Falling for My Greatest Nemesis

CHAPTER….SIX

HAZEL POV

The silence inside the cabin was louder than the roaring engine of his bike. Killian’s hands remained pinned against the stone wall on either side of my head, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.

"Let me go," I whispered. My voice didn't shake this time. The terror had burned out, leaving nothing but cold exhaustion.

Killian didn't move. His gaze dropped to my mouth, heavy and dark, before snapping back to my green eyes. "You think Conner treated you like a person? He looked at you like you were a prize he could win to get under my skin. He didn't see you, Hazel. He saw a target."

"And what do you see?" I demanded, pressing my palms against his chest. The hard muscle underneath didn't budge. "A doll? A piece of paper with a signature on it?"

"I see the only girl who ever looked at me without blinking," he muttered. He leaned in closer. "The only one who doesn't crawl when I tell them to."

"Because I hate you."

A slow, twisted smile tugged at the corner of his lips. A single drop of blood welled up against his pale skin. "Good. Because resentment has a funny way of mistaking itself for desire. Keep hating me, sweetpea. Just don't look at anyone else."

He straightened up suddenly, the abrupt loss of his warmth leaving me shivering against the stone wall. He walked over to a heavy wooden table in the center of the room, tossing his motorcycle keys onto the surface with a sharp clatter.

I looked toward the heavy wooden door. The lock was a thick iron bolt.

"Don't even think about it," Killian said without turning around. He pulled off his leather jacket, throwing it over the back of a chair. "The nearest road is five miles through dense woods. You wouldn't make it to the tree line before the wolves got you."

"The only wolf I see is in this room," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest to stop the trembling.

Killian turned around, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. He leaned his hips against the edge of the table, crossing his arms. "Then you better learn how to behave in the den."

He gestured toward a small doorway to the left. "The bathroom is through there. There are clean clothes in the dresser. Wash the dirt off. You look like you're about to collapse."

"I want to go back to my dorm. Winter and Mila—"

"Are currently text-bombing a phone that is sitting in my jacket pocket," Killian interrupted smoothly. He reached down, pulled my phone out, and set it face-down on the table. "You'll go back tomorrow morning. Tonight, you stay here."

"Why?" I asked, my voice breaking down into a plea. "Why do you need me here, Killian? You won the fight. You broke Conner. Isn't that enough for your ego?"

His smirk vanished. The cold, unreadable mask slipped back over his features, "Because if I let you go back to campus tonight, Jason and Lucian will be waiting.

He walked over to the small kitchen counter, pouring himself a glass of water. "Lucian is unhinged, Hazel. He doesn't play by rules, and he doesn't care about a thirty-day contract. If he finds you alone tonight, he won't ask for an economics paper."

The reality of the trap closed around my throat. I wasn't just running from Killian. I was trapped in a ecosystem of predators, and the biggest one in the room was currently acting as my cage.

"So you're protecting me?" I let out a bitter, breathless laugh. "The guy who spent years making my life a living hell is suddenly my savior?"

Killian set his glass down with a hard thud. He closed the distance between us in three long strides, stopping right in front of me. He didn't trap me against the wall this time, but his presence was just as suffocating.

"I am not your savior," he growled, his voice dangerously low. "Never mistake me for the good guy, Hazel. I am the monster under your bed, remember? But you signed a contract with me. Your thirty days belong to me. Which means nobody touches you, nobody talks to you, and nobody breaks you but me. Understand?"

I stared up at him, my knuckles turning white as I clenched my fists. The sheer arrogance of his possessiveness made my blood boil, yet a terrifying, unwanted spark ignited deep in my chest.

"Go wash up," Killian commanded softly, his eyes dropping to my lips one last time before he turned his back on me.

I didn't argue. I walked into the small bathroom, shutting the heavy door behind me and clicking the small privacy lock.

I walked over to the mirror and stared at my reflection.

My long black hair was messy, my green eyes shadowed with dark circles from lack of sleep. I looked thin. I looked pale. I turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the room. When I stepped out, I found a pile of clothes sitting on the counter. A massive, oversized black hoodie and a pair of grey sweatpants.

They smelled like him.

I pulled the hoodie over my head. It swallowed my five-foot frame entirely, then I unlocked the door and stepped back into the main room.

Killian was sitting on the leather sofa, a white towel draped around his neck. He had changed into a pair of dark sweatpants, his chest bare, revealing the intricate black ink across his ribs and shoulders. A jagged skull was tattooed over his heart.

He looked up as the bathroom door clicked. His gaze traced the oversized hoodie, his eyes darkening as he realized I was wearing his clothes.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the opposite side of the sofa.

"I'll sleep on the floor," I said, eyeing the small bed in the corner of the room.

"You'll sleep in the bed," Killian corrected, standing up. "I'll take the sofa. But right now, you're going to sit down and let me fix this."

He held up a small first-aid kit. I hadn't realized my hands were bleeding until he pointed to them.

I hesitated, then walked over and sat on the very edge of the leather cushion. Killian sat beside me, his large frame sinking into the leather.

He didn't ask for permission. He reached out, took my right hand in his, and rested it on his thigh. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a jarring contrast to the violence he had displayed an hour ago. He used an antiseptic wipe to clean the dried blood from my palm.

The sting made me hiss, trying to pull my hand back.

"Hold still," he murmured, his grip tightening just enough to anchor me. "You always do this. When you're scared, you dig your nails in until you bleed. You did it in tenth grade when the girls threw your bag into the pond."

I froze, staring at the side of his sharp face. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything, Hazel," he said softly, his dark eyes rising to meet mine. He applied a small bandage to my palm, his thumb lingering over the center of my hand. "I watched you walk into that pond, completely silent, soaked to the bone, and pull your bag out. You didn't cry until everyone left."

“You were laughing with them," I whispered, the old bitter taste of humiliation returning.

"I wasn't laughing," Killian said, his voice dropping into a register so quiet it was almost a growl. "I was angry."

"Angry at them?"

"Angry at you," he corrected, his thumb tracing the soft skin of my wrist, right over my racing pulse. "Because you let them see you hurt. You let them win. I told you back then, if anyone is going to make you cry, it’s going to be me."

"You're sick, Killian."

"Probably," he agreed, letting go of my hand and packing the first-aid kit away. He stood up, walking toward the bed in the corner. He pulled the thick heavy blanket back. "Get in. We leave at 7:00 AM."

I stood up, the oversized hoodie swishing against my knees. I walked over to the bed, sliding under the heavy covers without looking at him.

Killian walked over to the light switch, flipping the room into complete darkness, save for the dying embers of the fire. I heard the rustle of the leather sofa as he lay down, his long frame stretching out.

"Killian?" I called out into the dark.

"What, Hazel?"

"Did you... did you really look for me after I left London?"

The silence stretched for so long I thought he had gone to sleep.

"Every day," his low voice cut through the darkness. "And now that I've found you, sweetpea, I'm never letting you go again."

My heart hammered against my ribs, as I stared at the dark ceiling of the cottage, I realized the most terrifying part of all.

I was starting to like the feeling of sinking.