Eli: By the decree of his majesty the king (that’s your brother tonight), join us in defending Glyn’s honor, Middle Ages style.
I was skeptical at first, until Bran mentioned that Lan gave Killian seven days to leave me and today happened to be the deadline.
We didn’t have to waste time finding the location Eli sent because Bran was already familiar with the place.
I don’t even want to think about why he knows of Lan’s torture chamber—or worse, if something happened to him there before.
In the midst of the chaos, I contemplated calling Killian’s friends, but Gareth wouldn’t have cared and Jeremy, and especially Nikolai, would have undoubtedly killed my brother, and that just wasn’t how I wanted this dealt with.
As much as I’m not a fan of Lan sometimes, Bran is right. He’s our brother. Family.
Killian appears peaceful when asleep, his eternally beautiful face caught in a serene expression that I want to sketch and breathe life back into.
When we brought him in earlier, I called Gareth on the way and he was waiting for us at the front gate. He helped Bran carry him upstairs. Then he changed his brother’s clothes to dry ones and called the family doctor.
The latter said he has a fever, prescribed him some meds, and left.
I stroke the half-damp strands off his forehead and a sudden chill rips down my spine.
When I saw him on the ground earlier, all wet, half-conscious, and completely out of it, fear like I’ve never experienced before made me lose control.
It wasn’t courage, it wasn’t anger, it was pure fear that made me give Landon a piece of my mind. It was my feelings of horror that allowed me to finally confront him after years of avoiding, placating, and living by his rules.
I was that much of a coward before. I’m not now and it’s all because of the freaking bastard lying unconscious.
Since when has he become such a vital part of my life that I feel on the edge just at the thought of him being hurt?
He coerced, threatened, and gave me no choice but to submit to him. He’s as much of a villain in this story as my brother is.
Actually, he’s way worse.
But I can admit to myself that I’m attracted to him, I’m attracted to how he confiscates my control and leaves me no choice but to let go.
I can also admit that he’s the reason I’m out of my shell. That I’m no longer the conflict-avoiding, pacifying, no-say-in-anything Glyn.
It wasn’t until I saw him in danger that I realized he brings out the best and worst in me and I’m addicted to the feeling.
I’m addicted to how he puts me above everything else, how he goes out of his way to make sure I eat—even bugs Anni about it. I’m addicted to the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not looking and how he didn’t listen to my brother’s demands and, instead, chose to stay with me.
I’m addicted to him.
The door swings open without as much as a knock and I startle as Nikolai peeks inside. “Heard Kill nearly got killed. See what I did there? Also, whose head do I have to cut from their body, rip the flesh from, and hang on a stick—
He interrupts himself and fully stalks inside with a rare shine in his eyes. He’s half-naked—I swear the guy is allergic to clothes—and all his tattoos are on full display like a map of destruction. Those, coupled with his massive build, make him intimidating as hell.
At least Killian is easygoing sometimes unless provoked. Nikolai never appears nonchalant—his cutthroat exterior is his true self.
And he’s watching my brother closely, with chilling calculation. “Now, what do we fucking have here? Did a lotus get lost?”
Bran remains still, but his fingers have found their way to his hair again and they’re tugging stronger than earlier.
“Was it this one who hurt our Kill, Gaz?” Nikolai asks slowly, menacingly, and the bulging of his muscles matches the hostile energy.
He’s honing himself for a fight, a quarrel.
Or any form of violence.
My heart beats in an irregular rhythm. Shit. What if Gareth tells him and Nikolai chooses to hurt Bran just to get back at Lan?
Before I can step in to try to smooth out the situation, Gareth says, “No. Brandon and Glyndon drove him here. They found him near their campus. For more details about the culprit, we have to wait for Killian to wake up.”
If I could hug Gareth, I would. And I’m not even a hugger. He got us out of this situation with enough ease to baffle me.
“Is that so?” Nikolai speaks to Bran. “You carried the motherfucker Kill all on your own? I thought you were a dainty lotus, but maybe you’re stronger than you look.”
“I’m going back,” Bran says in a low voice. “Want to come, Glyn?”
“No, I’m staying the night.” If I’d done so from the beginning instead of fighting for useless independence, then maybe none of this would’ve happened.
Or maybe I’m just placating myself.
