Ash, Ink, and Ruin

POV SIENNA

"I will not tell you," my voice broke, yet anger kept me upright. "You can force your way in, climb through my balcony like a thief, and act as if you own every inch of this house, but this belongs to me. You have no right to touch it."

Killian let out a low sound, a scoff that vibrated through the palm still resting against my throat.

"You keep saying that word as if it means something here," he said, tilting his head slightly, his gaze burning into mine. "Right. In Iron Ridge, rights are not asked for, Sienna. They are taken."

He pulled the laptop firmly. I gripped the aluminium casing with both hands, bracing my weight against him.

"Let go, you brute!"

"Tell me what you look at every night in the dark," he growled, his strength unyielding. He pulled it effortlessly from my grasp and set it aside on the rumpled sheets.

Instinct made me lunge to get it back. I reached for him, but Killian caught my momentum. His free arm circled my waist and he pulled me flush against his bare chest, knocking the breath clean out of me. His skin blazed like hot iron. My palms flattened against hard, scarred muscle, and the bond between us shifted, from faint static to something explosive racing under my skin. My breath caught against his tight jaw.

"Give it back," I breathed, inches from his mouth, trembling with fury, fear, and a wild pull that threatened to consume me. "You do not know where to stop, Killian. You think you can walk into every part of my life just because you carry a famous name and a bulletproof car."

He did not glance at the laptop on the bed. His grey eyes were almost entirely swallowed by molten, hungry gold. He breathed with his mouth parted, his chest heaving against mine.

"I do not care about your laptop," his voice scraped rough and raw. "I do not care what you are hiding inside it."

"Then leave my room and let me..."

"I cannot."

The admission hung heavy in the cold air. Killian tangled his fingers deep in my hair, holding the back of my neck with desperate force that arched me toward him. His other hand settled on my hip, pulling me so close no space remained between us.

"For four days I have smelled you everywhere," he murmured, his lips brushing mine with every word. "On the sheets, in the halls, on the seat of my car. My wolf is tearing me apart because you are on the other side of a wall and I cannot get you out of my head."

"Killian..." I started, but his name fell from my lips like surrender.

"I hate that you are here," he gritted out, his gaze fixed on my mouth with ravenous need. "I hate that you do not belong to this world. I hate that you look at me as if I am a monster. But I hate this most of all... the certainty that no one else will ever touch you this way."

"You do not touch me," I lied, my pulse hammering so hard it hurt.

"Look me in the eyes and say it again."

I could not. The moment his golden gaze locked with mine, I knew I could not pretend. He leaned in and his mouth crashed onto mine. It was not gentle. It was fierce, desperate, charged with every suppressed feeling we had carried since the day we met. He kissed me like someone dying of thirst. His lips were hot and demanding, claiming me so completely I gasped into him. He deepened the kiss without asking, tasting me with urgency that blurred every thought. He smelled of storm and danger and something entirely his own. My hands, meant to push him away, instead curled around his shoulders, pulling him closer. The bond erupted like lava through my veins. His wolf rumbled against my mouth, a low triumphant sound that shivered through every nerve.

He shifted his weight, drawing me beneath him, covering me entirely. His hand in my hair guided my head back, his kiss deepening, slow and consuming. In those moments nothing else mattered. There were no contracts, no family plans, no old grudges. There was only him, the taste of him, and the terrifying realization that I did not want him to stop.

When he finally drew back, his lips were swollen and red, and he breathed as if he had fought his way through a storm. He rested his forehead against mine, eyes closed, skin warm and damp. Our hearts beat as one. Neither of us spoke. Words would have been too small or too false. Killian opened his eyes slowly. The gold was still there, but now softened by something vulnerable, something he had never let anyone see. He brushed my mouth with one last look, released me gently, and stood up. He set the laptop on the desk without opening it and walked toward the balcony doors. Before stepping out, he paused with his back to me.

"Seven‑thirty tomorrow morning, Sienna," he said, his voice still rough and unsteady. "Do not be late."

He was gone, leaving only the fading warmth of him behind. I stayed still, touching my lips, and