She stirs—barely—her head tilting toward the sound. Her pupils are blown wide, swimming, unfocused. Her body tries to move but fails.
She swallows.
A slurred whisper slips out.
“…Kai…”
My breath leaves me in a slow, dangerous exhale.
Oh, sweetheart. You know me even like this.
I crouch beside her, fingers brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek. Her skin is warm, feverish, trembling beneath the drug Noah used to keep her in line.
A drug she never should’ve tasted.
I run my thumb along her jaw.
“You look wrecked,” I murmur. “And not the way I wanted.”
She tries to lift her hand, but it falls halfway, fingers brushing my knee instead. Her eyelids flutter, heavy, fighting to focus on me.
“Missed me?” I whisper, leaning closer. “You were screaming in the woods like you wanted me to drag you home by your throat.”
Her breath catches—barely there, but I hear it. She tries to speak again—my name, or something like it—but the drug drags the words under before they form.
I laugh under my breath, not mocking.
Delighted.
A sound soaked in obsession.
“Noah really did me a favour, didn’t he?” I say it low, voice warm with something feral. “He wanted to shut you up. Slow you down. Make you manageable.” I tilt her chin up with two fingers. “But all he did was leave you helpless in a house he can’t protect.”
Her eyes roll slightly—half-awareness flickering like a dying flame—and she tries to cling to consciousness.
To me.
Her fingers curl weakly against my leg.
My teeth clench.
“You’re trying so hard,” I whisper, breath grazing her temple. “Trying to stay awake. To fight. To see me properly.”
Another tiny sound leaves her.
“…Kai…”
The second one hits harder.
I almost close my eyes.
Almost lose control.
Instead, I drag a slow breath through my teeth and let the darkness in me settle, coil, sharpen.
“God, I missed hearing my name on your lips.”
My gaze flicks to the empty glass on the table.
