19. Killian
KILLIAN
The sterile needle pierces her skin, the tip catching the soft tableside light. Terrible shadows play across her chest and arms, painting her pale skin gray. They try to cradle their mistress as she sleeps, an embrace meant to be peaceful. It only reminds me of eternal slumber.
Breaths puff over her dusty pink lips, stirring the dark strands around her neck. They blend into the shadows, more darkness, more tainted sins that cling to her. It suits her—her home is in the ebony sea, like me. Two imperfect, tarnished souls who were born from the black.
The string pulls through, a wisp of sound as my bloody fingers twist, pinching the skin closer together.
Flipping the needle, I pass it through the other side. I curve it, leaving slack. I’ve done this too many times; my mind is on autopilot. My fingers follow muscle memory.
Push, pull, twist. Push, pull, twist. It’s rhythmic.
“You’re still here.”
It’s a fucking prick to my heart, but I don’t let it interfere with my work.
“Why doesn’t that hurt?” she asks. Her voice cracks, throat dry. It’s only been a short time since the café, but the night sky has descended, and snow covers the mansion’s grounds.
“Your sister gave you something.” I look up, tugging the string. The flash of fear in those big eyes sears my heart. “She didn’t see anything, Princess. I made sure of it.”
Licking her lips, she deflates against the pillows. Having anyone see her vulnerable—see her scars—would kill her. Keeping her covered has always been important.
She watches, remaining still. She remembers this part too, letting me mend her so I know she’s whole again.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I murmur, adjusting to move closer. “I’m ready to snap your neck for that fucking stunt.”
She scoffs, looking away. “You’re mad at me for someone else shooting me?”
“Yes.” I tug on the skin, and her lips twist. The feeling is coming back. I shouldn’t take such pleasure in causing her harm, but I do. “I told you to stay down.”
Lazily, she turns her head, meeting my gaze. “And what was I to do, Linwood? Sit like a good little princess and let you get shot? I think we both know that’s not me.”
No, it’s not. She pointedly looks at my shoulder and the wound I’ve yet to take care of. I’ve been too focused on her; the pain doesn’t bother me.
“You’re supposed to live,” I stress. “The whole fucking point of this is to keep you alive.”
And mine.
Maeve taps her chest. “Still beating. Still alive. Guess you’ve done your self-imposed duty.”
Growling, I grip her chin and yank her forward. I’m a bit too rough—her wound is freshly mended, and she’s fragile. But I don’t fucking care because I need her to understand.
“You stubborn pain in the ass?—”
“And you’re a fucking stalker who doesn’t take no for an answer?—”
“‘No for an answer’?” I smile cruelly. “Were you saying no when my cock split you in half a few days ago?”
She cracks her jaw, snapping her lips shut.
“I’m not going anywhere. And you can’t fucking stand knowing I’ll still be here—that I see you.”
I expect the hit—but not a slap. My girl is more than likely to use her fist or a knife—but I’ll cut her a break. She’d recently been shot; she’s not thinking clearly.
“You have an angle,” she seethes. “A plan. A trick. Something. You say you want me back—that I belong to you—but you’re playing at something and I can’t figure it out.”
Licking my lips, I lean forward, reaching above her head. My fists grind the headboard—better it than her neck.
“The only plan I have is to keep you breathing,” I mutter.
“I cannot live if you don’t. If you go, I will die.
Because without you, I am nothing. I will fucking cease to exist. So maybe it is selfish to want to keep you alive.
Maybe I’m fighting Death, and the odds are against me.
I’m certainly fighting you, and that goddamn death wish you’ve had since I’ve met you.
I don’t fucking care. Because I will not let you die—I will not lose you again. ”
“You are the holder of my heart, Maeve.” Swallowing, I glare at her lips, twisted love and rage curling like a hissing snake in my chest. “In your hands, you hold everything I am. You belong to me, and I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
Pushing back, I return to her wound, ignoring her gaping mouth. Piercing her skin again, she gasps, wincing with the needle. Ah, the medication has faded. Maybe with the bite of pain, she’ll finally focus. It’s certainly soothing me.
“By the way,” I add, muscle bunching by my ear. “Fucking great matching panty set. I’m sure Reese would’ve loved it for an afternoon fuck.”
She grips the duvet closer to her chest, banging her head into the headboard. Sweat dots her brow, teeth gritted against the pain. Every stab brings more suffering, and she exhales, drinking it down for stability.
“I can’t do this with you.”
“No, by all means. Let’s ignore how I had you screaming and coming on my dick and three days later, you run right back to him.” The thread pulls taut. “If not for the assassination attempt ruining your chances, maybe you would’ve gotten lucky.”
