Yearning for Her

Chapter One

Ava's POV

“You seemed to have seen a ghost.”

The low, velvet-smooth voice freezes me exactly in my tracks. My heart thunders so loudly I'm sure he can hear my hand freezing mid-reach for the gallery light switch.

"Killian," I say, the name slicing across my mouth like a razor.

Leaning against the doorway, he is a shadow of dominance and haughtiness covered in a custom charcoal suit. His emerald-green eyes sparkle with something darker, maybe. I know too well his lips curve into a sneer that promises danger.

“Ava, I didn't think you'd run forever."

My pulse picks up speed. Five years—Five years apart from him, free of his stifling stare and the turmoil he leaves behind like a hurricane. And now he's here, bigger than life, and my little, peaceful universe feels as though it's going to crumble.

"What are you doing here?” My voice seldom comes through consistently.

He moves into the low light of the gallery, broad shadows over the walls created by the weak hum of the street lamps outside. His presence permeates the room, a magnetic attraction I find impossible to ignore even as I try to back off.

Tipping his head, he asks, "What do you think? I came for you.”

My throat gets stiff. I want to laugh and tell him to go away, but the way he looks at me—a predator caught his prey—stays in my words.

"I'm not yours to come for," I say at last, although my voice is far too faint to be persuasive.

He laughs—the sound heavy and rich. “You have always been mine, Ava. You could not change that even while you ran away.”

His words strike like a slap, pulling me back to the dazzling towers, the seductive danger, the evenings spun in sheets and lies.

My hands tighten into fists, and I shake my head. “You have no rights—that is clear-cut.”

"No, right?" he asks. His voice gets sharp, his smile disappearing. “Ava, you vanished without a word. Do you believe I would not show up for you?”

Strong with unresolved fury and something else—something forbidden and irresistible—the air buzzes between us.

I chew hard, pushing my spine straight. “You must leave now.”

He looks over the gallery walls, his presence serene but charged, and ignores me. "You always had good taste," he says, pointing at the paintings. "Too bad none of this will matter when it all comes down."

I get panic in my chest. He is aware of this. He seems to be aware of the financial problems of the gallery, the creditors hogging down my neck.

"I'm handling it," I responded fiercely, although my voice.

With narrowed eyes, he turns back toward me. “You are not required to, of course. I have your debt already purchased.”

The floor seems to be under my feet slipping away. "What??"

He moves forward, his tall form swallowing the area between us. “You might have not heard me. Every dollar you owe, every contract—right now, it is mine. It follows that you are also.”

My breath freezes as a mixture of fear and wrath floods me. “You cannot simply—”

"I can," he says, his voice like steel interrupting me.

Every muscle in my body yells to run as my heart beats and I stare up at him, but I'm anchored in place. His nearness is seductive and choking.

"Why?," I asked, my voice quivering with restrained. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

His eyes hurt with something unspeakable, something deep. "Because I don't let go of what's mine."

The words pass right through me and cause dyspnea. He has always been this way—unyielding, unrelenting. That drove me away and was what drew me in.

Though it sounds more like a plea than a statement, I say, "I'm not yours."

He tilts his head, and his smile comes back, but this time, it is colder. “Not yet.”

Every thread of my existence screams at me to drive him away and fight back. My head whirls. Still, Killian has always been a storm, and storms are not readily halted.

He was everything five years ago, my universe, my obsession. But his love carried chains, and I had been too hungry to breathe, to flee.

He is back now, and I can sense those bonds tightening once again.

"What do you want, Killian?" My voice now is more crisp, breaking through the fog of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

My skin pricks as he leans in and his breath brushes across my ear. "A deal," he says, the words loaded with risk.

I back off to create some gap between us. "I have no desire."

“You have not heard the terms.”

“I do not need it. I want absolutely nothing of what you are offering.”

His jaw gets tense and his eyes darken. "Ava, you have no option here. Only a month. I am only asking for that.”

"Asking?" I grimace slightly. "You're not asking. You are coercing me.”

"Call it whatever you want," he replies, his voice uncompromising. “But in one month your gallery would be free. And you could leave; not one string attached”

As I look at him, my chest contracts. Unquestionably, there is a draw between us, the way his very presence sets something deep and frightening within me into motion.

I cannot let myself collapse once more though.

"And if I say no?" although I already know the answer, I challenge myself.

He approaches, his palm grazing my cheek, and I detest the way my body betrays me, slanted into his touch. “Then you lose everything,” he says gently, his words a threat and a promise.

The sound of glass breaking slices the suspense like a knife before I can reply. We both head toward the front of the gallery, where the big display window is now broken fragments shining on the floor.

My heart leaps as a shadow moves outdoors.

Killian orders, his voice stern, "Stay here."

I reach out for his arm. “No, don't—rather,”

"Ava," he continues, his voice not allowing for debate. "Stay here. Here."

