16. Layla

16

LAYLA

Kaden nearly chokes me out, then walks back inside my home with his cat cradled tenderly in his arms.

His reemergence causes an electric charge in the air, a smoky blend of danger and impending doom that seeps into every corner of my home.

Carefully, he makes his way upstairs, boots heavy on the creaking wooden steps.

"Where are you going?" I call after him, curiosity creeping into my voice.

He doesn't answer, but continues his ascent.

I've managed to regain enough composure that only my fingers shake as I follow him. Our confrontation was brutal, visceral and so eye-opening, I'm heartbroken over what I saw.

Not terrified, heartbroken.

What the hell kind of person does that make me? Am I a masochist now?

I find him commandeering the smaller guest room adjacent to mine. It's barely more than storage space at this point, filled with boxes and my own chaotic clutter .

With Reaper purring soundly in the middle of my bed, Kaden scours every corner of the upstairs, assessing and calculating with a meticulous focus that sends my heart skittering.

The house, he declares in that low rumble of his, needs some improvements.

Then, under Kaden's ruthless efficiency and latent military precision, my spare room begins to transform.

I watch as he hauls in crates filled with equipment I've only seen in spy thrillers—sleek-looking monitors, complex keyboard sets, complicated machinery with blinking lights and whirring sounds.

I don't ask where he got them from. Some questions are better left unanswered.

I gulp when he unrolls a satchel filled with weapons.

He arranges the monitors in a semi-circle on a rectangular fold-out table he lugged up the stairs, adjusting and readjusting the screens to align perfectly with his tall figure behind the table. Kaden's set himself up to face the open doorway, with a direct line of sight into my bedroom.

His logic is sound, unfortunately. The vantage point allows him unobstructed views of my room and the surrounding hallway, but there's something possessive about his actions, a primal marking of territory that has my pulse quickening.

Once everything is plugged in and powered up, it casts a supernatural blue glow, transforming my quaint storage space into a nerve center. I'm both impressed and intimidated by what he's accomplished in mere hours.

"Will this … invasion affect my internet connection?" I ask as I linger outside the doorway.

It's a poor attempt to inject levity into our tension-charged atmosphere, but I'm at a loss on what else to do. It's clear he's staying. I'm not about to give in to the impulse to try to stop him again. It's clear I need more of a strategy when it comes to this man.

"No," he replies. "It'll improve it to the point you'll believe you're in the heart of a metropolis, not out on a peninsula with constant storms."

His eyes slide over and catch mine briefly before they move to the view of my bed.

"I'll move Reaper and her brood once I've set up their bed in here."

Excuse me?

My attention whips to the furry black ball nestled in my comforter. "Her brood? She has kittens?"

Vaguely, I remember Kaden threatening to feed Bonesaw's corpse to kittens, but I thought he was just being creative.

Risking turning my back to Kaden, I stride toward the bed and notice at least four kittens suckling on their mother.

"I told you," Kaden grunts behind me. "Family is everything. I wasn't about to leave them."

I stare at the kittens, their tiny bodies squirming against Reaper's belly. Their eyes are still closed, pink noses twitching as they nurse. The sight softens something inside me, a welcome contrast to the strain that's been building since Kaden's arrival.

"How old are they?" I ask, my voice barely above gushing.

"About three weeks," Kaden replies, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

He stands just behind me, his hulking frame casting a shadow over my head. "They'll be prowling around soon."

I turn to look at him, struck by the kindness in his voice. It's at odds with the man who nearly strangled me earlier, who's now setting up a military-grade command center in my spare room .

"You knew she had them before you brought her to Greycliff," I say. It's not a question.

Kaden keeps his attention fixed on the babies. "Reaper isn't mine. I found her at the warehouse, half starved and trying to feed her litter. They've grown on me."

His expression remains blank. More than anything, I wish I could know what was going on behind those tempered blue eyes.

"You shouldn't put them in that room with you," I say, breaking the moment. "Your equipment generates too much heat. It's not safe for the kittens in there."

Without waiting for my response, Kaden leans over and scoops up the blanket Reaper and her brood are nestled in with one fluid motion. The cat doesn't protest, seeming to trust him implicitly. He places them gently in the corner.

I follow, watching as he arranges pillows around them, creating a makeshift nest. His hands, capable of such violence, now move with surprising delicacy.

"They'll stay here for now." He straightens. "I'll need to procure supplies for them. Food, litter, toys."

The domesticity of his words, said with a confidence that he's done this before and taken care of something vulnerable, creates a cognitive dissonance that makes my head spin.

"Kaden," I start, not sure what I'm going to say.

Yet I have so many questions.

I clear my throat. "I'm sorry for what happened earlier. What I said about?—"

"You should get some rest." He cuts in. "I'll stand watch."

