Silver Shackles Under the Moonlight

Chapter 12: Cold Sandalwood and the "Dead" Past

Astrid was dragged out of the chaos by a sharp, twisting spasm.

The fading sunset smeared across the curtains like dried blood, a grim reminder of how deeply she had succumbed to exhaustion. She tried to reach for the light, but the searing pain in her abdomen drained her strength instantly. Cold sweat crawled down her spine like insects. In this frigid expanse of New-Lun City, besides Claire and Sebastian, she had virtually no allies to call upon.

With trembling fingers, she dialed Sebastian’s comm-link.

“Sebastian... help...” Her voice was a mere ghost of a whisper.

“Miss Lowe? What happened? Where are you?” Sebastian, technically on leave, was instantly alert.

Astrid couldn’t finish her sentence before her consciousness plummeted back into the abyss.

Less than ten minutes later, a heavy splintering sound shattered the silence of the apartment.

CRASH!

The flimsy wooden door was ripped clean off its hinges by a burst of violent, unbridled strength.

“Astrid!” A familiar, frigid voice exploded near her ear. “You certainly have a knack for tormenting me.”

The tone was laced with an Alpha’s volatile irritation, yet it held an almost imperceptible tremor of dread. Astrid felt her fragile frame being hoisted into a pair of powerful arms. That intoxicating scent—cold, sharp sandalwood—enveloped her once more.

When she opened her eyes again, she was lying in a VIP suite at St. Luke’s Private Hospital.

“You’re awake.”

Astrid turned her head slowly, meeting a profile so perfect it could make the heavens tremble. Killian was still in that black suit—his second skin—with his black shirt buttoned meticulously to his Adam’s apple. He stood over her, looking exactly as he did that night under the moonlight when he appraised her like a prize.

Dammit, she thought, why am I thinking about that night now?

“Mr. Valerius? Why... are you here?” Astrid gripped the sheets in awkward embarrassment.

“Sebastian is on leave,” Killian replied, his hands in his pockets, his gaze locking onto her like a laser.

“Thank you,” she murmured. It was him again. It seemed the Fates had welded an unbreakable steel cable between these two polar opposites.

“Does it still hurt?”

“...Much better.”

“Was that bucket of expired, low-grade noodles really worth it?”

Astrid choked on her words. He had clearly rifled through her kitchen.

“Where is your werewolf boyfriend?” Killian’s voice dropped in temperature, testing the waters.

“He died yesterday,” Astrid snapped, turning her head away, unwilling to be humiliated further under his judgmental mask.

A faint, almost invisible arc touched Killian’s lips. “That sounds like news worth popping a bottle of champagne for.”

Just then, an elegant older woman in a white coat entered.

“Killian, here is her prescription. Stop staring at the poor girl and try to care for her emotional state for once.” The doctor patted Killian’s shoulder with familiar affection. “Finally, you’ve brought a living soul to my clinic.”

“I know, Auntie,” Killian said, taking the chart.

Auntie... Astrid closed her eyes, feeling the misunderstanding hurtle toward a point of no return.

Once the doctor left, Astrid struggled to sit up. “Can I be discharged tonight?”

Killian sat at the edge of the bed, a mountain that refused to be moved. “No.”

The faint red mark of the slap she had dealt him hadn't entirely faded, charging the air with a palpable, lingering awkwardness. Despite the constant buzz of business calls, Killian showed no intention of leaving.

Later, a young woman named Secretary White arrived with dinner. The bedside table was set, and the aroma of a five-star restaurant filled the room.

“Eat,” Killian said, handing her a set of solid silver utensils. “Friends' price—250 Kroner. Remember to transfer the payment.”

He was calling her an i***t—250 was slang for a fool. Astrid snatched the utensils, fueling her hunger with spite. Truly, starving herself over that dead bastard of an ex was the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

“Who else do you have in this city? Call them to stay with you tonight,” Killian asked.

“I don't need anyone. I’m not that fragile.”

“Suit yourself. Secretary White is at the door if you need anything. Or...” he paused, “message me directly.”

He checked his expensive watch and stood to leave, but stopped at the threshold. He turned back, his eyes narrowing. “Since the boyfriend is dead, my previous proposal—becoming Mrs. Valerius—have you considered it?”

Astrid nearly choked on a piece of venison.

“Killian Valerius, have some humanity! I just crawled out of one mud pit; I have no desire to jump into another fire!” she nearly shrieked.

“Understood.” Killian’s expression remained unchanged, but a lazy, haunting glint danced in his dark eyes as he walked out.

That night, at the T-Bar in the city center.

“Unbelievable. The most powerful Alpha in the city, rejected by a half-breed girl.” His cousin, Felix, swirled his glass with a mischievous grin. “And she calls you by your first name? She’s wild. No wonder a pillar of ice like you has finally caught a fever.”

“It’s not 'like',” Killian replied coldly, taking a sip of blood-wine.

“Not 'like'? You saved her, guarded her, and even made my aunt personally attend to her. And look at those scratch marks on your neck—have they faded yet?” Felix tsk-tsked, shaking his head.

Killian rubbed his brow. Whenever he closed his eyes, her eyes—shimmering like lake water—swirled in his mind.

Ping—

A message from Astrid: [I’m sorry, Mr. Valerius. And... thank you.]

Killian replied instantly: [It’s fine.]

[Transfer: 250 Kroner] For the meal.

Killian stared at the number, let out a cold snort, and declined the transfer.

[The next one is on you.]

The screen showed “typing...” for a long time, but no reply ever came.

The next day, Killian didn’t just force her discharge; he personally drove her back to the apartment.

“Are you clearing out ruins?” Killian frowned at the mess of cardboard boxes.

“I’m moving.” Astrid’s gaze swept over the door he had violently dismantled.

“Why? It’s a bit run-down, but it’s not uninhabitable.” Killian glanced around, his mood improving slightly when he saw his blazer folded neatly on the sofa.

“My ex-boyfriend just 'died.' I’m afraid he’ll come back to haunt me on the seventh day,” Astrid retorted.

Killian sat down, his long legs finding no comfortable place in the cramped space. “I was the one who took down the door.”

“A new door costs three thousand. A locksmith costs thirty. Mr. Valerius, do you think brute force solves everything?”

“I only know that you were dying at the time.” Killian crossed his legs. “When is your move-out date?”

“Before next Wednesday.” The day of Julian’s engagement. She had to vanish completely before then.

“Since the door is broken, it’s not safe here.” Killian deftly caught the bottle of mineral water Astrid tossed at him from the fridge. “Move tonight.”

“Move where?”

“To my estate.” Killian watched her, his tone brook no argument. “There are plenty of rooms, and the most sophisticated security system in New-Lun City. Or... do you prefer my bedroom?”