Bran frowns, but then he nods, tells me to call him if I need anything, then leaves. Nikolai silently follows him and I have a feeling it’s not because he just wants to show him the way out.
Maybe I should’ve gone with Bran, after all.
“You can go if you want. I’ll take care of his meds,” Gareth tells me from his unmoving position on the wall.
“I want to do it.” My voice softens. “And thank you for covering up for Lan just now.”
“I was only leaving the ball in Kill’s court so he can personally deal with the situation when he wakes up. Besides, Niko is the kill first, ask questions later type, so he shouldn’t be privy to any details until a plan is in place.”
“Fair enough.”
Silence prevails for a beat before he says in a quiet tone, “You’re seriously worried about him?”
“You aren’t?”
The air vibrates with the length of his sigh. “No. He made sure to kill that part of me a decade ago when he used my concern to put the blame on me for things he’d done. Spoiler alert, though not really, that’s exactly what he’ll do to you eventually. Any noble feelings you have for him will be twisted, vilified, falsified until they become as dark as his.”
“That won’t be happening.”
“I said that, too, once upon a time.”
“You said, but you didn’t take action, Gareth. I’m not going to pretend that I understand what it’s like growing up with him, but I have a brother who’s similar to him. He tried to destroy everything beautiful in my and Bran’s lives so that we only depended on him and were at his beck and call, but do you see us being like him? Do you see us manipulating, hurting, absolutely discarding our morals just to adapt to him?”
He raises a brow. “Is that supposed to be a jab at me?”
“It’s concern.” My voice softens. “Killian, Landon, and my cousin, Eli, were born different. They don’t have the luxury of feeling emotions like we do, and yes, they’re prone to hurt others without batting an eye because of that, but it’s who they are. It’s not who you are, Gareth. You’re choosing to be like them, and if you see nothing wrong with that, then I feel sorry for you.”
“So you’re saying I should take Killian’s manipulations, blows, and pure fucking hatred and do nothing about it, is that it?”
“No. But you could talk about it. He has beef with you because he feels lesser than you.”
He laughs with a deranged edge. “Are you maybe talking about a different Killer than the one sleeping on that bed?”
“He heard your dad tell your mum that they should’ve only had you. That would automatically make him hold a grudge against you.”
A line appears between Gareth’s brows. “He could be lying to get your sympathy.”
“He’s always been honest to me. The brutal kind.”
“Or maybe that’s what he wants you to believe.” He pushes off the wall and heads to the door.
“Gareth,” I call after him.
“Yeah?”
“Our deal is off. I’m not going to stab him in the back so you can hurt him. Deep down, I know you don’t want that either.”
“I saw this coming a mile away. This is a piece of genuine advice, Glyndon. Be careful. You might think you care for him now, but there will be times where you’ll want to kill him, and you won’t think about his nature or that he’s different. You’ll only think that he’s a motherfucking asshole who shouldn’t exist. And when you want to leave? He’ll break your legs so you never consider the option. And if you heal and attempt it again? He’ll cut them off.” He smiles, but it’s fake as he steps out and lets the door close behind him.
My focus slides back to Killian and I narrow my eyes on him. “Bastard. When did you get me on your defense team?”
I blame the sense of peace I feel in his company. Even when he’s choking me, throwing me down, and fucking me like a madman.
I blame it more on when he pulls me to sleep on top of him after, or when he takes me to watch fireflies because he knows how much they bring me joy.
Unable to ignore the onslaught of feelings running rampant in my chest, I borrow his notebook and a charcoal pencil—that Killian started to keep around—then I place the chair opposite the bed. I don’t look at the paper. My whole attention is on him while my fingers stroke line after line until I’m transported into a different zone.
It’s like my physical body ceases to exist and I’m a burst of emotions, swishes, and a manifestation of an extremely unpredictable muse.
I think it only takes me ten minutes from start to finish, but when I look at the time, it’s already two in the morning.
Thank God it’s a weekend and I can sleep in tomorrow.
Yawning, I strip down to my underwear. Then I borrow one of Killian’s T-shirts that basically serves as a nightgown.
It’s crazy how normal and familiar this feels, especially when I compare it to how I was ready to stab him to death only a few weeks ago.
I slip under the covers and pause when I feel his hot skin. The doctor said the fever would go down in a while, but how long is a while?
Shouldn’t it be now?