Chapter 89

Genevieve was passed out, curled around her pillow and mine. She’d even stolen my blanket and wrapped it around her. I didn’t give a fuck that it left me without both. I liked laying there watching her sleep, taking in all the gorgeous little details on her face as the sun rose outside our windows.

I’d kept her up for hours, reacquainting myself with every inch of her body—familiarizing myself with all the things I could do to make her scream, gasp, and beg for more. I even learned a few new things thanks to her fucking piercings. After all was said and done, she’d be out for hours, which was what I wanted. If she woke up at her normal hour, she’d fret all the way to my doctor’s appointment. We had a big enough day ahead of us without her stressing herself out longer than fucking necessary.

It was odd how comfortable it was to fall right back into my old morning routine. After I showered, I threw her towels in the dryer so they’d be warm when she woke up to do the same. I turned on the portable heater and closed the bathroom door, knowing it’d be nice and hot in there for her. Genevieve hated the cold, especially first thing in the morning. I even set her lotion on the floor near the heater to warm it up too. Downstairs, I made a cup of instant coffee while brewing a pot of her pumpkin spice one. I set out a mug—mildly annoyed by the lack of colored ones, but I had a plan to fix that. Normally, I’d make her breakfast while she showered, but maybe I’d take her out before my appointment.

I didn’t think twice about doing any of these things. It was all shit that took me a matter of minutes to do, but it made her morning. The few extra minutes added to my morning routine were worth that. Taking care of her like this—finding the ins and outs of the little things that made her feel cherished and loved—had been an unexpected result of choosing the lifestyle we lived. Finding ways to embrace taking control of her life for her and taking care of her in ways she’d never been cared for had made her flourish. I liked doing that for her. I liked being the safe place she needed to let go, to breathe, to feel unburdened. Sure, I didn’t have to do our morning routine. She was more than capable of all that shit. But I enjoyed it. The satisfaction I got knowing she was happier and felt cared for because of me ran deep.

I grabbed my coffee and headed outside to enjoy the quiet of my backyard. The chill in the air bit harder than usual, and I could smell the rain in the air. What a fucking day to have a laundry list of shit to do. The weather screamed stay inside and do nothing. Or stay inside and fuck my wife, but I had a feeling she would be sore enough without going another couple of rounds.

I took my time, enjoying my coffee and listening to the wildlife in the woods with my wolf hearing. It was peaceful enough, even if it wasn’t the ocean. The fencing was the best damn thing I’d done with this house. Before it, our neighbors were always finding reasons to interrupt my quiet time.

As I went back in, I began mentally organizing the fucking laundry list of shit to get through but stopped short before I ever made it to my kitchen. Lane leaned against one counter with an apple in hand and his knife in the other.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” I demanded. “How the fuck do you know where I live?”

“You make her coffee.” He nodded to her coffee cup on the counter. “How fucking domestic of you. You never made me coffee.”

“Again, how the fuck did you get in here?” I repeated. I moved around him to rinse out the mug and watched as he sliced off a hunk of apple, eating it directly off the blade.

“I wanted an apple, you have apples,” Lane said. “Therefore, I’m here eating your apples.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Buy your own goddamn apples,” I retorted. Lowering my voice, I asked, “Did you seriously fucking handle it already?”

“Please,” he scoffed. “Recently, I acquired a very detailed notebook collection from a cannibal that I plan to use.”

My stomach dropped. I didn’t want to fucking know, but I couldn’t fucking help myself.

“You’re not… tell me you’re not going to eat him, Lane.”

“Fuck no! I don’t fucking eat people. Well, okay there was that one fucking time, but he was a Nazi, he was a dick, I was hungry, we did what we had to back then. Things were fucking nuts during the war.”

I stared at him as I processed the words coming out of his mouth. Right. Lane was immortal —a fact that I rarely thought about until this fucker brought up shit like being alive during the world wars or medieval times. That shit fucked with my head.

“Apple?” He offered me a hunk off his knife, holding it way too goddamn close to my mouth. Not knowing what the fuck to do, I ate it right off the blade. He grinned like a kid at fucking Christmas. “If you must know, I relocated my little pet project for the next few weeks. A moving crew will be there this afternoon to move everything—they’re cannibals. I’m paying them in frozen body parts. The wife’s been dismantled, wrapped up like a fucking present, and ready to be used as payment. That job was easy. Did that in front of my new pet to fuck with his head. He’s already in a way, and I haven’t even started with him. That set of notebooks has some fascinating cutting techniques… ways to take apart a person layer by layer—”

“No!” I cut him off and took two steps away, breathing deeply to settle my rolling stomach. I could handle a lot of shit, but Lane’s shit… I couldn’t handle it. “Don’t want the details, Lane. You just let me know when it’s fucking over.”

