Killian Steele

Samantha lifted her gaze from the figure and tossed a look over her shoulder.  “Cinderella has a nice right hook.” She had witnessed many such scenes in her upbringing, but she rarely tried to involve herself in such affairs. Discretion had been the name of the game in her wild youth, and that had continued into adulthood. Clandestine trysts and forbidden intimacies had given way to withdrawing and letting herself become involved in others’ affairs.  She was a creature crafted of rage and passion, and a need to be in control of herself. She was perceptive yet distant, but flickers of extreme emotion rarely served her well. She had a habit of detaching altogether into neutral apathy and called upon that facade once more as she grabbed a wad of napkins. 

“I’m glad I could provide a laugh.” Truly, if she had been an onlooker, she would not have intervened. She’d usher them off to a restroom at best, though turning a blind eye to rising embarrassment was sometimes the kindest approach. There was very little of the kindred sort within the company she kept, or at the very least acquainted herself with. The interest of others in the catastrophe had quickly faded as the party roared on. “Is that the only thing you’ll be needing of me tonight?”

“Well, they do say, laughter is the best medicine. So I guess you’re doing you’re part.” Killian continued to laugh as he circled the blonde drenched in alcohol, which might as well have been blood for the hungry shark that is Killian. He expected her to be more humiliated, but she was taking all the fun out of it. Some might argue that seeing a pretty girl wet should be good enough, but Killian was a one-girl kind of guy. He wasn’t tempted by forbidden fruit, at least not the kind that could be plucked from a person’s clothes. Killian was more interested in the affairs of business. And after hearing the girl’s voice, he knew exactly who resided behind the mask.

“Actually—no.” To be certain, Killian brushed his finger under the girl’s mask until it was lifted enough for him to see her eyes. “Ohhh, I know who you are. Shh,” he placed a finger against his lips before leaning in as if with a secret to tell, “Don’t report me to the mayor. –I hear he has this, like, pain-and-pleasure torture dungeon in his basement. It’s where he takes all the rule-breakers, to, you know, whip ‘em and stuff, while he’s dressed in women’s clothes.” Killian was only pulling her leg of course. His sense of humor was usually dark and webbed with lies. However, who’s to say the mayor wasn’t a secret cross-dressing Christian Grey? There was no proof of him NOT doing those things, either.

“Anyway, now that we’re here and sharing secrets, all that’s left is for us to exchange numbers and talk in a more formal setting? Because I do have a business proposition, if you will. You see, I know what you do, and who you are, and I would love it if you could drop by The House this weekend? You know the place, right? I made the uh, list — Texas’s hottest clubs to see. I’ve ranking number 1 for months now.”

She flinched at the smack, eyes closing for a second before opening again, and catching Killian’s eyes. She imagined for a second what it would look like to cut his throat open when a sharp piece of glass. She’d almost welcome the feel of blood spilling out over her hands. With her face released she pulled away from him, straightening in her seat. She’d forgotten herself for a moment there, let the memories of Nik and her father control her words. 

“If you thought I’d be just another downtown cockroach like him, then you are wrong, Your Majesty,” those words dripped out of her like honey. “And why waste me on the Tombstone city. I can do a lot more than just be your accessory. I’ll need my voice for most of that though. And my fingers.” She reached into her pocket to pull out a diamond and ruby bracelet she’d stolen from the wrist of a passing patron. A trick of distraction, with a hand on her shoulder as she pretended to loose her balance, and then another undoing the clasp. She placed it on the bar and slide it over to Killian. “Something I think the Queen might like.”

“Hmm, parlor tricks.” Killian hummed as he watched the ruby necklace skitter across the bar into his fingers. “I’m rich, Nina. I live in a castle, and I run my own club… Diamonds and rubies, they mean little to me.” Still, he could admire the effort. She had quick hands and a hard heart. Her mouth was a little fast, but he kind of liked that too. The wily ones were fun to share a drink with.

“Stealing from a charity ball, put together in hope that we can all get along. Now, if I were to don my queen’s neck with such an extravagant gift, don’t you think someone would take notice? And then think less of us? We’re royal, Nina. At the top of the mountain. We mustn’t act like trolls. With that said, I do see your potential, so I’m going to assign you a job to test it. I want you to talk to big bro, get him to trust you again. Because if there’s one thing worth stealing, it’s information. I want everything you can find on the Lycans. Their plans, their hideouts, who they’re shaking hands with, and who they’re rolling around with at night. Everything. Do you think you can handle that?”

