Chapter 265: Aftermath

Killian smoothly pulled his wrist from her grasp, keeping his bloodied hand at his side. "This has absolutely nothing to do with Eloise," he answered, his voice dropping into a low, smooth rumble. "How was your date tonight?"

Yuki blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in topic. She cleared her throat nervously, crossing her arms over her chest. "It was fine." She said casually her gaze still lingering on the injury.

"Fine?" Killian repeated, lifting a brow. "You were out for hours. I expected a more detailed review." He said teasingly.

Yuki’s lips twitched. When the hell did Killian turn into a jester? She couldn’t help wondering. "Why? Are you planning to write a report for the council?" She sneered at him.

His mouth twitched. "Not a bad idea. We could start with the fact that Xavier apparently has no concept of time." He snickered back.

Yuki narrowed her eyes. "We went shopping."

"For hours?" He questioned.

"Yes, Killian. Shopping. That thing people do when they go to a mall." She said starting to find this interrogation annoying.

"That’s fascinating." He couldn’t help but find the annoyed look on her face pleasing to watch.

She made an irritated sound. "Apparently, Xavier attended the class that teaches emotional intelligence. Some people seem to have missed it entirely."

Killian recognised the jab immediately. A short laugh escaped him before he could stop it. "Glad to hear he’s emotionally intelligent." He chimed.

Yuki looked pleased with herself for approximately two seconds. Then Killian tilted his head, allowing his gaze to travel over her face with deliberate scrutiny. "I hope his intelligence isn’t clouded by looks."

Her smile vanished. "Excuse me?" She hissed her face turning red.

"You heard me." He deadpanned

"You are unbelievable." Yuki threw her hands up, then remembered his injured palm and pointed at it instead. "You know what? I don’t even want to know what goes on inside that head of yours."

"That makes two of us." He retorted.

She stared at him in disbelief. Killian’s expression remained perfectly composed, but the faint amusement in his eyes only made her angrier.

"Whatever," she muttered, turning away before he could provoke her further. After taking two steps, she stopped and looked back at him. "And do something about your hand. Stop hurting yourself like your girlfriend, for crying out loud."

The words struck him harder than they should have. His smile faded slightly.

Yuki didn’t seem to notice. She was already shaking her head, her loose hair slipping over one shoulder as she muttered something under her breath. "Honestly, what is wrong with this family?" She grumbled.

Killian watched her for a moment. Then his mouth curved again.

The irony was almost amusing. She had just accused him of hurting himself over Eloise’s injury, completely unaware that the blood on his hand had come from a shattered glass and an entirely different problem.

Or perhaps she was more perceptive than he wanted to believe. "Goodnight, Snowflake," he called after her.

Yuki halted and looked over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes. "Don’t call me that." She hissed.

Of course, why would he listen? He repeated it, "Goodnight, Snowflake."

"You’re insufferable!" Yuki barked at him increasing his pace.

"So you’ve mentioned."

She hissed something that sounded suspiciously like an insult and marched down the corridor, her footsteps growing fainter with every step.

Killian remained where he was, watching until she disappeared around the corner.

The corridor fell silent again.

He looked down at his palm. The wound had closed, leaving only a thin smear of blood across his skin.

’You smiled,’ his wolf observed, returning with irritatingly impeccable timing.

Killian’s expression hardened. ’Don’t.’ He snapped but his wolf never listened to him. ’You were smiling at her.’

’I was amused.’ Killian said a bit too defensively.

’Of course. You find her amusing. You enjoy her company. You wait on balconies to make sure she returns safely. You break glass when she hugs another man, and you smile when she tells you off.’ His wolf paused, savouring the silence. ’But you don’t love her.’

Killian closed his eyes. "One more word," he muttered, "and I’ll find a way to remove you from my head. Stop making up things. "

His wolf laughed. ’Goodnight, Killian.’

Killian turned towards his bedroom, his expression returning to its usual cold composure.

He had a corporate meeting in the morning, a rogue investigation to oversee and a kingdom that expected him to make rational decisions. He had no time for jealousy, no time for confusing emotions, and certainly no time to entertain the ridiculous accusations of his wolf.

Yuki was Xavier’s fiancée. He had arranged it that way because it was the best possible outcome for everyone involved.

He would remember that.

He would remember it tomorrow, too.

And the day after that.

Because whatever his wolf believed, Killian Ravencourt had absolutely no intention of falling in love with a woman he had already given away.

******

The heavy oak door shut behind Yuki with a dull click, locking out the quiet, oppressive stillness of the hallway. Her entire body felt drained down to the marrow of her bones, every muscle aching from the adrenaline-fueled terror of the afternoon.

