Heir to a Fallen Star

Chapter 48

"Excuse me miss," the man slurs, his breath reeking of sour ale and rot as he leans entirely too close into my space, his dull eyes leering down at me. "How much for your pretty curls this evening?"

Before the final word even fully leaves his mouth, the air in the tavern shifts—surging with a sudden, lethal violence.

Kaelen doesn't just stand up; he explodes from his seat.

In a fraction of a second, his massive hand shoots across the space, wrapping around the drunkard's wrist with the force of an iron vice. With a brutal, effortless twist, Kaelen rips the man's hand off my shoulder, forcing the heavy regular to his knees with a sharp, sickening pop of his joints. The man lets out a high-pitched, pathetic yelp of pain, his alcohol-addled brain suddenly realizing the terrifying mistake he just made.

Kaelen steps over the bench, towering over the kneeling man like an executioner. His face is completely devoid of colour, his jaw set into a rigid, terrifying line, and his moss-green eyes are entirely black with an absolute, murderous rage.

"You have exactly three seconds to get your filthy hands off my woman, apologize to her, and vanish," Kaelen growls, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that carries over the roar of the tavern, causing the nearby tables to go instantly quiet. He tightens his grip on the man's wrist, his knuckles turning white. "Before I paint this floor with what's left of your teeth."

My voice cuts through the sudden, suffocating silence of the tavern corner. I step in quickly, wrapping my hand around the hard muscle of his forearm and placing my other hand firmly on his trembling shoulder.

"Kaelen, come, let's go," I say quickly, my voice urgent but soft, trying to pull his focus away from the man whimpering on the floor. I lean into his space, forcing him to look at me. "My love, come, let's go to the room. You don't need to do this. I'm fine. Please, let's go."

The words 'my love' act like a physical shock to his system.

Kaelen flinches slightly, the absolute, murderous darkness in his moss-green eyes flickering as his gaze snaps down to me. His chest is heaving, his muscles wound so tight they feel like carved granite beneath my palms. He looks from my face down to my hand on his shoulder, then back to the pathetic, terrified drunkard still grovelling in his iron grip.

For a terrifying second, I think he might ignore me and finish the strike anyway. But the desperate, grounding plea in my eyes finally registers.

With a low, disgusted snarl, Kaelen shoves the man away from us, sending him sprawling clumsily across the sticky floor into a pile of empty tankards. The drunkard doesn't even look back; he scrambles to his feet and flees toward the tavern doors, clutching his sprained wrist.

Kaelen doesn't watch him go. His eyes are locked entirely on me, his breath still coming in rough, jagged bursts. The raw, protective fury is still humming under his skin, but as he looks at me, a sudden, fierce vulnerability cracks through his rigid mask. He reaches out, his large, trembling hand cupping the side of my face, his thumb stroking my cheek with a desperate, possessive intensity.

"Nobody touches you," he rough-whispers, his voice thick and fiercely dark. "Nobody."

He wraps his fingers tightly around mine, snatching the iron room key from the table. Without another word, he pulls me toward the stairs, his massive frame shielding me entirely from the staring eyes of the tavern regulars as we leave the chaos behind.

The heavy oak door slams shut behind us with a resounding, violent thud that shakes the dust from the doorframe. Kaelen drops the heavy iron bolt into place with a sharp, definitive click, effectively locking the chaotic, filthy world of the tavern outside.

I lean against the wall, my chest rising and falling as I catch my breath, my legs aching slightly from the frantic pace he kept up the stairs.

Kaelen doesn't move away from the door. He stands there, his back to me, his broad shoulders rising and falling with deep, jagged breaths. His fists are clenched so tightly at his sides that his arms are visibly shaking, the raw, lethal fury radiating off him like heat from an oven. The air in the small, dimly lit room feels thick, charged with the leftover electricity of his protective rage.

"Are you alright?" I ask softly, my voice a gentle anchor in the quiet room. I step forward carefully, keeping my movements deliberate and non-threatening, not wanting to ignite any of the fire that might still be lurking just beneath his surface.

Kaelen is silent for a long beat. Then, slowly, he turns around.

The murderous darkness from the tavern floor has softened, but his moss-green eyes are still incredibly intense, wide and scanning me with a frantic, desperate hunger. He doesn't look angry at me—he looks terrified for me. His gaze sweeps over my face, down to my shoulders where that man's hand had been, and finally lands on my raw, bandaged knuckles.

Before I can say another word, he crosses the small room in a single, predatory stride. He doesn't grab me roughly, but his hands fly to my waist, his grip unyielding as he lifts me effortlessly and sets me down on the edge of the room's sturdy wooden table, stepping firmly between my knees so I have nowhere to look but at him.

"I am fine," he rough-whispers, his voice tight and fractured as he leans down, burying his face into the crook of my neck, his hot breath searing against my skin. His hands slide up to grip my shoulders, squeezing just enough to ground himself. "I am fine, Red. But the second he laid a hand on you... I swear to gods, I almost tore his throat out."

I lift my hands, ignoring the sharp sting in my raw knuckles, and gently cup his face. His skin is hot against my palms, his jaw still rigid with tension.

"Hey," I whisper softly, tilting his head up slightly so his moss-green eyes are forced to meet mine. "I'm here. I'm alright. He didn't hurt me, Kaelen. You protected me, my love."

The tension in his jaw cracks at the repetition of the words my love. He lets out a ragged, trembling sigh against my skin, the fight finally draining from his massive frame. His eyes close for a brief second, leaning heavily into the touch of my hands as if my palms are the only thing keeping him grounded.