He approaches the door, his motions slow but deliberate, and I sense the terror slinking up my neck.

Killian leaves into the darkness as the door creaks open. Though I can't make out the words, I hear the low murmur of voices, his and someone else's.

The quiet breaks then with a gunshot.

My knees almost buckle as my breath freezes, and I trip toward the door. “Killian!!"

But he disappeared when I crossed the threshold.

The street is vacant right now.

And a trail of blood remains behind as well.

"Killian!." Stepping onto the broken concrete outside the gallery, I yell once more. My voice breaks the stillness, but there is no reaction; only the terrible echo of the gunshot still resonates in my ears.

I peek down and my hands shake. Under the low streetlights, the blood glistens like a red trail toward the shadows. My breath is weak as panic clutches at my chest pound frantically.

"This cannot be happening." Although my voice is hardly audible, in the stillness the sound seems overwhelming.

I follow the road forward, every step heavier than the one before it. My stomach turns over from the metallic tang of blood.

Then, out of the alley, a man appears suddenly. Hope bursts in my chest for a little instant, but it passes right after when I know it is not Killian. The man has strong shoulders and the shadows of a cowl cover his face. His posture is stiff, he pauses when he sees me.

"Who are you?" I ask. My voice splits, a mixture of indignation and terror.

He does not respond. Rather, he tilts his head to examine me like a predator weighing up prey.

"Where is he?” I demand, the words falling out in a feverish hurry. "What did you do to him?"

The man approaches, and I automatically retreat as the chill of the evening seeps into my flesh.

With a low, scary voice, he advises me not to have come out here.

I stop; my blood is frigid. "How do you know my name?"

Before he digs into his pocket, the only response I get is his smile. My body yells at me to run, and my breath freezes, yet my feet feel anchored to the earth.

A thundering sound of an engine breaks through the tension before he can grab for something. A sleek black car slices across the corner, its headlights cutting through the night.

Under his breath, the man curses and runs back into the alley.

The passenger door bursts open as the car slides to stop in front of me.

"Get in!." Killian speaks with clear, forceful clarity.

Like a wave, relief floods over me, and then it is swiftly replaced by fresh anxiety when I see the blood spread over his shirt, his palm securely pressed to his side.

"You are hurt!" I come to him and start to cry.

"I told you to get in!" He snaps, his voice not allowing for debate.

Just as he closes the door and floors the gas, I hop into the car. The impact tosses me back against the seat and the tires shriek.

"What the hell is going on, Killian?” I ask, my voice quivering. "Who was that? And why are you bleeding?”

He doesn't reply right away; his jaw closes as he drives the car across the back streets at an explosive pace.

"Killian!." He flinches and winches in agony when I grip his arm.

"Later," he says, his voice strained. "Right now I have to get us somewhere safe."

As Killian threads across the city, the air inside the car is thick with tension; the only sound is the buzz of the car. Questions abound in my head as adrenaline and terror rush through me.

I look at him and note how tightly his hand grips his side.

I continue, my voice softer now but no less frantic: "You're going to bleed out if we don't stop."

His mouth opens to a grim smile. “Ava, you have always underestimated me. I am not particularly easy to kill.

Notwithstanding the conflict, his comments inspire something in me—anger, irritation, and maybe even that damnable attraction that never seems to dissipate.

Headlights from another car show up in the rearview mirror as the car rushes into the evening. The car behind us closes the distance and my stomach falls.

I say, "Killian, they're following us," fear sinking into my gut.

Glancing in the mirror, his face stiffens. "Hold on.”

The pursuit starts; the car behind us picks its speed while Killian makes quick corners, the tires protesting. Fear grips me, my hands grab the door and my claws dig into the leather.

The night echoes with a huge bang and glass showers down on us from the broken rear window.

"They are aiming at us!” I yell, my voice growing in frenzy.

As Killian swerves onto a little side street, the other car hard on our heels, his countenance is a mask of cool will.

"Stay down," he says, his voice devoid of any space for debate.

I duck as another shot screams out, the sound terrible.

Killian wrenches the wheel out of nowhere, sending the car hurtling down an empty alley. The movement is so sudden that the chasing car overshoots the corner, giving us a rare few seconds to flee.

But as we come onto another street, a black SUV blocks our way.

Killian steps on the brakes, and the car skids to a stop.

The occupants of the SUV step out armed and deadly.

Killian's knuckles were white, his hold tight on the wheel. His voice low and lethal, he says, "Stay behind me."

He opens the door and walks away before I can reply; his body protects mine.

The men forward, their weapons shining under the severe spotlights.

My heart thumps as I search for the door handle, and my eyes fy to Killian.

"What are you doing??" I whisper, terror snarling at my chest.

He looks forward; not turning around. “ENDING THIS"

Another rifle c*****g causes my pulse to fly upwards.

Then anarchy bursts.