Chapter Eleven: You Went Without Me
650 Words
He waits until I’m back in the room.
Then, he slams the door behind him.
Kael’s eyes are wild. His chest heaves like he’s just shifted back. His knuckles are still red from whatever—or whoever—he beat during the interrogation.
“Where the f**k were you?” he growls.
I lift my chin. “Out.”
He takes one step forward.
“I told you not to leave your room.”
“And I told you,” I snap, “I’m not a prisoner here.”
“You were nearly killed, Aurora!”
“I was also nearly used—as bait. As a weapon. As a mate you could lock away and kiss when it’s convenient.”
The fury in his eyes flashes. But beneath it—fear.
“You don’t understand what you’re playing with,” he breathes. “You walk into shadows thinking you’re fire. But you’re not. You burn too bright.”
“And you think keeping me in a cage will stop the world from wanting me dead?” I step closer. “No, Kael. That makes me an easier target.”
He grabs my wrist before I can pass him.
Not rough—but firm.
“You went to Dorian.”
I freeze.
“I can smell him on you.”
His voice is dark velvet—dangerous and aroused. The kind of voice that could order death or seduction with the same breath.
“I went for information.”
“You went without me.”
His grip tightens.
And something breaks between us.
A dam. A wall. A chain.
We crash into each other—mouths clashing, teeth and lips, heat and fury. He slams me against the door, and I gasp, pain flaring in my stitches. His hands are everywhere—my waist, my thighs, my hair.
“You drive me mad,” he growls against my throat.
“Then go mad,” I whisper. “But don’t you ever make me small again.”
His hand grips my jaw, forcing me to look into his storm-dark eyes.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then f**k me like I’m real,” I snap. “Not a ghost. Not a memory. Me.”
That’s all it takes.
He lifts me, and my legs wrap around him instinctively. My dress rides up. His mouth is fire on my neck. We don’t make it to the bed—we crash into the desk. Papers scatter. A vase shatters. None of it matters.
Because this is war.
And we are the battlefield.
Kael kisses me like he hates how much he needs me. Like he’s drowning and I’m the breath he’s been denying himself for too long. His hands are rough. His lips are sinful. Every movement is raw, primal.
“I should punish you,” he pants. “For going behind my back.”
“Then take it out on me.”
He does.
Every thrust is a curse. Every gasp is a confession. Every bruise he leaves on my skin is a mark of possession—and every time I cry out his name, I feel him shatter more of the walls around his soul.
Until finally, we collapse into each other—shaking, gasping, undone.
Silent.
Sweaty.
Real.
He buries his face in my neck. “I thought I lost you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I can’t—if anything happened to you—”
“I’m not Elira,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I’m terrified.”
He pulls me into his lap on the floor, wrapping his arms around me like he’s afraid the room will rip me from his grasp.
“I don’t want to be your weakness,” I murmur.
“You’re not,” he breathes. “You’re the reason I’m still fighting.”
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- Writer
