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He sighed as he poured himself a cup of water and sat at the counter, but he didn’t touch the glass. His mind was elsewhere. Tomorrow, Elyse and Manny were going to steal an expensive and rare magical artifact. Part of him still couldn’t fathom what had become of his life. Another part of him enjoyed all the adventure and challenge. And a third part hated himself for finding joy in it all.
The soft patter of bare feet on hardwood signaled someone’s approach, and the kitchen door swung open to admit Elyse. She looked like a ghost, her pale hair and simple white nightgown a whispering shimmer in the night. Killian glanced away quickly. Even in the faint moonlight, he could see just how thin the fabric of her chemise was. It did little to hide the gentle curves of her hips, nor the soft shape of her breasts.
“Oh,” she said, pausing on the threshold as she noticed Killian. “I was just getting some water.”
Killian didn’t deign to acknowledge her explanation, instead keeping his attention trained straight ahead. He’d endured enough of her presence tonight to last him a lifetime.
She rounded the counter and poured herself a cup, then drank deeply. When she had finished, she topped off the cup again, and stood at the counter, holding it. He still wasn’t looking at her, but he could feel her glancing his way every few seconds. Finally, she downed the rest of her water and set the cup on the ledge.
“You’ll be up half the night to relieve yourself if you keep that up,” Killian said dryly.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her shrug. “I don’t sleep well anyway,” she replied, sounding resigned.
“Oh?” he quipped. “I figured you slept just fine at night.”
He didn’t know why he said it. He hadn’t intended to pick a fight with her, but the frustration of the evening had worn down his self-control.
Before he could open his mouth to apologize, she crossed the space between them and stabbed her finger toward his face. “Do not claim to know me,” she spat.
Killian blinked, a smirk playing at his lips. He’d been wondering how long it would take her to snap. She’d been so apologetic, a shell of the fierce witch he knew her to be, and he had known it would only be a matter of time before she grew tired of playing nice. Perhaps being here had set her on edge as well.
He held her intense gaze, pouring his own simmering aggression into his stare. “And whose fault is that?” he drawled back at her.
Her brows drew together, her jaw dropping, as if in disbelief that Killian had the audacity to challenge her. Her expression morphed to one of pure hatred, and something stirred in Killian’s core as he watched her rage unfold.
“Whose fault is that?” she repeated. “I’ve been begging you to hear me out, and you have refused to listen again and again.” There was no pain in her voice, just sheer anger.
“Can you blame me?” Killian demanded. She acted as if she was entitled to the opportunity to explain herself, but what she had done was far beyond deserving of basic courtesies.
Elyse shook her head, staring at Killian with pure incredulity. She moved to push past him, but he grabbed her arm and spun her toward him.
“I asked you a question,” he growled. Their faces were close, nearly touching. He could feel her ire radiating from her, burning the space between them. “I trusted you. I gave you everything. And you betrayed me.”
His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. In a perfect world, he never would have let his anger rise to the surface. He would have been cold but composed. But their world was far from perfect. It was gritty, full of pain and hatred. And beneath all of that—longing.
He stared down at her, waiting for her answer, trying to ignore the way she gazed up at him through her lashes.
“Don’t,” she choked out, half a demand, half a plea.
Killian ignored her petition. “You want so badly to explain yourself? Then tell me this,” he moved, stooping lower so she could see the fury in his eyes. “Tell me how you live with yourself.”
She said nothing. The moonlight faded, casting them in shadow. There was nothing but the cicadas humming outside, Killian’s pounding heart, and the tension between their bodies, taut and explosive.
“Tell me,” he commanded into the dark.
The moonlight returned slowly, illuminating the tears brimming in Elyse’s eyes.
“I tried to fight it,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I never meant for things to go that far.” She took a step closer, lifting her chin higher. She was so close to him, the fabrics of their clothes clung together. “You have every right to hate me, Killian.”
Hearing his name on her lips… It didn’t have the effect he thought it would. It flustered him, but not with anger. He didn’t want to tell her to keep his name out of her mouth—he wanted to hear her say it again and again.
All wit abandoned him, his bitterness melting. Beneath the words she’d spoken lay a tacit truth: she hated herself as well. The evidence was in the strain of her voice, in the slope of her shoulders. It was in the way her dark eyes glimmered with shame. And despite everything that had torn them apart, something deep inside of Killian yearned to take that pain away.
She stared up at him, mouth slightly parted. He knew he should step away, that he should run before he did something regrettable.
She pressed even closer—so close that he could feel her peaked nipples against his chest. “I have spent my entire life doing what I’m supposed to,” she rasped. “But for the first time, when I was with you, I felt like I was doing what I wanted, like I was in control.” She paused, her lip trembling, her entire body going tense as if she made her last stand. “I’ll be damned if it wasn’t the best and worst decision I’ve ever made.”
A lifetime passed as they stared at one another, possibilities and tragedies coursing between them. It wasn’t an apology, not even close. It wasn’t even a real explanation. But those words, the best and worst decision I’ve ever made, rang truer than he cared to admit. Because even now, even after everything he had lost, he couldn’t say with certainty that he would take any of it back.
