Chapter 10: Bite mark on a stray cat
Kian walked up the grand staircase, his footsteps silent against the thick runners.
He pushed open the heavy double doors of the master bedroom, stepping into the dim roomlit only by the soft glow of the city lights bleeding through the sheer curtains.
The room was quiet, filled only with the soft, steady rhythm of breathing.
Isabella was curled up on her side in the center of the massive bed, her back turned to his side of the room. Her thick, ink-black hair spilled across the white silk pillows like dark water.
Kian stood near the edge of the bed for a long moment, watching her. He told himself he was just checking on his investment.
He told himself she was nothing more than a stray cat he had taken in to fatten up before the slaughter.
But as he kicked off his shoes and removed his jacket, his hands were strangely cold.
He slid into the bed beside her, the mattress barely dipping under his weight.
Isabella shifted slightly in her sleep, rolling over toward him. The blanket slipped down past her shoulder, pulling the thin strap of her navy nightgown down her arm.
Kian leaned closer, his eyes drinking in the pale, soft curve of her throat. He lifted his hand to brush a stray strand of black hair away from her cheek so it wouldn’t catch in her mouth while she breathed.
Then, his hand froze.
Under the soft light of the room, right where her neck met the slope of her shoulder, the pale skin was marred.
A faint, dark mark sat against her collarbone, two distinct, curved crescent shapes, surrounded by a tender, purplish shadow.
It was a bite mark.
Kian’s breath locked in his chest. His thumb hovered an inch above her skin, trembling slightly, terrified to touch it, terrified to confirm what his eyes were seeing.
His mind raced into a dark, frantic spiral.
A fall? No. She hadn’t fallen. A pinch from a jewelry clasp? The shape was all wrong. Luke? No, Luke wouldn’t dare touch her.
Then, like a splash of ice water, the pieces crashed together in his head.
The opera last week. The way she had lingered near the private boxes. Aaron Kazarov’s arrogant, dark face in the booth.
The sudden, convenient police checkpoint today Luke mentioned, something about it felt fishy even though it shouldn’t.
Kian’s chest heaved with a quiet, terrifying rage. He didn’t wake her. He freshened up and went back to bed, laying perfectly still in the dark beside her for the whole night, his eyes fixed on that tiny, dark mark on her neck until dawn arrived.
At six in the morning, Kian got out of bed, wore his robe silently, and walked down to his private study. He pulled out a dark cigar, lighting it with a small gold lighter, the blue smoke curling toward the ceiling.
He called Luke into the room.
Luke stepped inside, closing the heavy doors behind him. He immediately felt the suffocating weight in the room.
Kian sat behind his desk, a glass of dark amber liquor resting near his hand, a burning cigar between his fingers.
"How long were you separated from her at that checkpoint, Luke?" Kian asked. His voice was dangerously soft, completely stripped of any anger, flat and cold as slate.
Luke blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. "Sir? I told you, it was just a routine check—"
"How many minutes, Luke?" Kian interrupted, blowing a thin stream of smoke into the air.
"About... fifteen minutes, sir," Luke answered, his posture going rigid as he sensed the sheer danger radiating from the desk.
Kian repeated the number under his breath. "Fifteen." He ran a hand through his dark hair, letting out a low, bitter breath.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Carter?" Luke asked, his hand instinctively resting near his side.
Kian looked up, his dark eyes hollow. "Did anyone touch my wife, Luke?"
"No, sir!" Luke said instantly. "I would never allow—"
"You left her alone in a public street!" Kian snapped, his patience finally breaking, his fist slamming onto the mahogany desk with a dull, heavy thud.
Luke went silent, his face pale. In his own mind, he replayed every single second of that checkpoint.
The female officer taking her elbow, guiding her out of the car... but where had they walked? He hadn’t seen the secondary vehicle from inside the command van. A cold sweat broke out along Luke’s spine.
"Get out," Kian whispered, turning his face away.
Luke didn’t argue. He bowed his head and backed out of the room quietly.
Instead of heading to the office, Kian called his second assistant, canceling his entire schedule for the day. He walked back upstairs, his steps making no sound against the carpet.
Isabella was awake.
She stood in front of the large marble vanity in the master bathroom, wearing a soft robe. Her long black hair hung over her shoulders as she carefully ran a silver hairbrush through the strands, relying entirely on memory and touch.
Kian stepped into the doorway, standing silently behind her. In the mirror, her clouded, milky-green eyes stared straight ahead, unable to see him standing just two feet away. He watched the light catch the dark bruise on her neck every time she lifted her arm.
He stepped forward quietly.
Isabella gasped, her shoulders flinching as a large, warm hand suddenly covered her fingers on the handle of the brush.
"Kian?" she breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Of course, princess," Kian murmured softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to her neck. "Who else would it be?"
He gently took the brush from her hands. Isabella stood frozen, her throat dry, her entire body rigid as he began to brush her hair for her slowly and intimately.
"You startled me," she said, forcing her voice to sound light and pleasant despite the sudden panic fluttering in her chest. "How long have you been standing there? I thought you were already on your way to the office."
"Just a moment," Kian lied smoothly, his fingers gently smoothing down her long black hair. "I couldn’t resist. You look so beautiful in the morning light and I can’t help but want to spend some time with my wife."
"I can brush it myself, Kian," she murmured, trying to take a small step forward.
"Let me do it," he said softly, his arm sliding around her waist to pull her gently back against his chest. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of her skin.
Isabella held her breath, every muscle in her back locked tight. She hated his touch. She hated the warmth of his breath against her skin. But she forced herself to stand still, forcing a small, weary smile onto her lips.
"Bella," Kian whispered against her hair.
"Hmm?"
"You’ve been scratching your neck lately."
The air in the bathroom seemed to vanish completely. Isabella’s heart stopped.
A cold, terrifying wave of dread flooded her stomach, but she forced her expression to remain blank, feigning confusion.
"Have I?" she asked, her voice steady.
"Mhm," Kian murmured, the silver brush sliding smoothly through her hair. "It left a mark. A dark little bruise right near your collarbone."
Isabella’s mind raced at lightning speed, pulling together every lie she had rehearsed in her head during the long hours of the night.
"Oh," she said, letting out a small, quiet laugh that sounded almost natural. "It must have been a bug bite from yesterday afternoon. I was sitting out on the patio while Luke was preparing the car. Those insects are terrible this time of year."
Kian stopped brushing. He stared at her reflection in the mirror, watching the subtle rise and fall of her chest.
He smiled, a low, terrifying kind that held no warmth whatsoever.
He turned her around gently, his large hand cupping her cheek, his thumb softly stroking her pale skin. He leaned down, pressing a soft, slow kiss to her nose, then her cheek, then the corner of her soft mouth.
"I see," Kian murmured, his hand shifting into the thick black hair at the back of her head, pulling her face up just enough so she was forced to face him directly, even though her eyes couldn’t see his face.
He leaned In close, his breath warm against her lips.
"You wouldn’t lie to me... would you, Bella?"
Isabella swallowed hard, her cloudy green eyes fixed on the dark shape of his silhouette. "Never, Kian."
Kian smiled gently. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, a lingering, soft touch that felt like ice against her skin.
"Good," Kian whispered, his thumb lightly running over the mark on her neck one last time before letting her go. "Because I wouldn’t know what I’d do... if someone touched what belongs to me."