In spite of how it looked or sounded to the outside world (including Benjamin, lingering behind the door), Isabelle was thoroughly enjoying herself and this moment with Killian. He might’ve threatened her life and that of those she loved on more than one occasion but when it came time to end it (or theirs), he didn’t. That showed true restraint and in its own twisted, fucked up way, it showed love. Killian loved her. Despite his better judgment and despite how scary that four-letter word was to say. He loved her. Through thick and thin. Before and after… he loved her. And for Izzy, that was enough. In fact, it was more than she’s ever gotten from anyone else. 

“Yours–” Izzy breathed, between battered moans and broken breaths. Her ass was a blistering shade of red now, and it stung. But, at the same time – it felt kinda nice? Like embracing a cold breeze along the gulf of Mexico, where Killian promised to take Isabelle as soon as the reapers were under control. Which wouldn’t be for a little while. Or so, she assumed. “Don’t—” stop, she planned to say. But, her voice got caught in her throat as Killian snaked an arm around her midsection and then cradled her neck and jaw in his other palm. It looked like he was holding her hostage against his chest but in reality, Izzy obeyed the direction he lifted her body into. Her back was now pressed snugly against his sweaty chest, meanwhile the front of her hovered above his desk and his stack of papers. Just to hold some of her own weight, Izzy had to spread her legs again and in doing so, she gave Killian more access to fuck her from behind as he held her neck in a chokehold and talked in harsh whispers against the shell of her ear. 

Though, she couldn’t see him with her own two eyes, Izzy could hear the faint sounds of Killian rustling around in his pockets. The hand he had draped over her stomach had fell away so he could retrieve a knife from the hidden compartment of his red blazer. This wasn’t the first time, Killian had ever held a knife to her throat. Knife play was a common go to on their long lists of kinks. “Always.” Intrigued by the preface of Killian’s confession, Izzy encouraged him to keep going as she wrapped an arm around the back of his neck and her head, just in order to keep his mouth so close to her ear. The way his breath tickled the shell of it, caused Izzy to tremble and shake. With delight, not necessarily fright. Killian was in a much better mood, now that one hunger was being properly sated. 

Or so she thought… because as he continued talking, his thrusting had slowed to a desperate minimum. (Meaning, she was desperate for more – not him) Killian was too busy trying to get his point across as the knife’s jagged edge gently grazed the side of Izzy’s neck. Like a deer caught in headlights, Izzy froze – offering up no sudden movements until it felt safe enough to do so. 

“Ugh!” Following her gruff sigh, Izzy felt her body being forced to turn around so she could look up into the eyes of her King head on, as he finished punctuating his heavy-lidded thoughts. A lot seemed to be on his mind, she noticed, as she reached up to cup the right side of his cheek while he talked, and had even dragged the knife down the center of her chest, between her breasts, which were still half-hidden behind her lopsided dress. Izzy was beginning to feel stuffy in it and was glad when Killian decided to cut the straps off so her chest could be free. 

She made no attempt to hide it afterwards, knowing he’s seen it all before. “What?” All Izzy heard was the words “blood” and “bond” in the same sentence and knowing Killian, and his thirst for red, Izzy felt her stomach drop and her shoulders tense up. She learned not to fear too much anymore, having seen it all. But, there were still some instances when Killian said or did something that ignited Izzy’s flight or fight response. He scared her. And yet, he turned her out at the same time. It was very confusing. “I’ve heard of rituals where friends or loved ones cut themselves and merge the blood, if that’s what you mean.” Little did she know, his version of it was a lot more extensive. It wasn’t as quick or swift as it sounded at slumber parties or outside of campfires. 

On the contrary… the way Killian described it.. was a lot more in depth. As expected, of course. Killian wasn’t a surface-minded person. He lived in the trenches of his own traumas and experiences. He believed in acting fully rather than half-assed. Which is probably why he was so successful. “Kill,” – Izzy reserved the shortness of his name in rare moments, such as these. When topics or actions became too heavy and she needed him to slow things down a bit. He was talking about drawing her blood, drinking it, and then.. consuming parts of her soul? It was a lot to handle. But, what scared her most was the vulnerability that came with it. Izzy didn’t keep a lot from Killian, except her heart and her traumatic experiences with her mother. She talked about them to him, of course. He knew the story but, this was different… it wouldn’t just be words or stories anymore, he’d get to feel the memories of her past for himself and she would feel his. Izzy wouldn’t wish her pain or Killian’s on anyone. They’ve been through hell and back. Could they really take it on again?

