Peace from Pops. From Michael. From the fucking hole in my chest, of loneliness and pain, that never seems to go away. If I give in, it’ll stop.
Yanking me up, Killian shakes my shoulders until my eyes open. Looking at him, it’s the first time his eyes have been so angry—rageful pits of coal glaring down at me as if I suggested he murder a kitten.
“Don’tsay that,” he commands, lips frowning. “You’re not allowed to go anywhere, Maeve. I won’t fucking let you.”Shit, did I say that out loud?
My chin dips. He stripped his shirt and wrapped it around my waist. A blanket covers my torso, shielding me even though it’s the two of us.
This isn’t the first time. Only with Killian do I seem to have any sort of privacy—a right to my body that doesn’t exist elsewhere.
“Why do you care?” I whisper, lips cracked. “Maybe it’ll be better?—”
“No.”
Clearing my throat, I try to hold his stare. “You’d get my spot.”
He chuckles, tucking the blanket around my legs, fingers red. “If I wanted your spot, I would’ve killed you myself a long time ago.”
If Killian wanted to be the heir to this clan, he’s had many opportunities to end my life. Yet, he keeps healing me. He seeksme out to check on me, like tonight. It’d be easier to let me die, but Killian battles back death to keep me here.
“The only blade that touches your skin going forward is mine, Princess. Do you hear me? No one else.”
Sinking back into my blankets, I smirk, looking up into the covered canopy, and another tear falls into my hairline. I only feel dulled pain—not sadness, not happiness. Just emptiness and pain. That’s probably not good. “That’s quite a vow. In this life, you won’t be able to keep that promise.”
“Watchme.”
Snorting, my eyes fall closed again. Fatigue tugs at my bones, and I rub my cheek against my velvet duvet. “You almost sound like you care.”
How fucking silly. Killian doesn’t care—and not about me. He probably keeps me breathing as some sadistic joke, a taunt, to drive me insane. He’s good at that.
“Would that be so wrong?”
I snort. Now, he’s screwing with me. No one cares about me. Not this clan, not my father. Certainly not my bitch mother, who I hope is in Hell, waiting for me to torment her when I go.
And not my perfect sisters and adorable younger brother. They don’t care if I live or die.
I’m nothing—nothing to anyone.Killianespecially.
The Reaper shoves harder into my side, and I groan, cringing against the pain.
“Keep your eyes on me, Princess,” he demands, voice rough. “A simple knife wound isn’t going to be how you die.”
“No?” I scoff. “Then tell me, howdoI die, Linwood?”
“By the way this night is going? Me.”
I snort, one last tear dripping from the corner of my eyes. “No, that sounds about right. You’ll be my downfall. Whether it be a blade, gun, or information, I’m sure one day you’ll kill me.”
“You almost sound hopeful.” He pushes harder, and I yelp. “Don’t.”
He grips my chin, leaning over the bed. He doesn’t touch me anywhere else, but his warmth burns me. “If you die, I promise I will bring you back and kill you myself. Sodon’t.”
That’s the last thing I remember before my eyes flutter open, soft sunshine drifting in through my closed drapes. Sitting up, I groan, my stomach pulling in pain. I pull back the covers and see my abdomen is wrapped in fresh gauze, still in my underwear.
Scanning the room, I half expect Killian to be there. But I’m alone, like always.
The pang in my chest sets off another wave of pain, and I rub my breastbone.
Swinging my legs out of bed, I see on the nightstand a white paper, a glass of water, and two pills. There’s no note, but the paper is etched with charcoal flowers. Violets and orchids, wild ones that grow behind our house.
