Yearning for Her

Chapter Two

Killian’s POV

"You're not heading out this time, Ava."

My voice cuts through the tension like a razor. Though I know it's a risk—pushing her, testing her—I have come too far to let her slide through my hands once more.

Ava circles, her flaming amber eyes fixed on me. She appears as rebellious as ever even though she is barefoot and her hair is messy from the night's frenzy.

She says, "You don't get to decide that," her voice quivering. Not fearing anything, though. Ava does not fear readily, either. This is wild and unguarded.

My body throbbing from the bullet graze still burning my side, I slowly approach her. "You're in over your head, sweetheart," I whisper gently. "You have no idea what is ahead of you. Or what I am trying to shield you from.”

She laughs in a hollow and unpleasant sound. "Shield me? Coming from you, Killian, is rich. The one drawing me back into this quagmire is you. You are the one who—"

Her voice breaks off, and I see it momentarily. The suffering she makes so much effort to suppress.

My chest constricting, I murmur gently, "I never wanted to hurt you. Everything I accomplished was for you.”

"Don't," she says, waving a hand. Now her voice is shaking and her shields are breaking. “You dare claim this is about me? You abandoned me, Killian, not protect me. And now, you returned unable to bear the thought of me moving on.”

She is mistaken, but I have no words to counter. Not when I know the depth of her wounds or the extent of my previous damn work.

Her allegation hangs in the air, harsh and stifling. I want to tell her the truth, to explain why I had to look for her, why I couldn't keep away. Actually, though, the truth is complex perilous.

My fingers yearn to touch her, I move another step nearer to remind her of what we had.

“Ava” I pronounce her name like a prayer, expecting she will look at me the way she used to—like I was her whole life. But it is frigid when her eyes contact mine. Protested under guard.

"You don't get to say my name like that anymore," she adds, her voice low and erratic. “Not after all you have done.”

"Do you think I wanted this?" I flash, the irritation boiling over. “You think I wanted to lose you? To spend five years working to undo the disaster you left behind?”

Her hands curl into fists at her sides, her jaw gets rigid. "You dare not blame me for this. You are the one that lied. It is you who chose power above our will.”

The words have more weight than I anticipated. She is not incorrect, but the narrative is not whole. Never is.

"I chose us," I responded, my voice dropping. "Even if you cannot see it. Even though that meant losing you.”

She shakes her head, laughing sourly. “You really are amazing. You believe you can simply waltz back into my life, toss money at my difficulties, and everything will miraculously return to normal?”

"I'm not asking for everything," I add, getting closer until hardly any room separates us. "I'm seeking an opportunity."

Her breath freezes and for a brief instant I see her defenses beginning to fall apart.

Unspoken words abound in the air between us, everything we have left unsaid. I extend my fingers and lightly sweep her cheek. She flinches but does not distance herself.

My voice almost above a whisper, I say, "I never stopped loving you."

Her eyes enlarge, and for a moment I suppose she may believe me. She then backs off, her arms encircling herself in protection.

Her voice shaking, she says “Killian, love isn't enough. Not when it comes with falsehoods and risk and... this.” She motions to the bloodstains on my clothing, to the room, to the anarchy that always seems to follow me.

The lights flutter before I can answer. The hum of the generator shuts out, sending darkness over the room and shivering down my spine.

"Killian," Ava says, her voice tinged with dread.

With my body stiff and every instinct screaming something is wrong, I drag her behind me.

Footfall resonates in the silence, getting louder every second that goes by. My hand slides to my side, to the gun buried in my waistband.

"Stay behind me," I say, my voice sharp.

She reaches out to my arm. "What's going on??"

"Someone's here," I reply, staring down the darkness. “They are not friendly as well.”

The feet stop just beyond the door. My pulse thumping in my ears, my hand closes tightly on the rifle.

Ava breathing becomes shallow; her fingers are gripping my arm. Though she doesn't speak, I can sense her anxiety.

The stillness continues, weighty and oppressive. The door then crashes open.

A man walks inside carrying a rifle and his face covered by a mask.

"Killian Cross," he says, his voice slow and chilly. "Time's running out."

He raises the gun—and fires—before I can respond.

Ava yells since the sound is intolerable.

I toss myself in front of her, the knock sending us both down. My shoulder bursts in agony, yet I hang on to her.

"Killian!," She sobs while her hands lay on the cut.

Though I can feel the warm, sticky blood pouring through my shirt, I push myself to catch her eye.

I choke, "Run," and my voice is almost heard.

Her skull jerks as her eyes enlarge. "I'm not leaving you."

The masked man approaches, his gun pointed toward us.

"You should have stayed out of this, Ava," he continues, his voice nearly remorseful.

Everything then darkens.

Ava’s POV

The air gets colder, heavier, as though the weight of events surrounding me is pushing in from all sides. My heart is a drumbeat, wild and unpredictable, matching the pulse of the peril always approaching. Though Killian's hold on me gets tighter, I can sense his tension radiating from him. His body is rigid and she seems to be waiting for something to snap.

Until Jared's mocking voice permeates the air once more, the quiet between us is oppressive and stretches longer than I can handle. "You really think you’re going to come out of this alive, Cross?”

I turn away from his voice, my head whirling. I say, "Shut up," sharply, but it's useless. Jared's has us cornered; no matter how hard I try to ignore him, his presence is stifling, like a black cloud hovering over everything.

Jared approaches, his boots thudding into the floor with every stride, and my gut tells me to sprint. But where would I be going? Every exit block is in place. As his eyes flutter to mine for a split second, the conflict between me and Jared only gets more intense—a weird type of electric charge flickering in the air.

Killian continues, his voice cool but the underlying rage is thick enough to cut through steel, "You don't get to control me, Jared." "This is done”

But Jared chuckles. A low, guttural sound makes my spine tremble. "Done? Cross, you have a lot to study. It's merely getting started. His eyes darted to mine, and I got shivers of terror as well as something deeper. "You really think you're getting away, sweetheart?”

His comments are like poison; every syllable teeming with resentment. I try to regulate the tremor in my hands by hard swallowing. I say, "I'm not afraid of you," pushing the words past my mouth even as my pulse picks up speed.

Jared advances still another step, his smile frigid and lethal. "You should be," said.

As the words leave his mouth, the door smashes open behind me with such force I leap. Someone tall and commanding walks into the room. The air moves about us and my heart stutters in my chest. My eyes widen in identification as the man moves with the kind of assurance I haven't seen in years.

This is a face I felt I would never see again.

"Not so fast," the man adds, his voice strong and exact.

I stop freezing. My breath gets caught in my throat. "Dylan?," asks Slips the name before I can stop it.

The globe spins. Dylan: My first love. The man I presumed had disappeared from my life permanently. His eyes contact mine, and for a few seconds everything around us vanishes. Reality then slams back in, though.

Jared laughs, "You're not here to help us," and I feel a flutter of something sinister pass between them. "You are late."

Still, Dylan moves forward, undaunted, his eyes now squarely on Jared. "I never let late define me."

The tense words hang in the air and cause a sharp turn in my gut. Far from done, this is not over. It's only getting started whatever game they are playing, whatever history they share.

Dylan's hand goes to his side before I can register what is happening; I hear metal clicking; a weapon.

A weapon being c****d sounds.

Time slows, my breath freezes in my throat. His decision taken now will transform everything.

"Dylan...?" I mumble, barely audible, but he looks away from me. His entire attention is on Jared, and in that short second I see things ready to spin out of control in ways I never could have predicted.

The tension is stifling. My body freezes between hope and terror. After that, everything occurs simultaneously.