Chapter 25
Kai
COMES BACK UNINVITED
I wanted to bite those lips so bad, it scared the hell outta me. Sure, I’ve had thoughts. Plenty of them, sins are no stranger to me, especially when they come wrapped in a pretty face. But usually, once that temptation is outta sight, it’s outta mind, no attachments, no ghosts.
But this?
This ain’t that, not even close. Most days, the only thing I feel is guilt and shame.
A heavy, suffocating weight I’ve just learned to carry.
After what happened to Sammy, I figured I’d forfeited the right to anything good.
When you’re the reason your little brother is dead, you quickly learn that actions have consequences.
Joy?
That’s for other people.
But then there’s her, Avilyna.
She walks into a room, and suddenly the weight I’m carrying feels lighter. Not gone, just… different. Like maybe I’m not completely broken? Maybe there's still something in me worth saving?
When she is around, it’s like standing in the sun after years in the cold, a mirage, sure, but one I’ll be happy to get lost in.
And the worst part, it’s not like we’ve been intimate or passed second base; I know it’s not about that.
Sure, she’s hot, but it’s deeper when it comes to her.
The way she pushes back, stands tall. Doesn't let me hide behind the usual crap I pull. She’s real in a world full of liars and masks.
Doesn’t care about rules or reputations, least of all mine, and I can get drunk on it, fuck, I crave it—crave her.
I’d play the villain if it means Avilyna will find her voice, even if it’s for yelling at me. But that’s what messes me up. Because deep down, it tugs at something I swore was dead. Something I buried with every deal, every death, every damn choice I had to make since Sammy.
And I hate that she’s waking it.
Because I don’t know if I can survive that again, the need to get over it gnaws at me like it always does.
Loud. Unrelenting—Stop. Caring—Follow. Orders.
And I do what I’ve always done when the weight gets too damn heavy.
I reach for my favourite poison. My sanctuary will be a healthier choice, but it takes effort that I don't currently have.
So I pour a glass of fire whiskey, straight from Arvendal.
The kind blessed, or cursed, by gryphons, depending on how you look at it.
All I know is it burns going down, leaving a trail of fire that hurts just enough to feel something.
First sip lights up my throat, settles in my chest as a storm, and I welcome it, savour it.
Drinking liquor like it’s water?
That’s my hidden talent. Forget the strength, forget the shifting, forget the magic.
The real miracle here is that my liver’s still hanging on after nine years of this crap.
Thank Kvirr for my lycans genes, because one year under my father’s wrath was enough to teach me that pain doesn’t just go away; it slowly settles into the marrow of your bones.
Deep in your gut, festering until you can’t tell where it ends or begins.
The tip of my pencil snaps, leaving a streak of graphite across the paper. Reaching for the small knife to sharpen it, I’m pulled back to a time when reaching for my favourite escape wasn’t as easy. I don’t mean to remember, I never do. But it always comes back uninvited, relentless.
And I'm thirteen again.
Kneeling on the rug in my room, I rifle through drawers and corners, hoping to find some hidden art supplies.
My father made good on his promise to get rid of them all, no distractions, no weakness.
The door slams, and the room holds its breath.
Then comes his voice, calm, controlled. And that’s always worse than yelling.
“You disobeyed a direct order,” he says, standing behind me, a shadow capable of crushing bones. “I gave you one job. One. Watch your brother. Stay put. But no… You had to go play hero.” I turn slowly, already shrinking.
His violence isn’t a surprise, but it used to be a hidden truth.
One that lives in the dark corners of our house, coming alive only at night, when wandering eyes are gone.
His uniform is still half on, medals catching the lamplight as sharp teeth.
Even drunk, he stands like he’s in formation.
My father, the General, the man who issues commands as scripture.
And to him, I haven’t just broken a rule, I’ve broken the faith he had in me, and that’s unacceptable.
“He counted on you,” his voice tightens inch by inch. “I counted on you.” I try to speak.
I always try, but the words aren’t fast enough, or never the right ones.
“I told Sammy not to move… I thought I could reach him before—” The blow comes out of nowhere, stronger than ever.
My head hits the bedframe, hard. Dizzy, warm liquid slides down my temple, trickling down to my chin. My thoughts blur and narrow to that sensation—the soft, snaking warmth of blood.
