Chapter 7
Killian
Wake up.”
Soft lips grazed Killian’s cheek. His eyes were closed, but he nuzzled into the feeling. He knew those lips.
“Wake up,” came the murmur against his skin.
He opened his eyes to see Elyse laying beside him, smiling at him.
Sunlight streamed in through the window, setting her silvery hair alight.
Her chemise had slipped off her shoulder, and Killian reached out a hand to touch her.
His fingertip grazed her skin with gentle control, like he was afraid touching her might scare her off.
That she might disappear with a snap of her fingers if he moved too fast or said the wrong thing. And if that happened…
Killian didn’t know if he would survive letting her go again.
“I’ve missed you.” Her words were a song, lilting through the tranquil morning. She moved his hand from her shoulder to her cheek. She was warm, so warm as she nestled her face into his palm.
“You have no idea,” he breathed. He must have looked ridiculous, staring at her, eyes wide, mouth agape. He ran his hand into her hair, down her neck, needing to feel as much of her as he could.
“I think I have some idea,” she purred. She leaned closer to him and planted a kiss on his lips. It was heaven—was that what this was? Had he been murdered in his sleep and awoken in the afterlife?
Elyse began to climb atop him. Her leg slid across his abdomen until she was straddling him, her weight pressing down on his hips.
Without a thought, Killian lifted the edges of her chemise, higher and higher up her thighs, until his thumbs met her hips and she was fully exposed. He took a long, hungry look at her—
“Wake up.”
This was not the gentle plea of a lover, but a demand.
Killian snapped awake. He sat up straight and immediately regretted it.
The small room was bright, far brighter than his dreams. It burned his eyes and added to the incessant pounding in his head.
Devil’s bane, he’d drunk too much last night.
His headache only worsened as he beheld who had interrupted his sleep.
Elyse stood in the cramped space between the single bed and the dresser. She was clad in black with a shining dagger at her hip. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her lips contorted in a scowl.
Killian was frozen. She looked so different from the last time he’d seen her, when she was exhausted and covered in blood.
Now she stared down at him, her contempt unbridled.
Her irises were somehow darker, blending in with the pupils that bore down on him.
The ends of her hair were shorter and sharper, like silver daggers that brushed her shoulders.
“You’re drooling,” she scoffed as her expression morphed into a smirk. She lifted one brow at him, like she knew precisely what he’d been dreaming about.
Killian wiped the back of his hand against his mouth and was humbled to find saliva at the corner of his lips. “What are you doing here?”
It was all he could manage to say, though hundreds of other questions swarmed his mind. Where had she been? Was she all right? Had she missed him, the way he yearned for her? Did she even know what longing was?
Had she killed Royce in cold blood?
He rose from the bed and stood before her, both arms reaching to touch her as he had in his dream. She backed away, avoiding his touch. Something in Killian died. He let his hands fall to his sides as the last bit of hope that she still cared for him was obliterated.
Elyse’s gaze dipped to the scar on his bare chest. She studied it, her eyes lingering over the mangled skin, a morbid fascination in her expression.
She had seen this scar before, evidence of the siblings he’d lost. She had even touched the scar, and offered to heal it.
But never had she looked at it with such pity as she did now.
Killian aimed for the dresser, suddenly desperate for a shirt.
Elyse moved aside, gracefully maneuvering out of his way in the small space.
His back was to her, but he knew what she was looking at.
A fresh scar marked his back from where Jaime had stabbed him.
Lady Death had revived him, but she had let the scar remain.
This new scar mirrored the one on his chest, as if he had been run through the heart with a stake.
Fitting, considering that was how he felt in this tiny room with Elyse.
“Sit,” she commanded after he’d pulled on a tunic.
He turned to face her. “I’m not a dog.”
A smirk slipped across her face, like his defiance amused her. This was a game of cat and mouse to her, and not in the flirtatious way it used to be.
It pained him—physically pained him—to look at her.
To see that she held nothing in her heart for him.
Was this how it had felt for her while they’d worked to solve the Prestowne massacre?
Countless times, he’d given her the same hostile glare she was projecting now.
His heart ached for the both of them as he lamented the torment he’d caused her and was experiencing for himself now.
“I think you’ll find it’s best to do as you’re told,” Elyse retorted.
“Your memories are intact, aren’t they?” Killian pressed, taking a step closer to her. They stood only a foot apart. He could feel the heat coming off her body. “Then I think you’ll recall that I’m rather fond of being a pain in your ass.”
Elyse huffed, her cunning gaze measuring him from toe to top. “You’re going to play a game for me,” she said.
“No games, Elyse,” he sighed.
She laughed, but it was hollow and cruel. “Not like that,” she scoffed. “A card game.”
Killian raised one brow at her. He towered over her, his shoulders broad and straight, but Elyse didn’t flinch as she stared up at him.
“Let me make sure I understand,” he began, his voice a low growl.
“You bring me back from the dead. You disappear for weeks with no word. And now you just show up and—” He threw his hands into the air, unable to keep his frustration leashed. “You want me to play cards?”
He was so damned furious with her. He wanted to banish her from his room, but he also wasn’t sure if he was capable of letting her out of his sight. And for her to come back into his life with such a silly request… He didn’t know if he should laugh or rage.
Elyse held his gaze for a long moment before rolling her eyes and shoving past him. She flounced onto the bed and crossed one leg over the other as she leaned back on her palms. A portrait of casual cruelty.
