78

ALEXANDER

The sharp clink of glass echoed as I poured myself a generous amount of scotch. The liquid burned amber under the dim lights, catching the glint of the small vial of wolfsbane I pulled from my jacket. I twisted the cap, poured until the whiskey turned darker, and stirred the glass lazily.

The poison wouldn’t kill me but it would give me the edge I needed. That fine line between clarity and chaos, the only place where the voices in my head went quiet.

I took the single seater across from Killian and Claude without a word. They were mid conversation, but I didn’t give a shit about the tone of the room. My mood was worse.

Claude turned toward me first, raising a brow. “He really pointed you in the right direction?”

Killian gave a slow nod. “Yeah. Took some pressure. Man acted like the mutt was royalty or some shit. Could barely get a word out of him.”

Claude chuckled, the sound dry and humorless. “Figures.”

I tipped my drink back, the bitter sting coating my throat, burning like a punishment I half believed I deserved.

All the blood I spilled today was worthless. It had done nothing to calm the hunger gnawing at the back of my mind. That traitorous girl’s screams had barely registered. Even imagining Aliana's face while getting myself off in the bathroom gave me more release than carving through flesh.

That alone should’ve told me something was broken. Maybe everything.

“I heard you got busy when we got back,” Killain said, his tone light but there was something behind his eyes. Curiosity. Judgement. A dare to speak.

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I finished what was left in my glass in one sharp swallow.

He narrowed his eyes at my empty cup. “And why the hell are you drinking that mix again?”

He didn’t say the word, poison, but we all knew that’s what it was. A blend lethal enough to drop any supernatural who didn’t build a tolerance for it. To a human, even the fumes could kill.

Claude leaned back, smirking like he’d caught a scent. “Probably needs a moment of peace after not fucking his little kept girl. Tell me again, why are you now abstinent?"

I didn’t look at him. My grip tightened around the empty glass, but I didn’t throw it just yet.

“She still has her panties on?” Killain asked, more shocked than teasing.

I turned my glare on him this time. “You sound surprised.”

Claude let out a bark of a laugh. The other man ignored him and went on. “I mean, I’d be surprised too. It’s been months, and you’ve got that pretty little thing walking around your compound, looking like sin wrapped in a schoolgirl’s body.”

“She’s not a toy,” I muttered.

“But she looks like one. You sure you’re not just jacking off to the idea of her every night?” Killian teased, tone mocking.

"And he fucked her, but now he's denying himself. I don't know why."

“You spend too much time thinking about my cock.” I ignored Claude's addition, responding to Killain instead.

“She’s hot,” Claude said, undeterred. “Hot in that innocent way that makes you wanna ruin her just to see if she cries.”

My stomach twisted in rage, disgust, guilt. I didn’t know which.

“I don’t fuck everything that moves.”

“But this one? You already have and you clearly want to fuck her again,” Killian pushed, voice lower now, more serious. “Put yourself out of your misery. What's stopping you?"

I met his gaze with a flat stare. “Because she’s mine. Not yours. Not anyone’s. And what I do with her isn’t up for conversation.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. Claude, as always, grinned like he’d won something just by getting under my skin.

If he weren’t my brother, I’d have carved his tongue out already.

He leaned in, his tone suddenly changing as he turned to Killian. “Speaking of dicks and pretty girls, you never did tell me what happened to your little witch.”

That was what he called her. Witch. It wasn't a compliment nor an insult. Just the label he slapped on women who didn’t play the game his way.

“She’s gone,” He replied coolly.

I saw the violence simmering in his gaze and the hard clenching of his jaw. Claude, the dumb fuck, was never known for reading a room, and he didn’t bother now. “You killed her?”

Killian didn’t respond.

“I mean, fuck. She was a mouthy little thing, but she had the kind of curves that make a man forget his name. If you were tired of her, you should’ve passed her my—”

A sharp whistle cut through the room.

Claude flinched back a second too as Killian's late dagger sliced the air cleanly, grazing his cheek and embedding into the leather armrest behind him.

The scent of blood hit my nose.

Claude winced as he pressed a hand to the wound. It was already healing, but it had hit deep enough to sting.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dabbing at it with the silk square he pulled from his pocket. “Fine. Maybe I deserved that.”

I tossed a heavy ashtray at his head. It missed on purpose.

“You know damn well he didn’t grow up going to tea parties and grammar school,” I muttered.

Claude shrugged. “Still. Could’ve just said ‘no thanks’ like a normal person.”

Killian said nothing. Just sat there with that quiet stormy look on his face.

But the way his jaw flexed, yeah. He was pissed.

And not just because of Claude's mouth.

There was something else brewing beneath his silence.

I studied him, that heavy, still energy rolling off him like a storm cloud before it breaks. The poison still hadn’t hit me the way I needed it to. The scotch had only left my mind sharper. 

The silence grew thick, I didn't like it. Soemthing clicked in that moment.

The words escaped before I could stop them.

“She was your mate, wasn’t she?”

Killian didn’t answer. Just finished his drink in one long swallow.

That told me everything.

Cluade let out a low whistle. “No wonder you nearly took my head off.” At least had the decency to look regretful for once. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know.”

Killian still said nothing.

“You got rid of your mate?” I asked, disbelieving. “Why?”

“Because I had to.”

“What, your father wouldn’t approve?”

“He doesn’t care. She could’ve been a half-blooded whore and he’d still marry me off to her if I told him she was my mate.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

He looked up, and for a moment, I saw something flicker in his eyes. Not rage or guilt. Something worse. Possesiveness. And I understood that more than I cared to admit.

“Because if I touched her,” he said quietly, “hell wouldn’t just freeze over. It’d beg me for mercy.”