 “Okay… Tell me what happens though, if I say no?” She wasn’t technically saying no. She was just curious of what he’d say or how he’d feel if she did. Because it was asking a lot. He was practically proposing they stitch themselves to each other for all eternity. “And how will we know if it works? What exactly are you asking me to do?” She needed him to explain it further, make her understand so she could decide whether or not it was the right thing for them. At least, in her eyes. She loved him. Despite her better judgment, she was in love with him. Which is partly why, she was scared. Paloma was her burden to carry, not his. She was her scars, her past, her demons to fight. Killian had enough of those on a daily basis. 

Killian could feel Isabelle’s reluctance after he mentioned the idea of a blood bond (a primitive ritual to bind souls. It’s how it worked for twins who’ve shared a womb, and parents who could feel when their child is in danger or worse—dead). It may have sounded crazy to the average person, but in war it was a gesture of love. A way for two people to connect, both spiritually and mentally.

However Isabelle didn’t seem too convinced, as Killian rolled her over before cutting her dress off with a twelve-inch knife. Like prey under the jaws of its predator, he could feel her panicking, as if silently begging him for her life. 

“If you say no, then we don’t do it. The choice is yours, mi reina. With me, you’ll always have what others do not. My mercy, my understanding…” – and my love. Killian wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but he couldn’t. He’s only ever said those words to one person before, and they betrayed him. His mother. They were playing a game of hide-and-go-seek around the Steele Manor, and when Killian couldn’t find her he started to cry. She came out of hiding then and promised him she’d never leave. In that moment, he felt safe and put his arms around her. He told her he loved her. But she lied to him. Because she did leave. It was like he never mattered. She only cared for a little while, until she got bored and moved onto other things, like parties at The House and men who weren’t Augustus. Abandonment issues were a bitch, but if Isabelle chose to leave him, he’d let her go. Because nothing hurts more than thinking someone loves you right before they disappear.

“I don’t know… I’ve never done this before, clearly. But I know it’s popular with the Lycans. You see, they’re big on family and connection. Two things, I don’t have. I just thought that maybe, maybe if you wanted to be, we could, be family?” Killian’s heart was racing, and he hated Isabelle for making him feel this way. He didn’t like this feeling of panic. It made him feel vulnerable and –sick? Like he wanted to throw up or something. Nerves, maybe? It was overwhelming because for years, he hasn’t felt anything but numbness. Killian enjoyed that feeling, it made him feel free and invincible. 

“When I was younger, I remember asking my mother if I was safe, and if my father loved me. I remember her smiling at me, but not answering. She knew I wasn’t safe, reina. She knew he didn’t love me and yet she still left me there with him. A few months after she was gone, I developed this voice in the back of my head. I think it was just a way for me not to feel so alone? Like an imaginary friend or something. The thing is, I know I’m fucked up. But you make me feel –less fucked up? The blood bond is a way for us to come together in a real way. To break through the trauma and scar tissue and reach other’s hearts.” Isn’t that what she wanted? Something real and tangible. 

Being out of Isabelle for as long as he had, Killian was starting to soften. And if they weren’t going to do this, they could at least finish fucking. After all, it was his birthday and so far, this was the best part of it. “If you decide to do the blood bond, take the knife and cut me anywhere you want.” Killian laid the knife down onto the desk and then hiked Isabelle’s dress up around her hips. “If you decide to stab me in the heart, I’ll understand. Actually, it would be kind of poetic, really. Considering I didn’t have one before we met.” With one hand wrapped around his cock, Killian tapped her pussy a few times to get harder and then pushed himself back inside of her, so deep he could feel her stomach. “Ughm. Sit up with me...” Killian reached down and lifted her up, so she could straddle his hips. “Just go slow and think about what you want, mi reina.” He whispered against her mouth before rolling his hips in slow, passion fueled strokes, reserved for rare instances of lovemaking, “Mm—kiss me or kill me.” 

Apathy hovered thickly in the air, shrouding the gala in a claustrophobic embrace. Time was tethered to a choke chain of stagnation, fighting to march onward toward a slowly fizzling decrescendo. The real festivities had yet to begin – when the pretty people peel themselves from the watchful eyes of acquaintances and business partners and evaporate into the night. Samantha knew it wasn’t feasible yet, but she drifted her way through the party.