“It’ll be a few weeks. I might stretch it over a fucking month.” He shrugged. The absolute casualness of him as he talked about mutilating and torturing someone was disturbing. There were things we just didn’t talk about. I was one of the only people who knew what Lane was. Sometimes, he got a little too comfortable with that. If it wasn’t for the fact that Lane only did what he did to people who deserved it, we wouldn’t be friends.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Besides eating my food,” I asked.

“I’m here to split you like a fucking log.” Lane fucking licked the juice off his knife as if he hadn’t just said the words he’d said.

“Can you not say shit like that?” I replied. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I can. Apple?” Tell me why the fuck I took the goddamn apple off the knife when he held it in my direction again?

“Damn it, Lane!” I exclaimed. “Stop feeding me.”

“You know an apple a day keeps the doctor away or some shit like that,” he said. “I don’t actually know if that shit works, considering I’m immortal and all, but you’re not.”

“I know,” I growled.

“Come on, wolf boy. We got work to do.”

I didn’t follow him as he started for the back door. Instead, I grabbed the little counter notepad Genevieve kept and scribbled a note for her. I felt Lane’s presence as he stared over my shoulder.

“Is your wife stupid?” Lane asked. A deep growl vibrated in my chest.

“Talk about my wife that way one more time,” I threatened. And what? What the fuck would I do? Fight him? Kill him? Fat fucking chance. The man would wipe the floor with me and then probably feed me to his cannibal associates.

“Your note says you’re going for a run, but you just showered—I can smell your soap on you,” he commented. “I’m assuming the bathroom shows signs of being used this morning, including your wet towel. So, do you take showers and then go running? Is your wife stupid enough to believe that?”

I stared at the note. Fuck, he was right. And no, Genevieve wouldn’t believe that, even if she said nothing about it. Begrudgingly, I tore off the sheet and tossed it in the trash. Lane whistled behind me as he watched me write.

“Bring a jacket if you’re going to go for a walk,” he stated. “It’s cold out there, and you want to sell the fucking story.”

“I hate you,” I muttered. Not really.

We walked right into the hazy woods. I led the way with Lane whistling a happy little tune behind me. I skipped the first clearing because it was too close to home—this was going to get messy and Genevieve would’ve heard us. The second clearing was cramped in space but far enough away. It’d fucking do.

“And why are you taking your pants off?” Lane asked when he caught me unbuttoning my jeans.

“Because the last time we did this, you made me piss myself,” I said and kicked off my boots. “I’m not walking around town looking like that.”

He made a small sound but said nothing. I tracked him as he drew a sharp barrier with magic to surround us. What for? Who fucking knew. I certainly didn’t. Lane liked his fucking barriers and borders and boundaries and shit. That was his fucking thing, and I knew better than to ask questions. I just kept fucking silent as I piled my clothes under a tree.

“In the middle,” he orders, gesturing with his knife for me to stand where he wanted. Fuck, I must’ve been a goddamn sight—standing in my fucking boxers in the middle of the fucking woods while some tall ass motherfucker stalked circles around me.

“That’s sanitary, right?” I asked when a black blade materialized in his hand, its blade at least six inches long if not longer.

“Worried you might catch something, Killian?” Lane smirked. “That’s fucking cute. That’s the last thing you need to worry about.”

He circled me, head cocked and a fucking grin on his face. My skin prickled with the irrefutable sense of danger I was in. My wolf pressed to the surface, and I grappled to hold it back because I wasn’t truly in trouble no matter how fucking terrifying Lane was.

He fisted the back of my hair hard, making me wince, and came to stand in front of me. The tip of his knife tapped against my nose as he leaned down close.

“Now, you and me, we’re going to get along this time,” he said without an ounce of amusement in his voice. “No bullshit or I’ll break every bone in your fucking body, you got it?”

“I haven’t done shit yet,” I snapped.

“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to the beast,” he replied. My wolf growled, and I couldn’t control it. “That’s the shit I’m talking about.”

“He doesn’t like you.”

“He doesn’t have to like me, but he will respect me,” Lane snarled. The hand in my hair tightened as magic clouded his eyes. “And as for you, think fucking happy thoughts. It’s a trip. You know that. I don’t have a clue how long you’ll be under. It would suck to be trapped in a fucking nightmare. Don’t fucking fight me or I will tie your pretty little self down, leave the knife alone, and try not to piss yourself.”

Before I could say a word, he plunged the blade straight into my heart. I gasped at the shock of it, even though I knew it was coming. The pain of the knife was nothing compared to the surge of magic that raced straight to my soul and fucking ripped me apart.

My wolf violently fought back—clawing and biting its way through my skin. Lane’s mouth moved furiously with the spell he was saying, but I couldn’t hear a fucking word over all the screaming.

My screaming.

Every nerve was on fire, stripped raw and assaulted repeatedly. I lost sight of everything in a swirl of shadows. My body rioted, and my knees gave out. Every instinct told me to rip out the conduit in my chest.

“No, you fucking don’t,” a voice snarled in my ear. Something clamped down tight on my wrists and yanked me to the ground. I thrashed and fought, desperate to get free.

Waves of darkness washed over me, dragging me under—