Chapter 4
KIERAN
I woke to sunlight spilling across my face.
For the first time in what felt like forever, my body didn’t ache. No lingering sting at my throat, no heavy burn through my chest with every inhale.
Just breath. Just life.
My hand drifted up instinctively, fingers grazing over the smooth skin of my neck. No scar. Not even a line to prove I’d been cut open. My breath caught as I pressed harder, as though the memory of pain should still live there, but it didn’t. It was erased, like the wound had never existed.
The wound might have vanished, but the mark it left inside me never would.
I sat up slowly, letting the blankets pool around me as I blinked at the familiar space.
My childhood room, walls, and bed. For a moment, I just stared, trying to reconcile the strange blend of nostalgia and disbelief humming through me.
I’d come up here and collapsed quickly last night, the exhaustion of everything slamming into me at once.
The last time I’d been in this room, I was still a girl who had no idea who she was, but brave enough to take the leap with Gabe. Reckless enough to fall and desperate enough to believe there had to be something better waiting for me. That girl hadn’t known if she’d ever make it back.
And if she had, she never would have imagined this as the result. Alfemir’s order in shambles and both parents dead.
Now I had a family I’d found, not one I was born into, and a love so deep it terrified me as much as it saved me.
My chest tightened as my thoughts flicked to them, to my men.
I wanted them close. My gaze drifted toward the door, as if willing Steele and Bash to walk through it, unsure if they’d made it back yet from visiting the fallen army.
It didn’t feel right, being in separate places anymore. I wanted us whole and together. Always.
A soft knock came before the door opened. Ronan walked inside, balancing a tray on one hand with steam rising from it. Niz followed closely behind him, his broad shoulders nearly scraping the door frame.
“We brought food,” Ronan said, like the words explained the whole universe.
A soft smile tugged at my lips. Of course he did.
His eyes scanned me like he was checking for wounds I might be carefully hiding.
Niz said nothing, just stalked over to the edge of the bed as Ronan set the tray on my lap.
His heavy weight sank the mattress as he sat.
Ronan joined him on the opposite side, and suddenly I was boxed in with both of them watching me like hawks.
I blinked at the plate of eggs and toast, then at the two of them staring. “You’re both going to sit there and…watch me eat?”
“Yes,” Niz said simply with a smirk. “I’m declaring it our new hobby.”
His voice was smooth, almost amused, but I caught the edge of something else beneath it—relief.
I snorted, a soft laugh catching in my chest. “You know that’s a little creepy, right?”
Ronan’s mouth quirked. “And hopefully a little endearing. Please just eat, Beauty.”
Rolling my eyes good-naturedly at their possessiveness, I picked up the fork and took a bite.
They stayed put, silent and steady, eyes locked on me like they were making sure I didn’t vanish again.
It should have been unnerving, but now only warmth spread through me. They were hovering because they cared.
When I finally scraped the plate clean, Ronan leaned back and gave me a grin. “Good girl.”
The praise hit me harder than it should have. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I ducked my head quickly. “I, uh…need a shower to get this grime off.” My voice cracked halfway through the excuse, and I pushed the tray toward Ronan, trying to ignore the way my heart still raced at two little words.
Niz rose slowly as I scooted toward his side of the bed. His hand was out in an offer of help before I could even try to stand, steadying me as I tested my balance. Ronan was already stripping the bed with brisk efficiency at the mention of my grime.
“I’m fine,” I insisted to Niz, but he didn’t let go as I stared up at him.
“Let’s walk to the shower, My Fire,” he rumbled, guiding me toward the bathroom with quiet finality.
The command rolled through the air, heavy with authority—the kind of weight only a prince could carry.
Once upon a time, words like that would have ruffled me, scraped at old wounds of being ordered around and controlled.
But from Niz? It didn’t sting. Maybe because underneath the command, I could always feel the truth of him: that every syllable was rooted in his single-minded need to see me happy, safe, and whole.
Niz pushed the adjoined room’s door open, his size swallowing the small space as we stepped in.
As his hand left mine and with a pointed, narrowed look that screamed don’t you dare fall, he turned the knobs of the shower with careful precision, testing the spray with his palm until he was satisfied and steam began to fill the room.