There was a novelty to the anonymity offered this particular evening. Her surname had been noted and something she had struggled to get out from underneath. Her name, her work, was often the final chapter of someone’s life. Trauma, memories — a soul deduced to an autopsy report. Samantha wove her way through the sea of masked figures, curious hues flicking over anything that might of interest.

A sharp peel of laughter rang out and anchored her thoughts to the present, though not enough to totally sidestep a disaster. A wayward elbow of another clandestine figure connected with a tray of sparkling bubbles. Samantha was soon awash in a sea of alcohol and shattered shards of glass at her feet. “Watch it,” she snapped and moved to inspect the layers of champagne soaked silk. The crowd thinned but a pair of eyes upon her retreating form didn’t go unnoticed. Once secluded, she wheeled around to face the other. “Can I help you??”

Killian was the cause for many crises, but this particular one, he had nothing to do with. However, he did see the whole thing unravel. In fact, he probably could have stopped it from happening, but where was the fun in that?

“Oh me?” Killian half-chuckled while he stuffed his face full of cheese cubes. They were pepper jack flavored, and tasted like heaven. Or, at least the way someone like him would imagine heaven to taste. Killian had reservations for the lowest circle of hell. “I don’t want anything. I mean, I was just enjoying the show. It was so funny, you should have seen it from over here, as, like, a spectator.” A slow grin started across his lips as he geared up to give her his version of the story, “The waiter took a step back, stepped on Cinderella’s gown, and then caught an elbow right in the chin. My reflexes kicked in super-fast, I was about to grab the tray of champagne, right? But then thought –wait? What are you doing? This will be hilarious. So I let it happen, and I was right…it was great.”

She look forward as Killian spoke, watching the light reflecting off the varying liquor bottles. Reaper propaganda was nothing new to her ears. She’d grown up listening to her father rave on and on about them. Her brother’s were meant to have become foot soldiers, and her arm candy. If things had gone differently she might have ended up being put in Killian’s way and ordered to catch his attention. “You must have taken lessons on how to treat family from my father,” she quipped. It was a dangerous to let her tongue get carried away with someone like Killian but she couldn’t stop herself. 

Her arms were crossed over the bar as she sat, and she shifted only when Killian grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. Her breath came in sharply, her face setting as she sat on the edge of her stool. The thought of Nik bleeding out on the floor of the estate, made her go cold and drained the color from her cheeks. Her anger for him didn’t quite reach so high that she wished him dead. In pain, yes, but gone, no. “If you think I’d shed a tear you’d be wrong. I’d only suggest doing it outside. Wouldn’t want to ruin the beautiful carpet.”

“Me? Taken lessons from your father?” Killian sounded so serious, until his maniacal laughter erupted from his chest, shaking his entire upper body in a fit of uncontrollable hilarity. She couldn’t have been in her right mind? No, she had to have been drunk. Because in what world would HE – the progeny of Houston’s biggest crime family – learn any kind of lesson from her powerless, impuissant father.

“Let me tell you something. If you don’t learn how to bite your tongue, I’ll do it for you. Then I’ll tear it right out of your mouth. Sew your lips up and send you to Tombstone City, where you’ll be gambled from cell to cell. THEN, you relate me to your father. I am NOTHING like your ground-ridden pappy.” With his hand still holding onto her face, he slowly removed his fingers and then smacked her on the cheek.

The tap was just hard enough to make a point, not leave a mark. “I admire your spunk, Nina. Your past, your scars, your challenges, they made you strong. But strong is not unbreakable.”

It was actually, quite typical of Killian, to provoke an unfair fight. Then again, no man or woman – whether Lycan or Reaper, was of any match to the King of the Underworld. Killian’s shed more blood than Jack the Ripper, himself. He put every other serial killer and even his predecessors, to shame. No matter if those before him, were responsible for killing thousands. Because, sometimes it wasn’t the number of kills that set his bar so high. It was the gruesome tolerance and the unruly methods, in which he went about them. Killian would either murder and maim his victims with a smile or he’d make it quick and swift. Really, the circumstance determined the eventual punishment. And, the recreation. 

In Isabelle’s case, she wasn’t sure what spectrum Killian currently fell on. He was consumed with suspicion and doubt. Unable to really make sense of Isabelle’s mercy towards their canary. While, she could assure him until she was blue in the face that her feelings for Benjamin were professional and platonic, it would take more than words to inevitably convince him. He would need to see or feel that proof for himself. And what better way than to take back what was rightfully his? Or do so, so loudly that Benjamin dare not, try to intervene. Or risk putting Izzy in even more danger, or at the very least, in the crosshairs of Killian’s violent temper. To which, she was no stranger of. Albeit, he served her lessons in more carnal ways.

