he doesn’t.
When he pulls the door open, he can’t see all the way into the living room, but there’s a man with his back to Kaian.
He is tall, with salt-and-pepper hair, and the kind of energy that turns heads. His back is broad, narrowing into slim hips, dressed in hospital scrubs with bare feet. He’s speaking, and his voice is like velvet-covered steel.
“Why don’t we catch a few hours, and then we can—” He stops abruptly. His head snaps around, navy-blue eyes flashing red as they pin Kaian in place. His strong jaw drops open in surprise, and the same recognition in his face zings through every cell in Kaian’s body.
“Shit, I can’t believe I forgot about Kai,” Soren says.
Kaian can see why, too, because by the time he reaches the end of the hall, all eyes are on him.
Five gorgeous men stand staring. Besides Soren, Quinn, and the salt-and-pepper Daddy-type (who is now gaping like a fish out of water), there’s another shorter man.
Slender with pink hair, he looks like he laughs with his whole body.
Even in his too-big scrubs, he exudes individuality and a level of confidence Kaian rarely sees.
He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet and grinning like this is his best day ever.
And the last…is so nerdy-hot. Glasses shield his sharp gaze, and Kaian gets the impression that this man doesn’t miss a thing.
His thick eyebrows are arched, and like Salt-and-Pepper, his jaw is hanging open in surprise.
He looks like you could hug him, and it would feel like coming home after a long day.
Kai runs a nervous hand through his hair and tries to smile. “Hey guys…uh…what did I miss?”
The silence shifts from “pleasant surprise” straight into “hella awkward.” Shifting on bare feet, Kaian is tempted to run and lock himself in the bathroom if no one says anything in the next five seconds.
The feeling is driven by the feeling that he can’t tell if Salt-and-Pepper is upset or angry, and somehow it’s his reaction that seems to matter most right now.
“Okay,” the pink-haired one says, breathless.
“Wow. Hi. I’m Isaac. Or you can call me Izzy.
” He crosses the room fast, leaping over the coffee table and skidding to a halt like he’s run into an invisible force field.
He doesn’t touch, but Kaian sees his slim fingers twitch at his sides like he’s afraid Kaian might vanish.
“I’m Kaian. Or Kai.” He doesn’t mean to whisper it, but he’s still feeling Salt-and-Pepper’s stare, and that urge to run is quickly morphing into the embarrassing need to cry.
That’s not something Kaian does—ever—and the feeling is freaking him out.
Crossing his arms, he feels his borrowed shirt slip down over his shoulder.
Someone moans under their breath, but Kaian doesn’t know anyone well enough to guess who. “Am I interrupting something?”
Isaac laughs, and Kaian feels a single, soft finger on the back of his hand.
As with Soren and Quinn, there’s no golden web stretched out in every direction, and Kai hadn’t known he was bracing for it until his shoulders drop in relief. There is a sizzle of attraction, though, lighting up his nerve endings.
Isaac sucks in a small breath, too, but unlike Kaian, his smile gets even bigger. Guileless grey eyes twinkle with humor. “As if you could. We just got here ourselves.” Isaac looks around the room and huffs as if he can’t believe no one else has said a word.
“That’s my bonded mate, Elias.” He points to Hot-Nerdy-Guy. “Cancer, chef, and great kisser. Likes cooking, reality TV, and more podcasts than I can name.”
The chef part is confusing, given that three of them look like they just got off the set of some medical drama. It’s not just the clothes, either. All three exude a weary fatigue that only comes from long nights and a heck of a lot of stress.
Elias waves, and his cheeks flush, as if he hadn’t intended to wave at all. It’s so freaking cute, Kaian can’t help but smile in return. He’s got that “he’s so uncool, he’s cool” vibe that screams all-around good guy.
“Uh, hi,” Kaian says, matching Elias’s smile, and he’s horrified to feel his own cheeks go red.
Who am I right now? Echoes in his head. He’s blushed more in the past ten hours than he has in his whole life.
Isaac’s soft finger slips into Kaian’s hand, and in the next instant, he’s weaving their fingers together. His hand is smaller than Kaian’s, but there’s a firm strength when he pulls him toward Salt-and-Pepper.
When they’re within two feet of the big man, Isaac squeezes Kaian’s hand. “This is our Alpha,” he says, giving Kaian a tiny nudge. “Connall O’Daire.”
The air changes, and everyone in the room holds their breath.
The word obviously means something to them, and he realizes—together with Isaac telling him that Elias was his bonded mate—that the five of them must be Were.
The introduction makes him feel out of place, like there’s something he should know.
Did each of them go through this presentation to the alpha? Or is it just him?
Kaian knows about that debunked, messed-up study done about wild wolves that birthed the ridiculous “alpha-male” trend. He’d seen enough television in bus terminals and read enough magazines in the library that covered the topic at length. But this doesn’t sound like some fake social construct.
This moment, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with this sparkling stranger who feels like sunlight personified, feels big.
Isaac makes the word “alpha” sound like “leader” or “king”.
Everyone is watching Connall now. Waiting. Like there’s something momentous about to happen, and only Connall has the authority to make it real.
Kaian looks up and meets Connall’s navy-blue eyes.
Where his heart had been steady in the bedroom, now it pounds so hard that Kaian wonders if the Weres can hear it or see it move the front of his borrowed shirt.
He watches as a million emotions flash over the alpha’s face—surprise, fear, and at the end, resignation.
Whatever Isaac has set in motion isn’t something Connall O’Daire wants, and it stings, bringing back the tears he’d been holding down since his first brush with rejection tonight.
But then Connall takes Kaian’s hand. Like with every man in this room so far, Kaian isn’t catapulted into Connall’s past and future.
This time, though, he thinks about pulling on the Plain—testing the knowledge, pushing past the boundaries, and seeing what has made this man so…
afraid, and what looks weary to the very bottom of his soul.
“Kaian,” Connall rumbles, and his other hand engulfs Kaian’s much, much smaller one, and a sizzle of desire zips straight down Kaian’s spine. “Mate.”
The word is delivered like a vow, with a small smile, as if it’s rusty. The expression chases away the other emotions, replacing his earlier resignation with a glimmer of happiness and acceptance.
It feels sacred, and when the others let out their collective breaths, Kaian finds he does, too. He tries to ask questions, but all he manages past the lump in his throat is a quiet, “Yes.”
Connall adjusts the big white shirt up and over Kaian’s shoulder again, using gentle fingers to button the shirt. He’s mortified to realize he’s hard under the shirt, but when Connall gets to those bottom buttons, he is very careful to avoid touching him.
“There. Better,” Connall murmurs, voice low and reverent. His hand hovers for a beat over the last button still undone at Kaian’s throat, mouth opening and closing on a question before he shakes his head.
“What?” Kaian finally has to ask when Connall can’t seem to decide what answers he needs first.
“I think the boss man is trying to figure out what he’s going to do with a magic-user mate who looks like he should be in high school,” Quinn says, coming up behind Kaian and laying a hand on his shoulder.