With a low sigh, she flung her leather tote bag across the study desk, kicked her heels off haphazardly onto the rug, and dragged her feet toward the bathroom.

It had been a violently long, exhausting day, and she desperately needed a long, scalding soak to wash away the phantom scent of rogue blood. Yuki walked over to the deep porcelain tub, turning on the brass faucets and meticulously adjusting the temperature until steam began billowing into the tiled room.

While the water ran, she unzipped her dress, letting it pool around her ankles, and quickly pinned her heavy golden-blonde hair up into a secure knot.

She stepped over to the illuminated vanity mirror, picking up a pack of cleansing wipes. With slow, mechanical strokes, she wiped away the dust and sweat from her face, staring at her own reflection with hollow emerald eyes.

By the time she finished, the tub was filled to the brim. She poured in a generous capful of soothing botanical oils and lavender bubble bath, watching the water swirl into a rich, fragrant foam before stepping over the rim and sliding into the steaming embrace.

The warm water hit her skin, instantly melting the agonising tension locked in her shoulders and lower back. She rested her head back against the cold tile edge, closing her eyes as a soft exhale slipped past her lips.

Yet, even as her body relaxed, her relentless mind refused to quiet down.

Slowly, the vivid, terrifying images of the mall incident bled back into her consciousness. She could still feel the phantom chill of the steel blade pressed against her throat, the harsh roar of gunfire echoing off the glass ceiling, and the sudden, violent impact of being yanked away. But more than anything, a specific, confusing memory clawed its way to the front of her thoughts: Killian holding her against his chest while his arms visibly, uncontrollably trembled.

Why was he shaking? She wondered, frowning in the darkness of the steam-filled room. He’s the eldest Alpha Lord. He’s supposed to be made of ice and steel. Was he actually terrified... or was it just adrenaline?

She opened her eyes, staring blankly up at the vaulted ceiling with a swirl of deeply complicated feelings twisting in her chest. I am officially losing my absolute mind, she thought bitterly, pressing the heels of her hands against her burning eyes. I swear I am never speaking to a Ravencourt ever again.

Hours ticked past midnight, the grand estate slipping into a heavy, frozen slumber. Yet upstairs in the east wing, Killian lay wide awake staring up at the ceiling.

His chronic insomnia had clawed its way back with a vengeance, aggravated tenfold by the relentless, throbbing ache behind his temples and a mind that refused to turn off. He lay flat on his back atop the crisp white sheets, his dark blue eyes wide open as he silently counted the intricate plaster mouldings along the ceiling line, waiting for exhaustion to finally drag him under. He forced his eyes closed hoping it might help

The headache worsened, tightening around his skull like a steel band—until, somewhere deep in the dead of night, a subtle shift occurred in the air.

A familiar, intoxicating fragrance quietly drifted across the room, shrouding him in the soft, sweet scent of warm rosewood and delicate vanilla.

It was a scent that didn’t belong in his chambers, a scent that belonged down the hall—yet the moment it touched his senses, the frantic, jagged edges of his mind instantly smoothed out. His rigid muscles uncoiled all at once, his heavy breathing slowing into a steady, rhythmic cadence.

He didn’t know where the scent was coming from, nor did he care to question the impossible physics of why he was suddenly smelling her when his mind was so thoroughly unsettled. He was far too exhausted to investigate. Clinging desperately to the sudden, miraculous wave of peace, he surrendered completely, refusing to open his eyes.

It dragged him down into a pitch-black, bottomless sleep—the deepest, most restorative slumber he had experienced in as long as he could remember.

Hours later, as dawn began to break, golden shafts of sunlight slanted through the heavy velvet drapes, casting warm beams across the polished hardwood floor and spilling directly over Killian’s face.

He groaned softly, his brow furrowing in irritation as the bright morning light pierced his eyelids. Operating on pure instinct, his right arm shifted, muscles contracting as he moved to toss the heavy duvet over his face to block the glare—only for his hand to hit a solid, warm barrier.

A heavy weight rested across his chest, pinning his arm securely against his side. Yet, strangely, his body felt so thoroughly relaxed that panic didn’t register; his mind merely sluggishly processed that something was different.

Killian’s eyelids fluttered open, his piercing blue gaze blinking against the blinding morning sunlight. He lowered his chin, his dark blonde hair falling across his forehead as he glanced down toward his right side.

The sight waiting for him made his heart violently flip over in his chest, instantly blasting away every trace of sleep.

Curled tightly against his side, her head resting comfortably over his heart and her soft breathing feathering warm against his bare skin, was the little wolf herself.

Yuki.

Killian stared down at her in absolute, paralysed disbelief. What in the name of the Goddess... is she doing sleeping in my bed?