Author's Note: OMG, I wrote some stuff!
Sorry about the long wait between updates. My muse and I have been super stressed. But this story is NOT forgotten!
Liam continued to interrogate me for the better part of an hour, but he didn't get any more answers. Everything he wanted to know was either something I couldn't answer or something I wouldn't answer. Killian stepped in for me twice, which was sweet, but a little irritating. Well, the first time was irritating. The second time was useful.
"We're done," he said in a steely voice, rising to his feet and glaring at his brother. He reached for me without looking, keeping his eyes on Liam.
I took his hand and rose to stand next to him.
"This isn't over, little brother," Liam growled.
"It is for tonight," Killian shot back. He slipped his arm around my waist and led me out of the room.
I let him guide me out of the study and down the hall to the narrow stairs leading up to the attic. Once we were alone in the little room, he let his composure slip. He was bristling. He seethed and paced, wringing his hands and scowling for a minute. It was almost amusing to watch.
"You need to hit something," I said after a while.
"What?" he said, stopping suddenly, his head snapping up from where he'd been glaring at his boots.
"Hit something," I repeated. "You'll feel better."
He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow at me.
"And how would you know that?" he asked.
"Because I want to hit something," I said. "It usually makes me feel better."
He chuffed at that, his lips curving up.
"Try it," I encouraged.
He scratched behind his ear for a moment before approaching the far wall with a determined look. He gave one of the naked wooden beams a grim look and then punched it with a quick, solid jab. It looked satisfying, and I suddenly wanted very much to join in, but I didn't want to bash open my knuckles on the raw wood. I looked around the room and found more fresh clothing for us folded near the door, including two pairs of thick woollen socks. I scooped them up as Killian punched the wall a second time.
"C'mere," I said, tossing a pair of socks at him as I slipped the others over my hands.
He looked at me quizzically (which seemed reasonable).
"What are you doing, lass?" he asked.
"Relieving some tension," I said. "Put the socks over your fists."
I had both of my hands covered by then, so I gave an experimental punch, thrusting my right fist into my open left hand. The thick wool muffled the blow nicely. I opened both of my hands and held them up for him at a good punching height, widening my stance to absorb the impact of his blows.
"Darling, are you asking me to strike you?" he asked, dutifully slipping on one of the socks with an amused grin.
"Unless you're scared," I taunted, needing this to work, needing to blow off some steam.
His eyebrows shot up across his forehead and then a grin spread across his face.
"Not hardly," he said, almost a growl. He stalked toward me, his eyes darting from my face to my hands back to my face.
"C'mon, pretty boy," I teased, "let's see what you've got."
"So, you think I'm pretty?" he said, grinning wider. "I thought you might."
"Quit stalling," I shot back.
His fist snapped forward to hit my palm, and I felt the blow even though the two layers of wool. Good. I was worried he'd pull his punches. Even still, I decided to keep up the banter.
"You call that a punch?" I sassed, giving him a sad shake of my head.
His mouth fell open, but he quickly recovered, his left fist slapping into my left palm in a tight cross.
"Ya-awn!" I said, "any time you want to actually start hitting me, go ahead."
He let out a little growl and peppered my palms with a series of crosses and jabs. I could feel it when his tension broke and he was just lost in the rhythm. My palms were stinging from the blows, despite the layers of padding.
"My turn," I said, moving my hands out of his reach and then making fists inside the socks.
Killian obligingly raised his hands, making loose cups of his palms as I had. He shifted his weight, finding a comfortable defensive stance after several minutes of being on the offensive. He flinched when my fist connected with his left palm, and I cringed at my mistake. He was still injured. I'd have to go easy on him.
Well, at least on his injured side.
I focused on his right hand, sending jabs and crosses into it in rapid succession. I found a rhythm, hearing workout music in my head, and I started bobbing and weaving like I would in the gym with my self-defense instructor.
Killian started shifting his hand, giving me a moving target. He feinted once with his injured arm, and then he popped (well, more like booped) me on the chin. I hissed in surprise and met his gaze, finding amused blue eyes looking down at me over a smug smirk.
I lightly popped him in the nose, making him rock back. His eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in determination. His whole stance changed, and the spar was on.
I kept his injured side in mind, but I didn't go easy on him. I just aimed elsewhere.
