Silly human

Chapter Nine

Kayden’s POV

Finally, she was asleep.

I was on my side, elbow digging into the mattress, just… watching her. Even now, she didn’t look restful. Her eyebrows were pulled together. Her mouth had that little downturn at the corners. Like she was carrying every problem she’d ever had right into her dreams.

It made my own chest ache. A stupid, physical reaction I didn’t ask for.

I shook my head a little. Idiot. Cut it out.

This was just work. A job. The plan was simple: get close, get her to trust me. Telling her the truth about the poison—or a slice of it—was a solid move. Made me look like a turncoat. Made her think I was her new best weapon against Silas. She believed me. She let me stay.

But the other thing… that was messing me up.

Right from the start, from that first second in the warehouse, I wanted her. And I don’t mean for the mission. I mean a real, crawling-under-the-skin kind of want. I figured once we… you know, once it happened, the feeling would fade. You scratch an itch, it stops itching. That’s life.

Except it didn’t stop.

It got louder. Now, lying here, all I could think was again. I wanted to wake her up and do it all again. It was clouding my head, and a cloudy head gets you killed.

You’re making it a big deal, I told myself. It’s just a thing. Bodies and heat. It doesn’t mean a thing.

My hand drifted down, almost like it wasn’t attached to me. It slid along the waistband of the shorts I’d pulled on. My fingers found the tiny split in the seam, the hidden pocket nobody would ever check. I pinched the small glass vial and pulled it out.

Cold. Always so cold. The stuff inside was black and moved slow, like old motor oil. Nightshade, plus some other bitter things mixed in. One drop was all it would take. Two, to be sure. She wouldn’t feel a thing. She’d just drift off and not come back.

Then my job is done. My debt to her uncle is wiped clean. I walk away. I’m free.

I looked from the poison in my hand to her face in the dim light. That little white line on her cheek—a scar from something. Her hair was everywhere on my pillow. It smelled like her.

I didn’t put the vial back in my pocket. I leaned over and tucked it under the very edge of the mattress, near the headboard. For later. Not now. The timing was wrong.

I needed to get out of this room. The air was too full of her—jasmine and night and just her. I was losing my edge.

I pushed the blanket off, slow and easy. I swung my legs out. The floorboards were icy under my feet. I stood up.

That’s when the sound came.

A quick, sharp gasp. Like someone punched her in the gut.

I looked back.

Still asleep. But her face was all tight and pained. Another sound came out of her, a low whine that got stuck in her throat. Her fists were clenched in the sheet, knuckles white.

Bad dream.

Not your circus, not your monkeys, the cold part of my brain chimed in. Just walk. Go to the door. Open it. Leave.

My feet didn’t listen.

Another whimper. This one sounded… scared. Really scared.

“No, stop…” she mumbled into the pillow. “Please…”

Ah, hell.

I let out a long, quiet breath. Felt my neat little plan crack right down the middle. I didn’t let myself think. I just moved. I got back into the bed, behind her. I slid one arm under her neck, the other around her waist, and pulled her back into me. She felt smaller than she looked. Not so tough right now.

“Shhh,” I whispered right into her hair. My voice came out all gravel. “It’s nothing. You’re safe.”

I felt her whole body go stiff for a second. Then, bit by bit, it all unraveled. A shaky breath rushed out of her. She went soft and heavy against me, her head finding that spot right under my chin. The dream let go.

She was warm. And she fit. Like the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

I was so damn stupid.

I stayed like that until her breathing got slow and regular. Until the tension was all gone. Then, real careful, I unwrapped myself. I slid out from behind her and stood up. She made a soft, sleepy sound and curled into the warm spot I’d left behind.

I just stood there. For a whole minute, maybe more. Staring. Trying to memorize the shape of her shoulder in the sliver of moonlight from the window. This was all wrong. A major mistake.

But it was too late to fix it.

I made myself turn around. I left her there. I left the vial under the mattress.

I walked to the bedroom door. My hand wrapped around the cold brass knob. I turned it, pulled the door inward, and took one step into the dark hallway.

The pain exploded before I even understood what was happening.

A hot, tearing feeling in my side. Like a red-hot poker jammed right between my ribs. It stole my breath clean away.

I glanced down.

There was a hand. A slim, pale hand. It was gripping a knife handle. The blade was buried to the hilt in my side, just above my hip. Blood, dark and way too warm, was already spreading. Soaking the fabric of my shorts, running down my leg.

My eyes dragged up from the knife. Up the arm. To the person standing in the shadows.

The person wore a mask exposing just the eyes but from the shape, I could tell it was a woman

“Thought you’d won, didn’t you?” she whispered, her voice sweet as poison. “Silly little human.”

Then she twisted the knife.