Prologue
"If you ever let another boy touch you, Tyra, I’ll make sure he never uses his hands again. Ever”.
He spoke so close his breath ghosted over my skin, a sharp contrast to the humid air clinging to us. I didn't flinch.
I had grown up in the shadow of Killian’s obsession, and by now, the darkness in him felt more like home than a threat.
I could feel his heart thudding through his chest, a violent rhythm that seemed to demand my absolute attention
I just knew the weight of him hovering over me, and the way my heart was thumping against my ribs like it was trying to get out.
"You’re hurting my arm, Killian” I breathed. My voice sounded so small in the middle of my massive, quiet bedroom.
His grip tightened for a second—just enough to leave a mark—before his fingers started to drift.
He traced a path from my elbow to my wrist, his skin feeling like fire.
Killian was sixteen, all sharp bone and restless energy, his knuckles always split and bloody from the boxing matches my father forced him into every evening.
He smelled like sweat, expensive leather, and a storm that was about to break.
"Good” he rasped. He leaned in until his forehead was pressed hard against mine. In the moonlight, he didn't look like my brother. He looked like he wanted to swallow me whole.
"I want you to remember this. I want you to remember how I feel, so when I'm not around, you don't forget who you belong to”.
"You’re always around, Kill” I whispered. I reached up, my small fingers grazing the fresh bruise blooming on his jaw.
He snatched my hand, pinning my palm flat against his chest. His heart was going crazy—a violent, frantic rhythm that felt like it was trying to punch through his ribs just to reach me.
"I’m the only one who gets to touch you," he swore, his voice dropping into a rough, jagged ruin. "Not our father. Not the guards. Nobody. If the world tries to take you from me, Tyra, I’ll burn this entire city to the ground just to find you”.
I should have felt a chill. I should have seen the cage he was building around me even then. But I didn't.
I just leaned into him, seeking out the only person who ever made me feel like I mattered in this cold, marble house.
"I don't want anyone else," I murmured, my eyes fluttering shut.
"You don't get a choice, little bird”.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead. It wasn't a sweet kiss; it felt like a brand. It was the last time I felt his warmth.
The door to my suite slammed open, the heavy wood hitting the wall like a gunshot.
"Killian. Out. Now”.
My stepfather’s voice was a whip, cutting through the silence. He stood there in the doorway, a massive shadow that felt like an omen.
He wasn't even looking at me.
He was staring at his son—at the way Killian was draped over my bed, his hand still tangled deep in my hair.
Killian didn't jump. He didn't even look guilty. He stood up slowly, his eyes locked on mine, a dark, silent promise flickering in the dark before he finally turned and walked into the shadows of the hallway.
Twelve-year-old me didn't know that was the last time I’d feel him protect me. I didn't know that by the time the sun came up, his room would be stripped bare, his name would be a forbidden curse in this house, and the boy who promised to burn the world for me would be gone.
I didn't know that seven years later, the ghost who used to guard my hallway would come back as a man who wanted to haunt me.
I only knew that when he left that room, he took all the air with him. And for seven years, I hadn't been able to take a full breath.