When he opens his eyes again, the lethal fury is gone, replaced by a deep, swirling warmth that makes my pulse skip. His hands slide from my shoulders down to my waist, his grip tightening as he pulls me flush against his chest.

"You're going to be the death of me, Red," he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rumble. He leans in, pressing his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with mine in the quiet room. "I swear, when you look at me like that, I'd burn the whole world down if you asked me to."

“Truth be told, I was seconds away for landing one sweet blow to his thick drunk skull, you beat me to it, no one is allowed to touch me except you.”

A low, dark chuckle rumbles deep in Kaelen’s chest at my words, the sound vibrating directly against my ribs. The last remaining lines of tension in his face finally melt away, replaced by a slow, wicked grin that sends a sudden spike of heat rushing straight through me.

"Is that right?" he murmurs, his moss-green eyes darkening, heavy with an intense, possessive weight as they track the movement of my lips.

He leans in closer, his grip on my waist tightening until there isn't a single breath of space left between us on the edge of that table. His large, warm hand slides slowly up my ribcage, his thumb tracing a deliberate, burning path up to my jawline, tilting my face up to his.

"No one touches you except me," he repeats, his voice dropping into a rough, dangerous whisper that makes my heart slam against my ribs. "I like the sound of that, Red. I like it a hell of a lot."

He looks down at me, his gaze sweeping over my face, before his eyes drop to my raw, bandaged knuckles resting against his chest. The reminder of my hands softens the heavy heat in his eyes just a fraction, bringing back that steady, protective gravity. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead, his breath hot against my skin.

"But as much as I'd love to see you level a drunkard," he whispers against my skin, a soft smile playing on his lips, "I'm glad I got to him first. You've done enough damage to your hands today."

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulls his face back just enough to look me in the eye, though his hands stay firmly anchored to my hips. "Now... as promised. Let me see those hands, Iris. Let's get you cleaned up before we even think about touching that stone."

"I’ll let you get to work captain"

A low, rough chuckle breaks from Kaelen’s throat at the title, a sudden spark of heat flaring in his moss-green eyes.

"Captain, is it?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave as he steps back just enough to let me breathe, though his gaze never really leaves mine. "Be careful, Red. Give a military man a title like that in a locked room, and he might just start taking orders entirely too seriously."

He turns to the small washbasin on the vanity, pouring tepid water from a ceramic pitcher into a wooden bowl. He grabs a clean cloth and a small tin of soothing salve from his pack, his movements efficient and practiced, but there is a profound, quiet reverence to how he handles the supplies.

When he steps back between my knees, he doesn't look like the lethal warrior who nearly dismantled a man downstairs. He looks entirely focused on me.

He gently takes my right hand, lifting it into the dim light of the single candle flickering on the table. He begins to unwind the stained, dirty bandages with agonizing care, his large fingers incredibly steady. As the cloth falls away, exposing the fresh raw flesh and the faint, silvery lines of my past scars, Kaelen’s jaw tightens. He doesn't say a word, but he presses a soft, fleeting kiss to the inside of my wrist before dipping the cloth into the water.

"This might sting a bit," he whispers, looking up at me through his dark lashes, his eyes searching mine. "Tell me if I'm hurting you."

He presses the damp, warm cloth to the scrapes, gently dabbing away the dried blood and dirt with a touch so remarkably light it feels like a caress.

A sharp, ragged breath hitches in Kaelen's throat the moment my lips touch the sensitive skin right below his jaw. His entire frame goes utterly rigid, his large hands freezing mid-motion over my knuckles.

"Iris," he rumbles, a warning vibrating deep in his chest, though his voice lacks any real conviction.

I don't stop. I lean in closer, pressing another soft, lingering kiss to the warm hollow of his throat, inhaling the scent of pine and leather that is uniquely him. I trail my lips slowly up to his pulse point, feeling the fierce, rapid drumming of his heart beneath my mouth.

A low groan escapes him, and his head tilts back slightly, giving me better access. The damp cloth slips from his fingers, dropping with a soft splash back into the wooden washbasin. He abandons all pretence of medical care, his large, warm hands leaving my wrists to slide firmly back around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest so hard I can feel every solid muscle in his torso.

"You are a terrible patient," Kaelen rough-whispers against my hair, his voice thick and heavily strained as he fights for control. He opens his eyes, his moss-green gaze dark, smouldering, and entirely consumed by the heat between us. "I am trying to be a gentleman and fix your hands, Red, but you are making it damn near impossible."

He leans down, his lips brushing tantalizingly close to mine, his thumb stroking a slow, burning circle into my hip.

"Is this your way of telling me you're ready for that promise?"

I look down at my hands, resting against his broad chest, then look right back up into those smouldering moss-green eyes. I give him a single, quick, definitive nod.

The last shred of Kaelen’s hard-won restraint snaps.

He lets out a low, growling sigh against my mouth, his hands tightening on my waist as he lifts me effortlessly from the edge of the table. In two long, blind strides, he carries me across the small room, his eyes never breaking contact with mine until my back hits the soft mattress of the inn's heavy bed.

He follows me down instantly, his massive frame hovering over mine, pinning me into the sheets with a delicious, grounding weight. He captures my lips in a deep, fierce kiss that tastes of unspoken apologies, raw relief, and the burning hunger that has been simmering between us for days.

His hands are incredibly mindful of my raw knuckles, carefully pinning my wrists beside my head by grasping my forearms instead, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into my skin. Every touch is a reassurance. He isn't a ghost, and he isn't a thousand miles away; he is right here, heavy and warm and entirely mine.