Chapter Twenty Three
The itchy heat of the collar made it near impossible to sleep. When the watery morning light streamed through the window, I had already been tossing and turning for hours. A few hours of fitful sleep was all I could hope for.
My nails clawed at the tender skin, twisting and tugging to find some kind of relief.
There was none.
With a huff, I threw my legs from the bed and my back arched in a stretch. My spine popped like bubble wrap, my muscles taut with the ache of a workout.
A knock pulled my eyes to the door. It wasn't sharp or demanding, but not gentle and timid. Just there.
The room was slowly beginning to smell like me so it was easy to catch the rush of his scent as my hand hesitated on the handle. My lips pressed together and my mask frosted over.
Dax stood there, not elegantly put together in a suit or prepped in tactical wear. He was in a pair of grey sweatpants, a black t-shirt and an unzipped hoodie with an untrimmed shadow on his jaw and damp hair.
He looked so normal. Frustratingly handsome in a way I wanted to forget, but still so normal.
"You've been given restraints instead of answers," Dax said and gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "Figured you might want to hit something. Or maybe someone."
Keeping my face smooth was a challenge as the surprise rolled in waves and the smile threatened to tug at my lips. When the silence stretched between us, he shifted on his feet.
"You don't have to join. Only if you want to," he said, too calm, but his eyes gave him away.
I should have said no. I should have closed the door in his face.
Instead, I grabbed my hoodie from the hook on the back of the door and followed.
We were silent as we made our way past the training grounds and further into the woods until we came to a secret opening.
The grassy clearing was neat and freshly trimmed, white lines bordering the sparring space. It was smaller than the training grounds I was used to. There was something secluded and intimate about it. It felt peaceful.
Dax dropped his hoodie on a log bench at the side of the little area and rolled out his shoulders as he strolled to the centre.
My muscles still felt the dull ache of a day spent trying to shift comfortably with this damned collar but the excitement thrummed strong enough that it faded to the back of my mind.
I shook my limbs out and dropped into a relaxed stance as we started circling. Everything was wound tight and loose at the same time as Dax twisted his foot and took the first shot.
The strikes were controlled and careful, a choreographed dance of blows and blocks that were all too easy to stop. The chilled morning air bit at my arms and my muscles protested with each move in an invigorating stretch.
Dax's leg stretched, sweeping at my ankle. It was light, precise, calculated. As the ground rose to meet me, something inside me snapped.
I twisted into a roll and found my feet. Then I lunged.
My arms flew in a flurry of punches and elbows. I kicked and kneed and he dodged.
He blocked. Pivoted. Tilted.
He didn't retaliate. He didn't trade blows. He just let me claw for blood as the anger rushed like a rising tide in my chest.
"I spoke to Lucien," Dax said, his hand redirecting my punch to the side. "Calling in debts. With the vampires, we may have enough sway to force a vote."
I didn't answer. Red tinged the edges of my vision as I swung.
He caught my fist.
"I'm fighting this, Kiera. No matter what it takes. Even if it means going against the Council."
I twisted, breaking free. My knee drove up, my shin striking his side. Dax grunted, stumbling to the side.
Satisfaction burned through my chest at the flicker of shock in his eyes.
"Took you long enough," I muttered, dancing backwards to put space between us again.
He smirked, a tiny tilt of his lips that sent a bolt of anger raging through my. I dove, all of my power poured into the punch. He twisted to the side just in time and I lost my footing.
I was falling. My back was to him, open and vulnerable. He had me.
Fingers snatched my wrist, anchoring me and tugging me upright.
The world around us froze as we stood chest to chest. Heat sizzled in the barely there gap between us.
His hand was still around my wrist as we looked at each other, breaths mingling. It was solid and steady, a fuzzy liquid heat that warmed me from the inside.
When his grip loosened, I pulled away, cradling my wrist as I took a step back.
I could still feel the fluttering heat, the way my heart pounded and the ice melted away. It was dangerous and tempting, the urge to let go and be vulnerable, to lower my guard and just be in the moment. I hesitated for a moment, just long enough to feel the thud of his heartbeat against mine.
Too dangerous.
So I kicked.
