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He was at war with himself as he considered me—a battle of emotions etched on his handsome face. It wrapped tight around my heart, hurting with every squeeze. It wasn’t lost on me how his eyes slid down my body. I grew uncomfortably warm. Even under his angry stare, he did things to me.
Standing this close in broad daylight gave me a chance to honestly look at him—to see him in ways I hadn’t between all our fighting. The intricate black design of an upside-down arrow on his neck was fascinating to look at. Its half-compass design resembled the one on his chest, but there was more to it with its geometric lines, letters, and birds. I wanted to ask him what it meant—to know what was so important that my husband had to tattoo it on his body—but I couldn’t do so. It felt wrong.
He reached out, his fingers grazing my skin as he brushed a strand of hair away from my face. I felt the way he lingered on that single coil. My heart hammered wildly in my chest. The moment was so oddly intimate for being so out in the open.
As his hand fell, he grabbed a fistful of my sweater and yanked me closer. The single movement ripped the very breath from my body. I was utterly captivated by him, unable to stop him, even if I wanted to.
“You deserve better than what they’re putting you through, Genevieve,” Killian whispered. His tone and his expression were soft compared to everything else about him. “You deserve to be happy.”
Oh… it just didn’t work like that. Things like happiness were easy for him—they’d always been. His family was built around love and joy. That wasn’t my world. Those weren’t things I could focus on. Not really.
“Killian, don’t get involved,” I pleaded with him.
“Too late, princess, I’m back, and unless you divorce me, I’m staying involved,” he said with such conviction it hurt. My eyes widened, and I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out. “You’re mine. No one hurts what’s mine.”
He let me go before my stumbling brain could put together a coherent response. I was painfully aware of the gazes that bounced between me and him as he stormed back up to the pack house.
So much for not making a scene.
Dad was livid. His anger was palpable, the air around him vibrating with it.
Me? My head was spinning as I chased after my father through the lot to his car. I knew I should’ve focused on my family—on calming my father down, but Killian took over my mind.
“You’re mine. No one hurts what’s mine.”
What did that even mean? The way he softened—practically melted for me when he spoke—it did something to my heart. Something I didn’t want to think about.
And his words? What did I do with those? He left me unsteady. The rocky foundation I’d built over three years was crumbling every time I was around him. I didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“Get in the car, Genevieve,” Dad snapped, his voice ripping through my thoughts. I stopped dead in the grass.
“I don’t want to leave,” I said. “I want to stay. The other packs are coming—”
“We’re leaving,” he interrupted. “I don’t care about the other packs. I won’t have you around that boy!”
The venom in his tone was nauseating. How long would it be before the two of them killed each other?
“I’m not spending time with him—”
“End of discussion, Genevieve Giselle!” he exclaimed. The involuntary shudder that moved through me at his raised voice was embarrassing.
“Please,” I tried once more and prayed he’d cave. I sure as heck knew I would.
“Genevieve.” The warning in his voice was more than enough to break me.
“Oh! Ginny!” Raven’s yelling made me turn. She sprinted across the lawn and weaved between cars. When she came to a stop in front of me, she folded over, hands on her knees as she breathed hard. “Shit! You’d think with all this training I’d be in better shape. God damn! Oh! Forgive me, Pastor Goodwin!”
“Ask the Lord for his forgiveness, not me,” Dad replied gruffly.
“Okay,” she said. She wouldn’t. As supportive as she was of my faith and Declan’s, she didn’t believe in God. Still, the sentiment was nice. Huffing out a fast breath, she stood upright. “Ginny, I need your help.”
“She can help you tomorrow,” Dad answered before I could. Damn it. “She needs to be at home with her family.”
“Well,” she clicked her tongue, “it’s to do with the shop. It really can’t wait.”
“It’s okay, Daddy,” I told him. “I can—”
“Talk to the Byrne that runs the shop,” he interjected.