“I can manage from here,” I started to say, but my words faltered when his sharp black eyes pinned me, unyielding in his desire to assist me.
“Don’t argue,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate against the tiles. “After watching you die, I just…I need to feel useful right now. We all do.”
The steam curled around us as his admission filled the space.
My pulse skipped as he reached for the hem of my clothes.
His hands moved with surprising gentleness as he began to strip me.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe as he eased the fabric from my body.
My muscles stiffened out of instinct, not shame—just the strange, vulnerable awareness of being bared under someone’s unwavering gaze.
But Niz didn’t look at me the way others might have in the moment.
His attention wasn’t hungry or lingering.
It was practical and protective. He treated me like I was something fragile he had to handle with care, not something to consume and own.
“Step in,” he ordered softly as my cheeks burned with heat, though not from the humid air. The tone of his voice pulled a memory from when we’d been in the wyvern kingdom—commanding then too, in an equally humid space, causing chills to race across my body.
The water hit my skin in a shock of heat, dragging a gasp from my throat as it slid down, washing away dried dirt, blood, and ash.
For a moment, I swore I could still feel the ghost of the dagger against my neck, the slice of my father’s hand, the choke of my own blood.
My knees threatened to buckle under the memory.
And then Niz was there again, steadying me with one strong hand until I found my balance. “I’ve got you,” he said roughly, his reassurance nearly bringing tears to my eyes.
I swallowed the heavy emotion and took a deep, settling breath. I wouldn’t let my father’s ghost haunt every breath I took.
“I can finish on my own,” I whispered, my voice raspy but firm. “Thank you, Niz.”
There must have been a confidence in my voice now that convinced him I wouldn’t break. He leaned closer without hesitation, ignoring the spray that dampened his face as he did. His lips pressed to my forehead, warm even against the water. The gesture was quiet, reverent, and gone in an instant.
“Yell if you need me.”
When he was gone, I turned in the shower to let the water rush over my back, rinsing away more grime and soot, though it couldn’t erase the memory of steel splitting my throat. It couldn’t wash away the ache of loss, or the weight of my father’s last words.
“I won’t give up, Mom,” I whispered, the words breaking free before I could swallow them back. “I will ensure the future is one we both deserved all along.”
The promise hung there in the mist, swallowed by the hiss of the shower but rooted deep in my chest, searing into me with the same force as the water.
Refreshed. Reset. Alive.
By the time I finished my routine and stepped out of the shower, steam still curled around me but I felt lighter. My hair clung damp against my neck, my robe soft against skin that still tingled with the memory of heat. I tied the sash loosely and breathed deeply, bracing myself.
The robe clung against my damp skin, heavy where it was soaked from my still-dripping hair as I padded back into my room. I was just cinching the sash tighter when a knock sounded, low and careful.
“Kieran?”
Gabe.
My heart stuttered at the sound of his voice and in an instant, I was back in his arms the night before with blood in my throat, his voice cracking as he begged me not to leave him. It all came rushing back now.
I love you, Little Star.
“Come in,” I managed to croak out as his emotional confession tore through my chest.
He loved me.
The door eased open, and there he was. Gabe filled the frame, all tan skin and broad shoulders, his hair mussed like he hadn’t slept. He stepped inside, slow and deliberate, like he was afraid to move too quickly.
So far each of my guys were treating me more delicately than they had last night. Had they just been in shock like I was? Was the truth of my death finally settling in for us all?
His gaze swept me—robe, damp hair, bare feet—before darting away, his jaw flexing tight.
“Kieran…” he began, but his voice cracked, and the grief in it nearly split me open.
I couldn’t let him say it first again. Not when those three words had been one of the things anchoring me back to life. Not when I knew how heavy his heart was, how he carried the weight of everyone else and always put himself last for us all.
“Wait,” I whispered, crossing the space between us in a rush. My hand lifted before I could second-guess myself, my fingertip pressing gently to his lips. The warmth of his breath fanned across my skin, hot and unsteady.
His words died as his eyes locked on mine, searching and questioning.
“Before you say anything,” I said, my voice trembling, “there’s something I need to tell you.”