The jealousy tastes like sludge, and I gulp it down. If only to feel something other than this fucking rage—this yearning to love a woman all night long and the bitterness to fucking stab her.
Her eyelashes flutter as I make one more stitch. Those emeralds—uncut and dangerous—glare at me as I use my teeth to cut the string.
Glancing up, I catch the glimmer. “What are you thinking?”
That glimmer dulls, hidden away. “Nothing.”
Outrage explodes in my chest, and I surge forward, pressing my forehead against hers painfully. She always does this—fucking hides from me. I broke that habit years ago, and I’ll be damned if she falls back into old habits.
Old habits mean not eating enough and wasting away under the stress of this life.
Old habits mean hurting herself to be grounded.
Old habits mean we’ll never fix this.
Fuck that.
“I said if you lied again, you’d regret it.”
Her lips press closed, and I laugh—but it’s not pleasant.
She’s lucky she almost died—because I’m this close to killing her. I’m going to take her to Hell, where only she and I can destroy the other for the rest of eternity.
Hayes barges in, cell to his ear. I grab his shirt, knife already at his neck. A thin line of red appears beneath his dark beard.
Frankly, I think he looks better like this. I’m in no mood for more fucking distractions or interruptions. Not when it comes to Maeve. We’re fixing this now.
“Stop,” Maeve commands, word soft. But there is steel in them—the voice of a captain.
“Speak,” I demand of the hitter. “Or I’ll fucking cut your head off.”
“Rare form tonight,” he quips, and I grin.
“We can always find a new second, Prince. Talk.”
Shrugging me off, he waves the cellphone into the air. “I wouldn’t be intruding if it wasn’t important.” With regretful eyes, he turns to his captain. He’s cowed—a child bringing home a broken toy. “It’s Lex and Sloane, Maeve. Car bomb went off twenty minutes ago.”
The air leaves the room. My heart pounds in my ears, but I ignore it in favor of looking at Maeve.
Her face turns ashen, eyes so wide they remind me of when I first met her. Too big for her face, they show everything—if you know how to look for it.
As kids, Maeve chased moths outside at night when no one was looking—no one except me. She would carry them to plants and hide them from birds. When she found them dead, she mourned them.
That’s where all the taxidermist bugs came from—a fascination with their beauty, and a way to honor their passing. A way to remember her innocence.
And right now, those eyes that used to grieve for such small creatures are full of so much pain, I’d rather cut my heart out than allow her to ache.
Terror drains the light from them, and her fingers, still stained pink, tremble as they touch her lips.
Not a sound breaks free, but I know she’s holding on to that anguish with both hands.
“Causalities.” She tenses, bracing for the impact.
“One.”
She doesn’t breathe. “Who?”
Hayes exhales, trying to catch her gaze. “Tony, Lex’s second.”
Life returns to the room, and Maeve screws her eyes shut. As thankful as I am it’s not Sloane, or, fuck, her husband, Tony was an ally.
He was Maeve’s inside man.
“What happened?”
Hayes sits beside her on the bed, and I hover, hands fisting at my sides. She’s still barely clothed under that thin blanket, and he’s too close. That man could hold all the stars in the night sky for Collins, but it doesn’t mean I want him seeing her.
“Lex was supposed to take Sloane for a checkup.”
She nods. “They’re discussing inducing her.”
“Tony wasn’t supposed to be there,” Hayes explains. “Lex has been taking it upon himself to bring her to all the doctor’s appointments. With the snow, he asked Tony to warm up the car.”
“Tony starts the car and…” I trail off, watching Maeve chew on her lip. “You know what this means.”
“They’re expanding,” she replies, looking to the side. “They can’t get me, so they’ll go after my men. My power. And now, my family.”
“Your allies,” I correct. “They want to alienate you. Force you to submit. If you don’t have anyone on your side, you become vulnerable.”
Weak. Taken. Broken.
She snorts. “I don’t fucking submit.”
No, you don’t.
“What should we do?” Hayes asks. “It’s only a matter of time before they try again.”
“They’re not touching them,” she declares, pulling at the blanket as if to move. I rush forward, pinning her wrists in place. “I need to call them back.”
“Ace—”
“Princess—”
“It’s in the contract,” she explains, eyes bouncing from me to Hayes. “Nico put it in there for me. For shit like this. When I call, they come. End of discussion. I want them back here. I want them safe.”
“I wouldn’t say this is any better,” Hayes remarks. “We still have a mole we can’t find, and bringing them here is putting all targets in one spot.”
Point to the hitter.