Not that Izzy was complaining. In fact, the sound of his zipper unraveling or his slacks pooling around his ankles was a welcomed symphony to her ears. Izzy embraced his hands and his dick as it smacked against her slit, as if tapping some metaphorical door and encouraging her to open up for him and let him in. In which she did, by spreading her legs wide open as he whispered with sharp convictions in her ear. Like his skin, his breath trickled hotly along her flesh causing Izzy to shudder. Though not with a sense of fear now but with delight. As frightening as Killian was or he could be, he was just as irresistible. Her ass could take a beating from the relentless pounding of his hips (and it did) and she would enjoy every, sadistic second of it. She wore his bruises and bite marks on her skin, like declarations of love letters. In Killian’s twisted world, that’s precisely what they were. Every thrust, every whisper and every thunderous clap said; I love you, you’re mine. Killian never needed to say those words though, in order for Izzy to understand or decipher them. It was unspoken, just like their attraction for one another. And just like Izzy’s glee as she struggled to formulate coherent sentences. Instead, the sounds she made were a mix of harsh cries, aggravated whispers, and hoarse curses.

By now, Killian knew her well enough to understand what she wanted as she reached behind herself to clasp a handful of his bare ass. Each time her grip would loosen, she’d dig her nails in even deeper as if she were a cat or a panther and was picking at her prey by playing with her food. See, Izzy could be just as dark and possessive as the King himself. Sometimes, she could even be worse. Which is, quite frankly, not a fate anyone should wish for. There was a lot more to Izzy’s job than simply hanging onto Killian’s arm. Without her, the entire kingdom would crumble. Killian would be even more of a bloodthirsty animal than he already was. He’d destroy Houston, the world, and then himself. Too much power given to one person was in and of itself, a death wish. Sometimes, that power needed to be evenly distributed. Just so it could reign and last a lot longer.

When Killian decided to stay at the Steele Manor and take over the Reapers, he indulged in all the forbidden fruits that came with being King. He lost his virginity to a stripper, thinking he would feel something but he didn’t. He was afraid that after killing his father, he would become numb and he had. In order to feel something, anything, he stopped trying to find love in sex, and then it became about control. He liked holding girls down and dominating them. He enjoyed their nails being dragged down his flesh and their panting breath in his ear. But that’s all he enjoyed. Being aggressive and on top. There was nothing else there – until he met Isabelle. They connected in a weird way. She was the only person to ever give him butterflies in the stomach and goosebumps on his skin. She provoked these feelings that moved him beyond a desire for power. She hexed him with affection and made him give sex another try. Sex, not fucking. 

The night of their first time, he came in shudders that unraveled his dark soul. That night, when he went to sleep, he wasn’t plagued by his demons. He didn’t have a single nightmare. She brought him to a safe place where his father’s ghost couldn’t reach him. That morning, Killian cried in the shower with relief. But then he realized how terrified that made him. So he planned to kill Isabelle for making him feel human again. But when it came time for him to end her life, he couldn’t.

Now, he was stuck with all these emotions. Killian didn’t even know what jealousy was until he saw the way Isabelle would look at Benjamin. She had a soft heart for him, and his guns were filled with cupid’s arrows for her. It didn’t take a genius to see the connection between his canary and queen. The thought of losing Isabelle to Benjamin is what provoked Killian into pulling her hair back while slamming his hips into her ass, leaving her cheeks blood red with every thunderous thrust. As if that wasn’t enough to satisfy his depraved hunger, Killian continued to slap and fist her ass after every few strokes, reminding her in bated breaths that she belonged to him.

“You’re mine, reina!” When Isabelle stretched her arms back to grab onto his ass, aching to get a decent grip on him, Killian captured her wrists and pinned them above her lower back. If she wanted to hold onto something she could hold onto his cock with her pussy. She could clench down on his thick girth and hold him still, while he plunges into her with defiant strokes, forcing her to take every burning inch of him until he cums. 