He was quick, easily blocking most of my blows and making me scramble to block his. We each scored a couple of sound hits before he shocked me by grabbing me, pinning my arms to to his chest.
I squirmed, but he held tight, lifting me off the ground and throwing me on the bed. He stripped off the socks from his hands as he stalked toward me. I scrambled to pull the socks off my hands as well. I was expecting another assault, but when he flopped down on the bed beside me, he just tucked his hands behind his head and let out a contented sigh.
"Thank you," he said. "That most certainly helped."
He was breathing slightly fast, as was I.
"Sometimes you just need to punch someone in the face," I said, glancing at the ceiling.
He chuckled and propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with an amused expression.
"There are other ways to relieve tension," he said, his voice dropping to an enticing murmur.
My eyebrows popped up.
"What would you know about that?" I asked with a little snort.
"I'm rather a quick study," he said, drawing a lock of my hair between his fingers. He set the curl down on my shoulder and stroked the exposed skin there, pulling the neck of my dress aside to kiss my skin.
I found I had no argument.
.
Some time later, I opened my eyes and found him looking down at me again, his expression strangely melancholy.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
His expression cleared at once, and it looked for a moment as if he was going to try to pretend I hadn't caught him. But then he smiled apologetically.
"What?" I asked again.
He sighed before speaking.
"Is your…" he began, licking his lips and looking away. "Is Mr. Swan dead? You never said as much, but let us assume…"
"It's Cassidy," I said softly. "His name's Neal Cassidy, not Swan. Swan is my name."
A moment spread out between us before Killian spoke again.
"He's alive, then?" he asked quietly.
I nodded.
Killian hesitated before pulling me to his chest. He cradled me there like I was something fragile.
"You wish to go back to him," he whispered, his voice tentative. He didn't lift the last word in question, but I knew he wanted me to answer.
But I couldn't.
I loved Neal.
We'd fallen out of sync while he was in prison, but we hadn't fallen out of love. We'd been trying to start over when I'd fallen through the stones. I wanted to give my marriage to Neal a chance to resolidify.
And yet I couldn't deny my attraction to Killian Jones- and it wasn't just physical. There was a softness in him that called to me, but his rough edges matched mine perfectly.
I had no desire to choose between them. It felt wrong, like choosing between food and air.
"I don't know," I whispered back honestly.
I felt Killian's shudder of relief.
"We'll have to go to the palace," he said after several minutes. He let the words hang for a second before turning to look at me.
I sighed.
"We need to tell the King and Queen what we've learned," he went on, propping himself up on one elbow.
"What do you mean?" I asked carefully. I was worried that he meant me.
"About the Dark One's demands, for one," he said. "And about the effect of the curse, for another. I'm not sure anyone else has realized what you did about the passage of time. I don't think we were meant to. I think only you could point it out, being an outlander."
He held my gaze, giving me a little nod. I chewed on my lip for a moment and sat up. He mirrored me, sitting in front of me, our knees touching.
"You want me to tell the king about myself?" I asked after a beat.
He took my hands in his before speaking, running his thumb over my skin.
"Yes," he said evenly. "But I'll respect it if you refuse."
I let out the breath I'd been holding and nodded. Could he really be as sincere as he seemed?
"I'll think about it," I said quietly, and he smiled.
He drew my hands up to his lips and kissed my knuckles.
"Thank you," he murmured against my skin, rubbing his stubble across the back of my hand. He held my eyes, and I watched as his gaze slowly transformed from something innocent to something more carnal.
I'd be a liar if I said I couldn't feel my body responding to him—and it was just a damned look. But then he resumed kissing my knuckles, running them over his lips, which he parted to dart his tongue out and taste my skin. I might have made a noise, I'm not sure. The next thing I knew, he was gently pushing me down to the bed and kissing down my neck.
It felt like he was ravenous- like he thought I might disappear at any moment.
And maybe that was true.
I felt more than a little like the baker's wife, having an "and" moment, and I couldn't deny I wanted to savor it as much as Killian did. So I let the wave of passion overtake me and I melted into Killian's embrace, shucking my worries and doubts along with my clothing. I lost myself (or did I find myself?) in him, and we spent the rest of the night discovering ways to make each other gasp and sigh.
When sleep finally claimed me, my mind was blissfully pleasure-addled.
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