"Stand watch?" I repeat, incredulous. "You expect me to sleep while you're ... what? Patrolling the house?"

"Yes," he replies, his tone leaving no room for argument. He moves past me, back toward his newly established command center. "Lock your bedroom door. Don't open it unless you hear me give the all-clear signal."

"What's the all-clear signal?" I ask, trailing him.

He pauses at the threshold of the spare room, looking back at me. "Three short knocks, followed by two long ones. Anything else, you stay put and keep quiet."

With that, he steps into the spare room and closes the door, leaving me alone in the hallway with more confusion than answers.

I retreat to my bedroom, locking the door as instructed. Reaper spies me in her claimed corner of my room. I smile a greeting to my new roommate, then undress, my mind racing with the events of the day.

Who is Kaden, really? What kind of life has he led? And why, despite everything, do I feel safer with him here?

The soft purring of Reaper and the tiny mewls of her kittens fill the uncomfortable atmosphere as I slip under my covers. Outside my door, I hear the faint hum of Kaden's equipment and his occasional movements.

I close my eyes, knowing I'll be chasing sleep long into the night. In the darkness, I strain my ears, listening for any sound that might signal trouble. But all I hear is the steady rhythm of Kaden's footsteps, pacing back and forth, keeping watch over me.

The wind howls outside my window.

I turn to my side, tucking deeper under my covers and shivering against a sudden gust that slips through the cracks.

A warning growl sounds near my face, and in a flash of panic, my eyes snap open and I see that Reaper's made herself at home on the empty side of my bed, bringing her babies along with her and burrowing under my covers, too.

Reaper's eyes are open and staring at me with a ferocity that's disconcerting, as if she's trying to warn me about something.

I'm shaken out of our staring contest by a sudden crack of thunder. Almost instantly, the sliver of light under my door leading into the hallway flickers and dies.

I lift onto my elbow, lurching over the cat where my bedside lamp is. My fingers fumble in the pitch-black for a switch, but even after several fruitless seconds of twisting, no comforting light dispels the overwhelming darkness.

"Kaden?" I call out, trying to keep my voice steady.

No response.

Another deafening clap of thunder makes me jump. I decide to brave the inky blackness and crawl out of bed toward the door. But before I can touch the knob, it swings open.

I yelp, stumbling back. A sharp hiss from Reaper warns me not to move another muscle, but the fear of her claws in my flesh is nothing compared to the massive form with glowing, neon green eyes blocking any escape route in front of me.

"Stay calm," Kaden commands behind his mask. "The storm's taken out the power grid."

"No shit," I retort with more courage than I actually feel. "What now? And what happened to your all-clear signal before you come in?"

I don't need to see his face to envision his wry expression when he intones, "It's not all clear."

Then he moves. Quick and efficient, he crosses the room to my window and pulls down the blinds, blocking out the flashes of lightning.

"Security systems are down. We'll have to double up for the night. "

"Double up?" I stammer, still half-reeling from his sudden intrusion.

Despite the threat of a power outage, another form of anticipation begins to prickle under my skin.

Kaden nods curtly. "In here. It's safer."

"In my bedroom?" I finally manage to get out.

"Yes."

I don't miss the weighted expectation that follows his reply or the stiffness in his tone.

Kaden, in my bedroom? The very concept raises a myriad of unarticulated feelings—dread, excitement, curiosity—all jumbled and fighting for attention within me.

But somewhere, buried deep beneath this tumultuous medley, there is an undeniable sense of relief.

I don't want to endure this black-out alone.

"Are you, um, going to keep your Scythe mask on?" I ask, horrified at the high pitch to my voice.

"Yes."

"I see." I swallow down the panic threatening to rise in my throat. "And where would you like to sleep? The chair? The floor?"

He keeps his neon-rimmed eyes trained on me, unmoving. "The bed."

In bed with me? I think, my thoughts turning slightly manic.

In response to the unspoken question that's probably written all over my face, Kaden's mask dips down, his apathetic gaze trailing over my skimpy tank top and underwear, to my bare feet, my toes curling against the hardwood.

"Are you cold?" he suddenly asks, his illuminated eyes the only brightness in the pitch-dark room. There's a note of something indistinct interlaced within his voice, like the sound of a gun's safety being turned off.

I don't respond because, honestly, I'm not sure if I am. My skin tingles in a way that's reminiscent of the cold, but it's more invasive. More primal. My knees knock together and my breath hitches.

"Answer me."

His command is punctuated by an unforgiving jab of lightning that dances behind the closed blinds. The room plunges into sheer darkness again, and I can feel him—Kaden, The Scythe—close enough to touch.

"I ... yes," I admit, my voice merely a whisper against the drumming rain hitting the roof. "I am."

His next move is as quick as it is unexpected. In one swift motion, he picks me up effortlessly, cradling me against his chest. My surprised gasp is lost against the thunderous backdrop of the storm outside.

