The scariest thing that I really didn’t want to admit to myself, was that there was something sexy about it. Though maybe sexy wasn’t the word. Astonishing, startling, galvanising. They hadn’t just bathed their hands in blood for me tonight, they’d offered up a piece of their souls to me. So what did that mean? That the hatred would stop? The cruelty? The endless bullying that hurt me harder than a knife slicing into my chest?
I was their slave turned equal. Or that was how it felt. Like I’d been welcomed into the fold with each strike of that blade. Like the blood they’d spilled had painted out our fates and intertwined us irrevocably. But I didn’t think I liked that idea. I didn’t want to be bound to those three boys. Monroe, I could accept. But the Night Keepers? It was like the legend of the Night People had really come true. Like they really did possess me now.
I waited for them all to return, my thoughts turning inward to my body as I tried to assess myself for any signs of a change in temperature. I clung to Saint’s comforter, wishing there was a fire in the grate downstairs to battle this chill. The Temple was old and not made to be comfortable. It was meant to be a place for worship, and nothing made you feel unsettled like doming roofs and flagstones that were icily cold to kneel on.
Kyan was the first to appear from the shower, dressing in low-riding navy sweatpants and nothing else. His bare feet padded across the carpet as I watched like a hawk in a nest, scouring his tattoos and the golden flesh that housed them.
“Cold baby?” he asked and I nodded as he looked up at me. “I’ll get you warm.”
He moved to the fireplace, kneeling down and giving me a view of the muscles that tapered down his lower back and the huge tattoo of a blood soaked warrior that spread across his shoulder blades and over his back in artful strokes. He was a machine wearing skin, his body built for power and violent efficiency. The fact that he was knelt there building me a fire seemed like an absolute contradiction to his nature. Not that I was planning on pointing that out.
He soon had a pyre in place, stuffing newspaper beneath it and lighting it with the strike of a match.
“Could you start a fire without those if you were lost in the wild, Kyan?” I asked curiously and he smirked as he stood up, moving to the couch directly below me and throwing himself down on it.
He cupped his head in his hands and I didn’t let my gaze budge an inch from his eyes as he laid himself out. “Nope,” he admitted. “Can you?”
“Yep,” I echoed his tone, making his smile grow. “Why are you so happy?”
“I think this lifestyle suits me,” he said thoughtfully.
“What? Murdering people and burying their bodies?” I asked and he considered it.
“Naw, it’s not that exactly. I like the thrill, I like being bad. I like having secrets.”
“How many secrets do you have?” I asked, my voice lowering instinctively as I pressed my forehead to the railings and gazed between them.
“More than you have toes on your feet,” he said and I wiggled my toes as they dangled above him.
“That’s a lot of secrets to carry around. Aren’t they heavy?” I asked and he shrugged, a darkness entering his eyes for a second that was all the answer I needed. Kyan might have looked like the big bad wolf, and maybe he’d eaten his fair share of Red Riding Hoods too, but there was more to him than met the eye. And sometimes, I was determined to find out what it was.
“How’s your head?” he smoothly changed the subject and I rubbed the back of it in response, feeling the bump Merl had left on it when he cracked it against the stone. Aiming to knock me out so he could get my pants down, his dick out…ergh. I shuddered, shutting my eyes as I tried to fight the image away. But I was sure it was going to be with me forever, burned into the backs of my eyes like it had been branded there with hot pokers. The worst part of it all was the shame that I’d almost been overwhelmed by him. I was supposed to be prepared. But now I knew that training for something and living it weren’t the same. And he’d been strong…so fucking strong.
“Merl was a mean motherfucker, you know,” Kyan said in a gravelly tone and my eyes cracked open. It was like he could read my thoughts. “The night we met him at the pit, he was blind drunk which was why I put him down so easy, but when he was sober he gave me a run for my money from time to time. He won almost as many fights in the ring as I did.”
I chewed on my lower lip as emotion swelled inside me. I fought it back, not wanting Kyan to see me weak. But he already had. He’d seen me beneath that guy, he’d almost seen me ruined. And it left me feeling so exposed, so small. Like he’d witnessed all of my failings and vulnerabilities. My dad had been hard on me in my training. He wanted me to be the best, I’d actually thought I was for a while. I hadn’t been beaten by an opponent in a