I twisted into the kick, throwing my weight behind my foot as it met his chest and he stumbled backwards, barely keeping his balance.
His eyes flashed amber, lips twisting with a smirk and the dance began again.
We clashed and parted at a dizzying pace as the blows got more targeted and deadly.
Blood beaded at his lip, red against the smirk he couldn't quite suppress. He didn't wipe it away.
The sun was high overhead when we finally collapsed on the log bench. Our chests were heaving, skin flushed with exertion, bodies aching with bruises.
Dax rubbed at his ribs as he stretched his legs out in front of him. "You fight like someone who had to."
"Because I did," I answered as I stared into the treeline. "Where I'm from, winter doesn't forgive weakness and neither do my people. Fighting is a way of life."
The wind brushed over my skin, rustling the trees around us.
"You're not weak," Dax said into the silence, like a truth he'd just realized himself. "Even when you think you are."
I scoffed softly but there was no malice behind it. "Strength is being a pillar for people to lean on, not crumbling when things get hard."
"I thought the same." Dax's voice was strong but soft, almost reverent.
He was looking out at the trees, not meeting my eyes as I watched him.
"I thought leadership meant choosing to be alone.
You had to be the strength for everyone else so no one can be strong for you.
You bear it all, make the hard calls, even when they break something inside you. "
My heart stirred, a small, agonising tug that twisted my stomach. The band around my neck seemed to tighten, squeezing the air as it matched the agonising weight that bore down on my shoulders.
I knew the feeling.
"But maybe... putting yourself last all the time doesn't make you strong. It just hides the cracks until something finally breaks."
The image of cracks spidering across plains of ice until it all collapsed buried itself in my mind, burrowing deep in my chest.
Talia felt it when I was collared. Her pain spilled out like it was her own skin bruised, not mine.Self sacrificing was strength because you endured the hurt and spared others but when people cared about you, your pain was shared.
You could push further away from those around you, isolating yourself until there was no one left to feel the burden but at that point, you lost your reason to endure.
Maybe Dax felt that too. Maybe he also had his own collar.
We walked back in silence, no words left to trade, only pensive contemplation.
When the house finally came into view once more, it felt strange and foreign. Like it didn't quite belong to either of us.
Talia was standing on the porch with her arms crossed, her weight leaning on one hip. Her tawny eyes were trained on Dax, not hostile but frosty and watchful. There was something lingering in her expression, carefully buried and hidden but I knew her well enough to know when she was concealing.
"Did she throw you into a tree?" Talia asked dryly.
Dax glanced over at me and gave her a half smile. "Only once."
"What a shame," she drawled and took a step to the side so he could walk past. He nodded respectfully as he did and turned in the doorway to look at me one last time. There was something there, emotions so jumbled I couldn't put my finger on one.
Heat curled low in my belly, that dangerous flutter from the sparring space refusing to fade. My hand traced the line of my collar, the skin itchy and tender and for a moment, I let myself believe that he was being honest about his efforts to get me free.
"I have to talk to you," Talia murmured when Dax was finally out of earshot. The icy mask was gone, the sinking dread now clear in her eyes.
I could see the tension in her neck, the scrunch of her shoulders, the way the soft pink was drained from her cheeks. Her eyes darted around, searching for any prying eyes and ears.
She held out the crumpled note with trembling fingers. There was no scent. No clue. Just dread.
The angry, jagged scrawl stopped my heart.
Bile swirled in my stomach and rose in my throat with a sickening burn.
Not again. Not Talia.
"It was in my room," she whispered, her jaw tense. "Locked door. Windows closed. Not even a scent. I don't know how."
An icy chill blistered the back of my neck. This had gone past a joke or a warning. This was a threat. Worse than that, it was a threat to Talia.
The line had been crossed and there was no going back.
My fingers traced the edge of the collar again, but this time it wasn't just a symbol of shame. It was bait. And someone had just taken the hook.
Kiera might not trust Dax yet but there's something building...
Should she trust him or is he too late? Did he wait too long to come to his senses?
Now that Talia's a target, will Kiera start pushing back more or is she still playing the long game?
Tell me your theories and if you're Team Dax or Team Absolutely Not! And as always, thank you so much for reading and voting and commeting!