The mattress dips under our combined weight, his mask hovering just above my face. The warmth of his body seeps into me, chasing away the chill that had settled on my skin. I squirm at the cool sensation of the sheets against my thighs, blushing in the darkness.

His voice is rough, almost inaudible as he speaks. "Stay under the covers. Keep warm."

Kaden moves around the room, carefully lifting, then depositing Reaper and her kittens back in her corner with additional blankets. In the lightning-streaked darkness, I notice him shed his leather jacket, then settle beside me, above the covers.

His proximity is unnerving. Electrifying. The heat radiating from him is a paradox. Comforting, yet disturbingly extreme.

"I won't touch you," he says. "I have to stay close, now that there's nothing to help me monitor you or your property."

I nod in understanding, my heart pounding an erratic rhythm against my ribs. He's here for his own ends, not for my comfort. I need to remember that .

But his confirmation does nothing to temper the crackling lightning inside me.

Kaden's promise feels empty as the hours crawl by. I toss and turn, throwing off the covers at the increased heat my inner lightning strikes keep reigniting.

My mind refuses to slumber, too consumed by Kaden's proximity, his lethal presence penetrating any dreams I might have. I'm remembering the taste of him, the silk of him, the noises he made when I forced him to come undone.

Surprisingly, it's Kaden who shatters the quietude first, his ragged breath cutting through the room. "Wraithling…"

His voice is a warning growl. Rough, desperate.

"You need to stop—moving around, so much."

I hear a harsh intake of breath, like he's trying to control himself.

I can't sleep , I start to explain, then realize what a compromising position I'm in.

I'm on my back, my legs splayed on top of the covers, my shirt riding up under my breasts with all my twisting.

Right. He has night vision.

"I … I didn't mean…" I stammer, trying to straighten my top but instead brushing against him.

Kaden's hand snaps out, gripping my wrist. His fingers are cool and firm against my over-heated skin.

"Layla," he says, an undertone of warning detectable even through his neutral mask.

With a slow deliberation born of restraint so iron-strong it leaves me breathless, his scarred knuckles brush against the exposed skin of my abdomen.

I have to remind myself, this isn't the Kaden who saves kittens and pushes me out of the path of oncoming vehicles. This is the Scythe—the trained, cold-blooded killer.

I clench my fists as his hand creeps upward, exploring the terrain of my body with unerring precision. My breath becomes audible, my breasts rising and falling under his masked gaze.

His thumb circles the edge of my navel as a rumble escapes him. "So soft."

Lightning flares, and in the split-second illumination, I see him leaning a fraction closer, as if drawn by some magnetic force. The glow from his mask reflects off the sheen of sweat on my bare skin.

"Kaden," I whisper.

I've said his name so much since I've learned it. Maybe too much. But I love how it sounds. I love calling him by his true name.

His hand stills.

"What?" he asks, his voice just above a scrape. Dangerously quiet.

"I can't sleep," I admit.

"And why is that?" His thumb resumes its lazy circling of my navel, the heat from his touch searing through my skin.

"Because you're here," I confess, my words breaking through the storm like shattered glass. "And because … I want you."

Kaden stops breathing.

" Fuhh ck." Kaden pulls his hand back and moves to sit on the side of the bed and putting his back to me.

"Wraithling," he warns, an edge of desperation lacing through his restraint.

"I'm not blind. I can see the way you look at me." My voice breaks, aching and exposed. I swallow and press on, compelled by some masochistic instinct. "You want me, too."

His silence is deafening.

"And..." I hesitate, then plunge forward into the abyss. " And I think about it, too. All the time. About you touching me."

He murmurs my name like a prayer, or a curse, his head bowed. "You don't know what you're asking for."

I somehow find the courage to say, "Then show me."

"Ten years," he says without turning his head. "A decade since I've touched a woman. Since I've allowed that part of me to have even a breath of life."

His voice scrapes over his vocal cords while my heart races and my cheeks flame at the deeper implications.

Whether he's aware or not, Kaden has just bared himself to me in a way that has nothing to do with physicality.

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask.

"You need to know." There's a finality in his tone. "If I start, if I let myself go, I won't be gentle. I won't be considerate. I'll take what I want, how I want. And it will hurt. This is not something you can handle."

I should be horrified, repulsed, and I am a bit of both. But most of all, I'm filled with an insane, overwhelming curiosity.

I want to taste the darkness he's warning me about.

"Let me decide what I can handle."

His chuckle is harsh and devoid of humor. Still, he doesn't turn to me.

Kaden's hand whips out and grips my ankle, pulling until I'm flat on the bed with one leg in his control and the other trying to find purchase.

He keeps his back to me when his hand, warm and firm, runs up the bare skin of my inner thigh.

