Chapter 21
Nadia POV
The digital progress bar on the primary monitor reached one hundred percent, flashing a clean emerald border across the dark screen.
Barrow University Athletic Science it was dense, saturated with the quiet domestic reality we were carving out of the dark. Outside, the lake-effect wind rattled the hemlocks, but inside, the heat of the fire was a shield that kept the entire university at bay.
I set my empty bowl on the hearth, letting out a long, slow breath that felt like the first real exhalation I had drawn in months.
I moved to gather his plate, intending to carry them to the sink, but Killian’s arm shot out.
His broad, calloused hand caught my wrist, his fingers wrapping around the delicate bones with that familiar, possessive warmth. With a gentle, unyielding tug, he pulled me backward onto the rug, tumbling me straight into the cradle of his lap.
My breath hitched as my back hit the broad wall of his chest.
Killian wrapped both arms around my waist, locking his hands over my stomach, pulling me flush against his torso until I was entirely enveloped in his heat.
His head lowered, his face burying into the crook of my neck, his rough stubble grazing the sensitive skin below my ear as he dragged in a deep, shuddering inhale.
"Leave the dishes," he muttered against my skin.
I leaned my head back against the shelf of his shoulder, my hands coming up to rest over his thick forearms where they crossed my ribs.
The contrast was staggering—my pale, slender fingers resting against his scarred, tanned skin, the heavy rise and fall of his chest syncing with mine in a slow, rhythmic tide.
"The Boston scouts are arriving tomorrow morning, Killian," I whispered, the reality of his life creeping into the edge of our sanctuary like a cold draft. "Coach Briggs announced the closed-door scrimmage."
Killian’s arms tightened around my waist, his broad chest expanding on a heavy, quiet breath.
"I know," he said.
"If Cole publishes that story—"
"Cole doesn't have anything," Killian rasped, his lips pressing a slow, firm kiss to the hollow beneath my jaw. "And even if he does, it doesn't change what happens on the ice. In four months, the draft is over. The contract gets signed, Mateo’s clinic is paid, and I'm out."
A cold spike of dread pierced through the warmth in my chest.
Out.
Relocated to Boston, or Montreal, or Detroit. Hundreds of miles away from Barrow, while I remained behind in the sub-basement to finish my fellowship.
I turned my head, my hand reaching up to touch the hard, familiar line of his cheekbone, my thumb tracing the silver line slicing through his eyebrow.
"Four months," I whispered, the words heavy and fragile.
Killian turned his face into my palm, pressing a soft kiss to the center of my hand. His dark eyes opened, burning with an unshakeable, fierce intensity that made my heart hammer against my ribs.
"Four months is just the start, Nadia," he growled softly, his voice vibrating with absolute, unvarnished conviction. "You think sixty hours was the end of this? You're in my life now. You have my key. You're not getting rid of me when the season ends."
My throat tightened, a sudden rush of heat stinging my eyes as I looked at the dark, ruined beauty of his face.
The mandate was finished. The compliance forms were signed.
Yet as his arms locked around me in the firelight, holding me against the winter cold, I knew the truth.
This wasn't an assignment anymore.
It was an empire we were building in the dark, and I would fight the entire world before I let anyone take it away from us.