FREYA
Killian was still talking, still trying to wrap his words around my fears, his voice a mix of command and plea. “Just…”
I didn’t let him finish. I couldn’t.
Before the words could fully leave his lips, I reached up and pressed my mouth to his. It was almost instinctive, like something inside me had decided that the only way to silence his self-destructive doubts was to drown them out with something stronger.
His lips were warm against mine, still moving from the words he hadn’t finished, but then they stilled—completely stilled—as though I’d stolen the very breath from him.
For a heartbeat, he froze, caught between resistance and surrender. My pulse thundered in my ears, but I didn’t pull back. I leaned into him, letting my fingers curl around the edge of his shirt, holding him
