The enemy's touch
1239 Words
CHAPTER 3
The first light of dawn spilled across the stone floor as Kieran slipped soundlessly from Freya’s chambers. She sat motionless in the silence he left behind, her breath shallow, heart still racing in the wake of what had happened.
It wasn’t supposed to happen.
The bath.
His mouth.
His hands—like a prayer tracing every inch of her skin, worshipful and possessive all at once.
It was all meant to be part of the plan: earn his trust, draw him in, poison him slowly.
But this—this longing that lingered beneath her skin—felt like betrayal.
Not of him.
Of herself.
Freya dressed in a deep emerald gown, its fitted bodice grounding her as she stepped into the garden. The morning air was crisp, slicing through the heat of her thoughts.
A maid approached with a steaming cup. “Lady Freya. Your morning tea.”
She accepted it with a nod, the honey-sweet liquid trembling slightly in her grasp. She asked the girl about the estate, pretending to listen—until she felt it. That familiar, silent gravity.
Kieran.
She didn’t turn, but she knew. He was behind her, watching. Close enough that the heat of him brushed her back.
“Spying again, Alpha?” Her voice remained even.
“Just making sure you’re not planning to burn down my palace,” he murmured.
“Not today.”
A pause. Then his fingers brushed her hair aside, grazing her neck. Searching, perhaps, for a mark.
“You didn’t stay,” she whispered.
“You were asleep.”
Her laugh was bitter. “And you thought I couldn’t handle waking up beside you?”
He leaned in, breath warm against her ear. “I think you’re scared.”
She turned then, silver eyes locking with his. “Of you?”
He said nothing.
“Last night was a mistake,” she said, voice cold.
“Funny,” he replied, “didn’t feel like one.”
Her fingers curled tightly around the teacup. “You think claiming my body means you’ve won?”
“I think it means you wanted me.”
“Don’t confuse lust with surrender.”
In a heartbeat, he took her wrist, pressing it against his chest. “Then say it. Look me in the eye and tell me it meant nothing.”
Her lips parted. But no sound came.
Kieran stepped back, his expression unreadable. “You want me to be the villain. But I think you hate how much you don’t.”
He walked away, leaving her breathless.
Just before the palace doors shut behind him, her voice followed—low, defiant. “You’ll never have all of me, Kieran.”
---
By midday, Freya had composed herself.
The great hall buzzed with advisors and warriors orbiting Kieran like he was the center of their universe. Power clung to him like a second skin, and yet, his gaze followed only one person.
Her.
Not with lust. Not even possession.
Curiosity.
And that unsettled her most.
“Your mate has a temper,” one warrior muttered as she passed.
“She’s not my mate,” Kieran said, loud enough for all to hear.
Silence.
Freya didn’t flinch. She turned, lips curving into a sweet, venom-laced smile.
“Of course not,” she replied. “A wolf like you couldn’t handle a mate like me.”
Laughter rippled through the chamber. Kieran smirked—arrogant, maddening.
The kind of smile she wanted to slap off his face.
Or kiss.
---
That night, he was in her chamber again.
Freya didn’t bother with surprise. “You’re making a habit of this.”
He stood by the window, moonlight casting silver across his bare arms. “You didn’t drink your tea.”
Her blood turned cold. “You had someone watching me?”
“I oversee everything,” he said coolly.
“Paranoid?”
“Prepared. Especially with a woman who lies with her eyes.”
She stepped forward. “And what lie am I telling now?”
“That you don’t want me.”
In a breath, he was on her—hands on her waist, fingers in her hair. “Tell me to stop.”
She didn’t.
She kissed him instead—desperate, raw. A war ignited in flesh.
The table behind them groaned under their weight. Candles toppled, wax spilled. Her nails raked his back; his teeth grazed her throat.
“You’re still mine,” he growled.
“No,” she panted. “You’re mine. You just don’t know it yet.”
Her dress slipped from her shoulders. She hesitated.
“Let it fall,” he said.
And she did.
---
The bath was warm, stone-lined, steeped in herbs and low light.
“You’ll bathe here now,” he said. “With me.”
She should’ve refused.
Instead, she shed the last of her silk and stepped into the water. Kieran joined her moments later.
His hand slid under the water, up her thigh.
“Afraid?” he asked.
“No,” she lied.
“Liar.”
He kissed her again—devouring. Her back hit the smooth stone, his body caging hers in heat and hunger.
“You want control,” he whispered, “but here… you’ll give it to me.”
She didn’t stop him.
And in that moment, she didn’t know who was seducing whom anymore.
Worse—she didn’t care.
---
Later, when he was gone, she stared at the ceiling. Her body still ached—not with satisfaction, but conflict.
She pulled on a robe and crossed to the desk. A single sheet lay waiting:
1. Establish trust
2. Begin poison
3. Confirm weakening
4. Kill
5. Escape
Her finger hovered over the last word.
Escape.
Was that still the goal?
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Yes?” she called.
The door creaked open. A hooded figure stepped inside.
Freya’s breath hitched. “Nyx.”
Her sister smiled and removed the hood. “Living like a queen, I see.”
“What are you doing here?” Freya asked, pulse racing.
“I came to help.”
“You came to interfere.”
“Same thing.”
“You were supposed to stay with her.”
“Father doesn’t know I’m here. You didn’t reply to my letters. I knew something was wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong. Everything is according to plan.”
Nyx arched a brow. “Then why do you smell like s*x and confusion?”
“I didn’t ask for judgment.”
“I’m not judging,” Nyx said, stepping closer. “I just need to know… do you still want him dead?”
Freya turned away. The silence was answer enough.
“You always do this,” Nyx said quietly. “Dive in, then let your heart ruin everything.”
“I’m not in love with him,” Freya snapped.
“Good. Because I think he’s fascinating.”
Freya stiffened.
“You came to kill a monster,” Nyx said, voice low. “But what if he’s more than that?”
“He’s a threat.”
“He’s a leader. And maybe… he’s what we need.”
Freya spun around. “Are you falling for him?”
Nyx smirked. “Maybe. But I saw how he looked at you. That wasn’t strategy. That was want.”
Freya’s throat tightened.
“It’s getting complicated,” Nyx added.
Too complicated.
And dangerously so.
- Writer
