Chapter 7 Tristan
SEVEN
TRISTAN
Headlights smear across wet pavement, but I barely register it.
The cold is seeping into my bones.
I'm half-conscious, bleeding through my shirt, trying to remember which direction I was running when a car door slams.
"Move."
She steps out of the glare—dark coat, red hair catching the streetlight.
Keira.
"You're following me." My voice is a mess.
"Oh good, you can still talk," she mutters, sliding under my arm. "I was hoping you'd be less energetic given the whole bleeding-to-death thing."
"You here to finish me off, Red? How kind."
"Shut up before you make the hole bigger."
"I don't think that's how it works." I try to laugh but end up coughing.
Her shoulder fits under mine. The scent of her makes my head swim. She hauls me to the car and floors it. The street vanishes behind us in a smear of lights and rain.
Eventually we end up at a small farmhouse. Damp walls, a single flickering bulb, rain drumming against the windows. It's all bleeding together.
"Take your shirt off," she says, setting down peroxide.
I stare at her. "You could just finish what they started."
"Stop being so dramatic. If I wanted you dead, I'd have let you bleed in the street." She doesn't sound amused, but I think deep down she enjoys this. "Now take it off."
I try to move, but the pain stops me. She leans in, cutting the rest of the shirt away. Her hands are steady as she cleans the bullet wound.
"You're good at this."
"I know." She doesn't look at me, but I can't take my eyes off her.
She pours peroxide on my wound without warning. Fire rips through me. I grip the couch, jaw locked so I don't scream.
"Are you going to give me your real name?"
Her icy blue eyes flick up. "I already told you before. It's Keira."
"That's not your real name."
"Unfortunately, it is."
"Why unfortunately? I like it."
"Good for you," she mutters, gripping my shoulder. "Now bite down."
She shoves a rubber rod in my mouth. The pain tears through me as she digs for the bullet, but I try to focus on something else.
Anything…like how her hair curls in soft waves—half curls, half waves.
It's always perfect, even after she's been drenched.
And her lips, so pouty and pink. I just want to bite them…
The loss of blood is really messing with my head.
When the bullet is out, Keira drops the piece of metal onto the ground.
"Good news and bad news. Bad news first—there's a knife inside your body and I need to remove it."
"What's the good news?"
"You'll live."
A short, broken laugh escapes me. "Impeccable bedside manner."
She rolls her eyes and an almost-smile tugs at her mouth. Her hair falls forward while she works, brushing my chest. Every pass of her fingers leaves heat in its wake.
"This will hurt," she warns, gripping the knife handle.
"I've had worse."
Her breath fans my collarbone. "They all say that."
I hate the thought of that. How many other men has she patched up?
A knife is about to be pulled out of me any second, followed by excruciating pain, and I'm jealous?
What the fuck.
"Three, two—" And then she pulls.
I bite down on the pain and the awful sound trying to crawl out of my throat. She presses gauze to the wound and I catch her scent again. It's intoxicating and I hate it. I wish she smelled awful.
"Still breathing?"
"Disappointed?" I peer up at her. She holds my gaze for a few seconds, then her cheeks flush and her eyes drop.
My stomach does this weird fluttering dance.
Her thumb drags over my ribs, wiping away the last of the blood. "You don't die easy, do you?"
"Never gave it a fair try. Would you like me to?"
Her hand stills, palm flat against my skin. For a second she just watches the rise and fall of my chest. "Not really. Then I'd probably be stuck dealing with your corpse."
My hand hovers above hers. "Why did you come back for me?"
Her gaze flicks to my mouth, then away. "I don't know. Instinct, maybe."
"That's not it."
I spooked her. She springs up, gathering the blood-soaked cloths, putting distance between us. When she's done, she brings water and holds it to my mouth. I drink, watching her kneel beside me. She's not checking the wounds, just studying me—drawn in by something foreign to us both.
Her fingers trail along my throat, stopping where the pulse beats. "Try not to die again."
"No promises."
Her lips part like she might say something else, but she doesn't. Her eyes trace the lines of my face like she might forget what I look like the second she's gone. Then she stands, the spell breaking with the scrape of her boots.
She leaves without looking back.
When she's gone, the room seems colder. The weight of the night heavier than before.
I can still feel her fingers on my skin.
A phantom touch that burns deeper than the knife ever could.
I jolt awake, heart racing, fingers tracing the scar below my ribs.
Years later, and I still wake up feeling her hands where the pain used to be.
I fell in love with Keira that night and never admitted it. Not to myself or to her.
The truth is, I never walked away from her. Even when I hated her, it still kept us linked in some fucked-up way.
My phone buzzes.
It's Nick. "We have her location."
My chair scrapes as I stand. "Where?"
"Scottish Highlands. Near Kinlochmore. We pulled CCTV from two days ago."
The image loads a second later. It's grainy and crooked, but it's her.
The curve of her shoulder. The way she favors her right side when she walks. The small mole on the back of her hand.
It suddenly becomes harder to breathe. "Arrange the charter. Have a team meet us there."
"Okay, but wait—"
"I don't want to hear it. We're moving now. You're either on the plane or you're not."
"We got a name."
I hate how he makes me ask for it. "Say it," I growl.
Another pause. Longer this time, and I'm half tempted to go to wherever he is right now just so I can punch him in the stomach.
"Ewan Calder."
Everything comes to a screeching halt. It's unsettling how quiet it is on both ends of the line, like we just realized the ground under us isn't solid anymore.
Calder.
The man people pretend doesn't exist.
The name that never shows up on paper.
The kind of power that doesn't need witnesses because there aren't any left afterward.
There were always rumors about him. No one crosses Calder. He's untouchable.
You don't even say his name aloud unless you're prepared to disappear.
If Calder married her, then Keira didn't choose this.
She was taken against her will.
"If he gets even a hint you're looking for her, he won't come for you first. He'll erase everything around you. Your contacts. Your safe houses. Anyone who's ever answered your call. Everyone you've ever cared about," Nick states the obvious.
"Then I won't give him the chance," I say.
"Don't do this blind. This isn't a fight. It's a fucking extinction event."
"They come home with me. End of story."
I cut the call.