8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Killian
I allow the cold water to cascade down my face as I try to cool off from the heat of the workout. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s from more than the pure ecstasy that runs through me whenever I’m near Naomi. Without looking down, I can feel my dick twitch with the memory of every jab, every mouthy comeback, every moment of her pure fire.
Growling at myself, I turn the water even colder, hoping to extinguish my need. I refuse to give myself any form of satisfaction while the one I really want is under the same roof. And definitely not while she’s not comfortable here. The next time I get a release, I plan to make her experience that pleasure tenfold first.
I unconsciously start playing with the ring I have on my pinky finger. It’s a gold band with a raised skull. Simple looking, but holds a world of twisted secrets.
My phone dings, alerting me that there’s a car approaching the perimeter of the property. I have cameras all throughout my compound. With the business I’m in, I don’t take any chances. I quickly get out and change into sweats, then run downstairs as I towel dry my hair.
The doorbell echoes through the halls as I reach the landing. Good timing.
When I open the door, I’m met with a faceless person. I can’t tell if it’s a man or woman with their loose fitting clothes; including a hoodie wrapped tightly around their head and ski mask obscuring their face. Without a word, they shove a scanner toward me.
As if by second nature, I bring my left hand forward to have my pinky ring scanned. Once they’re content with the scan, they hand me an envelope and walk back to their car. I kick the door closed and open the envelope to find a thick piece of cream-colored paper—it’s blank. Without needing to go grab the acetone to reveal its message, I know that it’s an invitation to this year's Mortes Ostium Masquerade Ball. I always make sure to make my eight kills a year to be invited because it’s the easiest way to have workshops, sales, and networking with those in the same field. They collect DNA evidence to track and confirm the kills. I decide to look at it more closely later to find out the location because this year I don’t want to attend unless I’m ready to present Naomi to the secret society as my partner.
That invitation was the push I needed to finally solidify my plans and go get my fiery soulmate. Now, here’s hoping that the month I have left is enough time to win her heart over and get her initiated into the Mortes Ostium too. They're a very exclusive society. We don’t know all the members and their roles. Some of us meet yearly at the ball, but it’s always a masquerade. Anonymity and staying hidden in the world is their strongest value.
I’m practically skipping as I make my way to her room—excited to get to know her better. At least from her, as opposed to the sleuthing I did before she was brought home. And for her to get to know me better.
Once I make it in front of her bedroom door, I knock . . . even though I know it’s unlocked.
The first night, it was important to lock her in her room in case she woke up in a panic—which she did. But now that she knows and generally understands what’s going on, she has free reign.
“Come in, you ass. Not like I can get out without someone opening the door.”
I snort as I open the door.
“It’s been unlocked, actually. I only locked it the first night for your safety. I didn’t want you to run out half-cocked after — ”
“After you drugged me, you mean?” She raises her eyebrow in challenge.
Choosing to ignore her, I continue, “Plus, didn’t anyone teach you about chivalrous men? You always kno — ” My words get lost as I take a deep inhale, the room smells of apple cinnamon. But it’s the beautiful woman standing in the middle that has me losing my mind. She's wearing a dark floral maxi dress that's fitted on top, but flows below the waist with a large slit showing the basic tennis shoes she paired with it. Simple, yet breathtaking.
“Says the man who’s standing there gawking at the woman he kidnapped.” She scoffs at me. “And I bet I’m not the first woman you’ve preyed on.” There’s disgust and anger filling her every word.
With that statement I take three large steps to her so my front is flush with hers. “Let’s get one thing straight—there’s only ever been you, and will only ever be you.”
Her eyes narrow in confusion over what she should feel, but the goosebumps that erupt over her skin give away more than she hopes to share. Or even admit to herself.
“But don’t worry, I understand it’ll take time. How about we start with getting to know each other? Five questions each?” I ask as I step back, allowing her some room to catch the breath stuck in her throat. “Well six and five because of your bargain. But who’s counting?”
Her eyebrows furrow in curiosity, but she’s clearly still hesitant. “Honestly?”
“I’ll never lie to you, firecracker. Come on, let's go.”
We walk in silence as we try to think of questions to ask. I know a lot about her already, but it's all from my stalking. It feels so much more exciting hearing it directly from her.
“You can go first,” I offer once we make it to the edge of the garden. There’s a long, winding walking path along it with beautiful flowers carefully picked out in each section. They’re all my mother’s favorites.
She gnaws on her inner cheek before asking, “Why me?”
“You want the short answer or the long one?”
“The honest one,” she says as she looks across the garden, smiling as she notices the landscaping.
I start by telling her the story of when I first saw her at the coffee shop. “While your physical beauty is obvious and a big plus, it wasn’t what enamored me to you. It was the way you carried yourself. You were strong and assured of yourself . . . there was a quiet darkness that called to me. I had to know more.”
“That sounds — ”
“Like one of those dark romance novels you eat up on a daily basis but don’t tell anyone about?”
“How did y — ”
I give her a knowing smirk. “I was just teasing you. But it is like those fantasy novels you read, dark or not. I may have read a few myself to see what you like about them. That ‘fated mate’ shit that I read about is exactly what it felt like when I saw you. Like my lifeline is tethered to yours and now that I found you, being without you would feel like a fate worse than death,” I admit.
Her eyes bore into mine, softening almost imperceptibly. “I-you-um . . . you read those books for — ” She shakes her head. “Next question. Your turn.”