“You,” he spits, “you take more after me. But your brother? He was like your mother. Soft. Na?ve. Weak.” He spits those last words as if they’re sins. “And you failed the only mission you weren’t allowed to fail.” He takes another pull from his Frostkal Gin.
That’s when I swore to never touch Kallahan’s specialty. I can’t stand the sight of that label, always bringing back bad memories. Like the reflection in his eyes when he looks at me, as if I’m already broken beyond repair, a disappointment.
Still, I try, like a fool, again.
“I know, Dad. I’m sorry—” His hand is faster than my words. It grabs the back of my head and slams it forward. My forehead hits the edge of my desk, sharp and hard. Not enough blood to call a healer, but enough to throb until my wolf numbs the pain.
“You left an eight-year-old alone,” he hisses. “While we were under attack from Netherworld! You left him to DIE.”
I don’t cry.
I want to, but tears are ammo in his world, my world. If I show pain, he gives it back double. Dad doesn’t hit me again. He just stares, long and cold. Disgust bleeding from every line in his face, carved there as stone. He spits before walking away.
The damage is only collateral, but the guilt?
That’s the real weapon.
It still is.
Because the truth?
He was right. I did leave him, and the worst part is that sometimes I still catch myself trying to be the hero. Maybe if I save enough people, I can undo what I did or what I didn’t do. If I follow orders, mistakes like that won’t happen again. So I had two choices: play the victim or take control.
I chose the only thing that seemed to get me results. The only way I knew how. What’s more controlling than dictating the lines of my own mind on paper? I just learned to hide it better until I got out of that hellhole I used to call home.
Settling in with my sketchbook, I let my thoughts bleed out through the carbon.
A couple of hours pass in a haze, lines turning into shapes, shadows becoming a face I’m starting to know all too well…
Curls, full lips, mesmerizing eyes, she’s there again, always there.
The one that got inside my head. She follows me, a ghost showing up in the most ridiculous places, in the burnt autumn leaves, in every damn shade of green I see.
It’s cruel, really.
But that’s life, isn’t it? Cruel.
The bottle sits empty on the table, glinting in the soft flicker of candlelight.
I need another one. The burn in my veins takes the edge off, smooths everything out until the world feels just quiet enough.
I get up, a little unsteady, heading toward the bathroom.
That’s when I hear it, muffled sounds bleeding through the wall, her room.
Avilyna.
And it sounds like she’s having fun… Real fun. Kvirr… I want to have fun with her. Thought it a thousand times more than I should’ve. My mind’s off the leash now, running wild through places I usually keep locked up tight.
Morals? Please.
I don’t exactly wear a halo on a good day, but when I’m on a mission, the weight of it usually keeps me in check. Keeps me from doing something stupid, like letting this control me. The orders are all I have in mind, my focus, my mission.
But I could silence this craving just by having her, right?
Just once.
Just one touch, one moment where our bodies are intertwined for a night. Just one instant where I could just get lost. Like tasting her would somehow burn it out of me, a more concentrated version of what my fire whiskey does.
Kill the obsession.
Put the ghost to rest. But that line, the thing that keeps me grounded, is vanishing, drowned in alcohol. And when it hits, it hits hard, a storm of heat and hunger with no brakes, no warning, pure, raw need. All I can do is let it take me as my mind wanders.
Avilyna’s lying on her bed, hair loose, those curls I can draw from memory framing her perfect face, skin glowing with that sun-kissed tan. Innocent-looking? Sure. That’s how she traps you, makes you think it’s safe.
Come closer, she seems to whisper. I won’t bite.
But she’s the one calling the shots. Her legs are spread wide. Hooded eyes holding my stare, a challenge. I’m enraptured as her fingers trail between her full breasts, inviting me forward. I reach for her, hungry to join this dance, but she stops me.
No touching for you. You only get to watch.
Vi’s voice is slow, sweet, dripping with promise.
Vi?
I like it, tasting as sin on my tongue, intimate. As if I’m the only one who has ever been allowed to say it, mine. That familiar pull resurfaces, a forgotten lullaby. Captivating, tugging at my will, outpacing every thought.