“Remember when we went to the Black Cat tavern, and you played cards with those strangers?” she asked, unfazed by his tantrum. “Were you really that good, or was it dumb luck?”
Killian swallowed, too baffled to speak. She was seriously inquiring about his card playing abilities. But why? He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck as he sighed, too tired, too hungover to try and discover her motivations.
“I’m a damn good player,” he answered finally. “My mum and I used to play all the time growing up, and it’s a common way to pass time in the Guard.” He crossed his arms over his chest—and maybe, just maybe—he flexed his biceps a little. Just to see if Elyse would look.
She did, but her expression didn’t change.
“What’s this about?” Killian asked.
Ignoring him once again, Elyse asked her own question. “Have you ever played Dead Man’s Bluff?”
“Maybe. What’s this about?”
“Answer the question.”
“Answer mine.”
Killian glared down at her. Gods, if he thought she was stubborn before, she was absolutely impossible now without her soul. He ground his teeth as he waited for her to speak.
One moment Elyse was on the bed, and the next moment she had Killian pinned against the wall, her dagger at his throat. She bared her teeth at him in a wicked smile.
She was fast, but she wasn’t that fast. She hadn’t moved on the bed, hadn’t even leaned forward. Because she’d transported herself.
“Been working on your new trick?” Killian asked, forcing his words to sound aloof even though his heart was roaring.
Elyse hissed. “Awful cocky for someone with a knife to their throat.”
“You came here because you need my help,” Killian countered. “I can’t help you if I’m dead. So yes, I’m feeling rather cocky.”
Elyse’s answering scowl delighted him.
“I could cut off your balls instead,” she cooed.
Killian gulped, and the dagger grazed his Adam’s apple. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” he said as calmly as he could. But the look in Elyse’s eyes genuinely terrified him. “I’ve played Dead Man’s Bluff,” he ceded.
“Are you any good?”
“Phenomenal.”
“Great. Then you’ll play for me.”
She released the dagger from his neck. With deft movements, she spun it and tucked it safely into her belt.
Killian stayed close to the wall, even as Elyse stepped back. As much as he disliked having a weapon held against him, he despised the chill of her body’s absence.
He took a breath to steady himself. “At the risk of angering you, I must ask: why do you need me to play this game?”
Elyse crossed the small space to the window. Without looking at him, she said, “So I can get the Blade of Hanael.” When Killian didn’t react, she sighed. “It’s the only knife capable of killing a demon.”
“Oh,” Killian breathed. The explanation surprised him. “So, you’re going after Lazarus?”
“Of course,” Elyse growled, spinning toward him. “That prick used me—humiliated me. He must be punished.” Her features burned with intensity, though her words were icy and bitter.
“And why can’t you play instead of me?” Killian asked, genuinely curious. “Surely you can use a spell or potion to—”
Her scoff cut him off. “There’s no magic allowed. The entire game will be warded against it.”
Killian maintained a neutral facade, though truthfully he was intrigued.
“Okay,” he began carefully. “I’ll help you, if—”
Elyse sneered. “This is not a negotiation.”
“Oh, but it is,” Killian said, giving her his brightest smile.
“Need I remind you of my offer to cut off your balls?” she taunted.
“Just—” he said, holding his hands up to assuage her irritation. “Hear me out.”
Elyse pursed her lips as she glared at him.
“When is this game supposed to take place?” he started slowly.
“In four days.”
Killian took a deep breath and said a silent prayer for his manhood. “I will help you if, for the next four days, you help repair the damage Lazarus has done.”
“Absolutely not.” She folded her arms over her chest.
“Then I guess I’ll have to lose on purpose,” Killian said with a shrug.
Elyse took a threatening step closer and pointed her finger at him. “If you do, I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again.” She thrust her finger into his chest, right on top of his scar. “I’ll make you beg to join your siblings.”
With a wave of his hand, Killian projected his shield. Elyse was forced backward a few feet, but she kept her balance, never breaking eye contact.
“Don’t,” Killian seethed. “Do not speak of them.” His skin burned hot as he thought of his siblings, taken tragically long before their time. Elyse spoke of them like they were nothing more than pawns to manipulate him with.
She stared at him through the glimmering shield with a ravishing, wicked smile. “Did I strike a nerve?” she taunted.
“Look,” Killian said through gritted teeth. “If you won’t do it for the people who need your help, then do it for yourself. What better way to piss off Lazarus than by cleaning up the mess he’s made?”
Elyse’s posture relaxed as she considered it, though her glaring did not relent. Killian waited, fearing these were his final moments with his body fully intact.
“What better motive is there than spite?” he chanced.
She cocked her head slightly. After a moment, she said, “Fine. I am fond of spite.”
Killian exhaled. “Good. Then we have a deal.” Killian dropped his shield and held out his hand for Elyse to shake.
“You better win,” she huffed as she pushed past him, disregarding his hand. Her shoulder collided with his side, shoving him off balance.
“We’re leaving for Vincennes here soon,” Killian said, pivoting toward her. “Will you be ready to go?”
“I’ll be ready,” she snapped as she flung the door open.
She paused on the threshold, throwing one last look over her shoulder.
There was nothing in those gray eyes, not one ounce of caring.
She disappeared into the hallway, her magic slamming the door behind her and leaving him just as she had before.
Killian dropped to his knees, and finally, he unraveled.