It's an intimate touch that sends a jolt to my core. His fingers skim over the lace edge of my panties before his hand comes to rest on the fabric against my heated center.

"Last chance. "

His voice is thick and heady as his fingers apply an insistent pressure.

"I want this," I say, though it comes out more like a plea than a statement.

Kaden turns to face me then, his night vision eyes two bright, toxic orbs. His fingers stop their exploration, and he looks at me for a long moment, then reaches for the waistband of my panties.

There's no tenderness in his touch, no caution. Just the abrupt, arrogant grip of a man claiming what's his.

The fabric tears away easily under his firm hold, leaving me bare. I'm certain his eyes are roaming my body unabashedly behind his mask, drinking in the sight of me panting and laid out before him.

It should scare me, having to guess at his intentions, but instead, I'm getting wetter at the thought of the unknown.

He returns to my inner thighs, pushing them apart with a force that has me choking on an inhale.

Kaden's spread me so wide it hurts, the dull throb of it stirring an unfamiliar craving for more.

There's a momentary hesitation, then the soft click of a button and his mask retracts, revealing the hardened planes of his face. His eyes meet mine, pinning me in place with their passion. The faint glow from where his mask rests on the top of his head reflects their ravenous shine.

Hungry for more. Hungry for me.

His free hand delves into the slick folds between my legs, smearing the wetness around before sinking two fingers inside me without any warning.

I gasp at the sudden intrusion, my body unable to stifle an instinctive jolt of pleasure. The sudden pain has me biting down on my lower lip .

A desperate cry escapes me when his teeth graze my clit, then clamp down.

And my cry turns into a scream.

The pain blooms warm and quick, a savage bite of unexpected sensation that forces my back flat against the bed. I grab handfuls of the sheets, my hands cramping from how hard I clench them. I can't look away from him, even as he devours me with a lavishness that borders on violence.

Kaden doesn't pause, doesn't relent, even when the stimulation is so much, it hurts to bear it.

His eyes don't stray from my face, as if he's making sure I watch. Watch as he devours me, his mouth glossed with my arousal. I'm bared for him, stretched out and spread wide like an offering. And he's taking everything.

I don't realize I'm arching into him until I feel the strain in my muscles. My hands, which had been holding onto anything they could find for support, fly instinctively to his head.

His mouth leaves me then, first pulling my hands off him, then wiping his wet mouth with the back of one before they grasp my knees and press them into the mattress.

My arms curl into my chest at the thought of what could happen next, but he catches both my wrists and yanks my hands to my pussy, commanding, "Keep yourself in this position. Spread yourself open."

The harshness of his command stirs a wave of heat through my body. I do as he says, parting my slick folds with shaking fingers. Kaden's eyes blacken at the sight, his gaze lingering on my exposed flesh. He releases a low growl, which sends a shudder up my spine.

Then Kaden's hand is back between my legs, his thumb circling my swollen clit with slow, torturous strokes that cause my fingernails to cut into my own flesh. I grimace, the pain-pleasure spiral morphing into a pit of torture.

I let out a broken whimper when he adds his tongue with no buildup, no teasing tests of patience. Just a carnal, ruthless kiss that has my toes curling and my body thrashing underneath him.

He makes no attempt to soothe or slow down, his actions instead becoming wilder, more brutal. A coppery smell hits the air, and I'm pretty sure it's my blood. Whether from my nails or from him, I don't know. I can't think straight.

Kaden pulls away. Immediately, I whine in protest, but he silences any resistance with a single look, his glare flat yet possessive.

"Spread yourself until you're stretching to the point of agony."

The familiar indifference seeping back into his features makes me pause, but then he thrusts his fingers inside me again, harsh and fast.

My quiet whimper transforms into a desperate gasp when his thumbnail finds my sweet spot. The intensity of it is suddenly too much, and I'm borderline sobbing with the overwhelming flood of sensations when I do as he asks.

My body, under his command, opens further, my fingers trembling as they pull apart my folds. Kaden's tongue is unforgiving, each lash sending sparks and igniting a flame that rapidly grows into an uncontrollable inferno.

I'm not sure when the tears began to fall, but I taste salt on my lips as I throw my head back and surrender to such unrelenting exposure. The edges of my vision blur and I can feel the pressure building, the knot in my stomach ready to snap any moment.

My body jerks as a wave crashes through me, but Kaden pulls back at the last moment, denying my release. He rises from the edge of the bed, observing my blubbering form.

"This is a mere sliver of what I want to do to you. I'm going to take you apart, piece by agonizing piece, until there's nothing left but what I've given you."

I can't think, can't speak. The room spins and I can still feel his heat against my skin.

Just when I'm about to beg him for my release, a sudden creak sounds from downstairs. Kaden's head whips toward the closed door.

His face shows no emotion when he does it, but I can read the subtext.

Intruders.

"Fuck," he says.