I smirk at her but decide to relent. “What was it like being fostered with a family you didn’t know?”
The confused feelings she had a moment ago are replaced by pure anger as she narrows her eyes at me. “Why do you want to know?
“Sounds like question two,” I say carefully. Not wanting it to come off like a question.
Naomi rolls her eyes.
“I’m also an orphan, but I was taken in by my uncle. So I was curious how it felt in a similar, yet different, situation.”
“You think you can play the comparison game between my mom’s brutal murder and your parents’ car accident? It’s terrible, but it’s not the same fucking thing. ”
“Still sounds like a question, firecracker.” I’m trying to be playful, but remembering my parents hurts my heart. “My parents were murdered in a brutal home invasion. The car accident is what we told the media, because the PR team said it was better for ‘business aesthetics’ or some shit. I was too young to fully understand.” Naomi’s mouth parts in shock. “They were never able to catch who did it. The only family I had left was my uncle, who was thankfully willing to take me in.” I owe everything to him: the privilege of not getting plucked out of my life after tragedy, making it to be a successful business owner, but most importantly . . . it’s him who nominated me for the Mortes Ostium Society, to connect with like-minded people using violence to let out their emotions. It’s a lot of cloak and dagger bullshit, where only those within the group already can help nominate and recruit new people. “But I hold onto pieces of them.”
“How?” she asks, intrigue filling her eyes.
I smile brightly at her. “Like this garden. My mom loved flowers. Every room in our home had freshly cut flowers from our gardens. This is inspired by the garden she kept, and it’s all her favorites.”
“That’s actually really sweet,” she admits, allowing herself to ease a bit of the tension she always seems so wound up with. “It’s incredible out here.” Naomi looks around the garden, mesmerized.
“Yes, it’s absolutely breathtaking,” I say, but my eyes are only looking at her.
She meets my gaze as her eyes travel back, and her lips quiver, holding something in.
“I’ll pretend like you didn’t ask me all the questions allotted in trying to answer mine. So go ahead.” I allow her some reprieve.
Her gaze softens a little, clearly eased by my family history. “It was . . .” she starts, pausing to ponder how she’s going to explain. “It was weird. It was my mom and me most of my life. My dad died before I was born—not that he wanted anything to do with me.” I see her fists clench and relax repeatedly to ease the tension. “Then she was—she—she died, and my whole life was flipped upside down. I went from my mom penny-pinching to being the adopted child of an elitist family. I was distant at first because all I knew of rich people was that they were assholes . . . I was young and watched too much TV.” She snorts out a small chuckle before smiling. “But my adoptive parents were kind and inviting. They struggled to have another child after their biological daughter was born, so they chose to adopt. My bonus sister and I seemed to be polar opposites. But she was able to see me for me and be the glue that held me together. We quickly bonded, and to this day she’s my best friend.”
“Sounds like even with the heart-wrenching tragedy you were able to find an amazing family.”
“They were everything I needed.” She smiles. It turns to disdain before she continues, “But I would do anything to have my mother back.”
“I can understand that.”
There’s a light scoff that comes from her direction. So light I wonder if I imagined it.
“My turn. So, what happens once I earn my freedom and I still don’t want you?” she asks.
I smirk, confident in this answer. “You’ll want me, but I’ll let you go because a deal is a deal. If you do leave me though . . . I know you’ll be back.”
She turns around to face me. “That’s some lofty fucking confidence you have there.”
I step closer, which makes her hesitate, but not in fear. She takes her bottom lip into her mouth. “I know you feel it. It may be insane. It may be out of the norm. But this”—I gesture between us—“is very much real, even if it feels fantastical.”
“Fated mates aren't a real thing.”
“Aren’t they?” I dare her. She shuffles her feet and brings her hand up to rub at her arm, trying hard not to make direct eye contact. “What’s wrong? You worried I’m right?” I smirk at her.
Naomi scoffs at me. “Fuck, no. I’m just . . . I’m just cold. That’s all.”
“Mmhm. Okay. How about we head in then?”
She turns to look back at the garden we haven’t visited yet, and then at me, who’s challenging her. “But we’re not done.”
“We can walk here again tomorrow. It’s almost dinner time.”
“And the questions?”
“We can save them for later.”
“How about you ask one more?” she pushes.
I laugh. “You don’t like leaving things incomplete.”
“Nope,” she says, popping the P. “But I can leave with it being even.”
“Okay. One for the road then,” I say as I motion for her to start heading back.
“What do you really feel about all of this?” he asks.
“Um . . .” she hesitates.
“Honesty, remember.”
“Call me crazy, but I’m not scared. I’m angry and pissed—but not scared.”
“Tell me more.”
“Just ‘cause you phrase it like a statement, doesn’t mean it's not a question,” she challenges.
“Maybe not. Please?”
“I won’t elaborate. But I’ll give you another truth. You may be onto something when you say there’s darkness within me.”
My lips part as I bite my bottom lip in a sly grin. Before I can say anything else, she continues, “And that's what you should be afraid of. I’m not a scared, defenseless mouse.”
I feel all the blood rush to my dick just from staring at this badass woman. “No, you’re not.”
“I’ll see you at dinner, Killer. I know my way back.” She walks away, sashaying her hips. I want to tell her she’ll get lost. However, I have a feeling she’s a lot more complex than even I realize. The thought makes me even more excited than before.