Blood Sport

Chapter Twenty-Two

A loud, obnoxious banging came from the other side of her room, jolting her from her sleep. She groaned, stomping her way over. Unsurprisingly, the last face she wanted to see right now stood on the other side. He looked more put together than he had the night before. He's had a night to take this all in. They'd both had time to consider the parameters of their crossing paths again.

Reagan herself wasn't sure what to make of it. Honestly, she'd rather not know what was going through this man's head.

"Good morning General. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He looked her up and down, eyes freezing on her legs.

After he left the night before, she'd had the chance to go pick up some clothes. She'd mostly bought baggy men's clothes, but there was nothing stopping her from being herself to sleep.

He swallowed, following her legs up to her shorts then her exposed midriff where her tank top had rolled up. "It was a dangerous play opening the door as yourself."

She understood his meaning. Anyone could've been on the other side.

She shrugged all the same. "I'm sure I'd have worked up an excuse if anyone were to question me. Azrael might've been a busy boy before he met your Mother. You never know." She'd have to work harder to piss him off too, today. He'd had the night to prepare himself for these sorts of jabs. "Again. To what do I owe the pleasure? It's too early to be seeing your face. Honestly, you should know this."

His red eyes did one more assessment of her. "You shouldn't take the risk again."

"I can look after myself, thank you very much. Spare me the lecture and answer my question. Why are you here?"

"Can a man not stop by to see your beautiful face?"

Her eyes narrowed. "As if you have a soft spot for beauty." She poked a finger against his chest, prodding. "You take beautiful things and crush them between your cold, self-prioritising hands."

"I assume that's a metaphor."

"You're damn right it is."

"Let me in."

She scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. "More of the demands. Have you forgotten our conversation from yesterday already? And now you're inviting yourself into my bedroom. Ooh, we are brave."

He shut her door with a simple push then fixed the deadbolt. Invading my space. So this was how it'd be with him around. Killian would give her no room to breathe.

"Annaliese wants to meet with you," He stated, sitting on the edge of her unmade bed.

"And you just had to be in my bedroom to tell me that."

"I volunteered to come tell you."

"Of course you did."

"I wanted to make sure you know what you're doing."

Brushing him off, she headed to her bathroom, begrudgingly leaving the door open.

"I always know what I'm doing."

"Annaliese is a lot more dangerous than my Uncle," He called, wondering what the best way to shake sense into her would be. Did she always place herself in danger on purpose?

He'd tried not to think of her too much over all these years. His mate. The woman who fate had tied him down to. And yet he couldn't count the number of nights he'd stayed up wondering what peril she'd found herself stuck in. Wondering if she was safe. Wondering if she ever thought of him.