Wrapping my arms around my waist, I slowly enter his bedroom. On the same floor as me, in the far back corner, he’s always been a ghost in my home, haunting the halls. Never far, never out of sight, always there.
Then, two weeks ago, things changed. Something snapped—a tension that’s been building for years between us gave way, and the man who was my rival in this world became so much more.
A Reaper of the night, and now, he owns my soul entirely.
Taking in the large space, I catalog all his weapons on the desk and the clothes on the floor. He’s never been neat, but that comes from never having a place to put things.
“Nightmares?” he asks, eyes trained on my face. He’s stopped sketching, holding on to the canvas as I glance around.
How many times have I been here since that fateful night, and still it feels odd to be welcomed. I used to come in here, throwing threats, and now this is the place I look for comfort.
Nodding, I move to his side, looking at the colors. They’re muted, but he’s blending everything into some painting that makes me think of desperation and bleakness.
“He’s gone, Maeve,” he murmurs, looking down at me. I avoid his eyes. I can’t have him see all the thoughts—all the emotions.
Two weeks without Michael tormenting my life, and yet, I’m waiting for the day he shows up. Demands for me to get on my knees again.
Every day, I wake up holding my breath. As twisted as it is, I want him back. Not because I miss him—God,fuck, no—but because without him, life is different. Uncertain. There is no reason for anything, and there is nothing I’m fighting against. I have freedom, no cage, and I don’t know what to do with it.
There are the nightmares, too. Repressed memories that come to me when I’m most vulnerable, breaking my subconscious in ways I never thought possible.
I’ve looked for ways to wake up when those memories take me. Grabbing my forearm, I rub the sore skin, still healing from the fresh cut of the previous night.
Killian sees. He alwaysfuckingsees. Snatching it, he holds my wrist high, pulling my sleeve away. His dark eyes glare, liquid lava, as he traces the edges, tsking at the poor wrap job. I’ve never been as good at mending as he is.
“What happened?”
“It’s nothing?—”
“No,” he snaps. Pulling me close, he uses his free hand to hold my cheeks, forcing me to stare up at him. “No more lies, Princess. No more hiding. Not from me. Not anymore.”
No more hiding.Because under Michael’s control, I hid every dirty act from prying eyes. I couldn’t bear the shame, the looks if I told anyone.
I told Pops once. He sneered at me, told me it was my job—part of the decree I agreed to at thirteen. But what choice is that to level at a child? One so desperate to take or risk one of her precious baby sisters to be given to that monster?
I licked my wounds in the safety of my room, away from all eyes. I hid, surrounded by silence and darkness, praying for it to end. It never did.
Until Killian noticed. He took it upon himself to heal me. Tocarefor me. Without him, I wouldn’t have survived this long.
He shakes my face. “Understand?”
I nod once. “Yes.”
He releases me, and I feel the charcoal on my cheeks. “Have you been doing this long?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him off—that I don’t need his worry—but he picks me up, scattering his knives, and drops me to the desk. Stepping between my legs, he holds my glare, patiently waiting for the truth.
Sullenly, I shake my head. “Only since Michael.”
“He’s gone,” he repeats. “He’s in Hell burning for every fucking horrid thing he did to you.Youput him there. You fucking made him suffer. And you wereamazing.” Resting hisforehead to mine, he exhales. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Licking my lips, I watch his mouth. “Everything. Nothing.” My voice cracks, and my hands tremble as I touch the moth pendant. “I feel… damaged. Sullied. I can’t stop thinking—” the words die in my throat.
Lifting my chin, he pushes. “Tellme.”
“I feellostwithout him,” I confess. “Without the pain, without the torment, I don’t know how to stay in this world. I don’t know how to beme. I was used to—him, the horrors. I knew what to expect. I knew how to hold on. I don’t know what to do now when it’s quiet.”
Killian nods slowly, digesting my words. If I expected judgment, I don’t get it. His eyes are open, seeking, as he processes.