“Mi reina!” Killian growled and then he pulled her head back. His office desk was ruined as Isabelle remained bent over it with her boobs half hanging out. They knocked everything over and the paperwork he left out was now crumbled and wet. Including two invitations to the Mayor’s Ball which Killian had yet to share with her. The event was tomorrow night but Killian wasn’t so sure she would make it. For as his hips stirred lazily against her ass and his abs flexed with every labored breath behind her, Killian unsheathed a knife from the inside of his red blazer.

With Isabelle’s hair still knotted around his tattooed fingers, Killian raised the knife to her throat and began kissing the back of her neck, up to her ear. “Can I confess something reina?” Killian breathed, labored and gasping. “You make me jealous. And I really don’t know how to process that. What really bothers me is, half the time I don’t know what you’re thinking or feeling. You shelter your heart and I know why. Because hearts make us weak and in here, weakness is death.” Killian remained still inside Isabelle’s heat, as he toyed with the idea of slitting her throat. “But there is a way for us to connect our hearts and entwine our souls.” With soft words came tender hands, as Killian pressed a palm over her back and slowly removed himself from her pussy. 

Killian needed her to pay attention to him for this part. So he lightly dragged the knife down her breasts and over her stomach. With her beautiful dress still covering her even more beautiful body, Killian cut a strap off her shoulder and then the other. His eyes were blue, yet dark enough to appear black behind the shadow of a thriving fire only a few feet away. “Have you ever heard of a blood bond, mi reina? When two people share blood and become bonded for life?” Before its reputation had been distorted and corrupted by teenagers at slumber parties, blood bonding was used by ancient warriors. The Aztecs, Vikings, and Samurais would bind themselves to their loved ones, therefore inheriting a part of their soul. The Lycans then adopted the sentiment from werewolf folklore, where mated wolves would bite into each other’s necks during sex, thus solidifying a bond for life.

“The ancients believed the act of sharing blood would allow one the unique ability of being spiritually connected to your soulmate. The Lycans borrowed the concept and a select few, the ones who are committed, consume their lover’s blood during sex. It’s supposed to open a gateway, which allows you to feel each other’s emotions and communicate telepathically. You know, the way twins do. I’d be able to feel your happiness, love, angst, and suffering. And you’d be able to feel mine. There would be no more secrets between us. I’d be yours and you’d be mine. Because, you can only do this once. If you were to do it again with someone else, you’d take in too much and go crazy. Your body wouldn’t know how to process all the different emotions.” Killian knew it was asking a lot. It was close to a marriage proposal. She’d take on his crazy and hopefully he’d possess some of her good heart. They’d balance each other out. And if she were fucking their adviser, he’d feel it.

Nik looked up at the sound of Killian’s voice, and though he wished he could say he was surprised - he wasn’t, not really. The bastard had a flair for the dramatic, and some kind of twisted sadistic kink that Nik could, on some level anyway, appreciate. If one took the insanity part out of it anyway. “Well, that’s ironic, considering you’re the one who’s been sniffing me out all night. I’m flattered, but you should get yourself some real friends Killian.” For a moment Nik’s eyes went to the woman that had been standing there, baffled by the exchange and seemingly blissfully unaware of its true connotations, at least until she scurried off like someone had just pointed a gun at her. Smart girl. “Oh, wonderful. I had her right where I wanted her, and you just scared her away so the two of us can - what? Braid each other’s hair?” 

He’d grown weary throughout the course of the night - it felt as if whatever emotions had been left in him to be stirred, were stirred when Killian decided to dangle Nina in front of Nik like some pretty penchant, and later when she’d found him on the patio. What was left now, was irritation and something that was not unlike grim amusement when Killiant went off on some inane tirade. Nik took the chance to pull his mask off, thankful for the cold air that was seeping from one of the cracked windows, and turned to an ornate golden tray that held an array of expensive bottles, to pour himself a drink. “If your point is to flex that I’m going to die eventually, I’m going to have to break it to you - so are you. What a wild concept right? People die.”, an expression of feigned shock, a bit too dramatic to be anything other than a mockery of it, shadowed across Nik’s features as he broke into a dry chuckle, “Ah, I see the familial connection now.” A drink was brought to his lips as he leaned against the hefty desk, too ordered to have ever been properly used. Guess he’d aimed too high when he thought he’d find some clue about this whole charade while snooping around here. “Listen, Killian. As a friend, I must say - get yourself a therapist. Boring me to death with your daddy issues and edgy sob stories is a valiant attempt at a hit, I’ll give you that, but I’m not all that interested.”, he seemed to think of it for a second, running his thumb over his lower lip as if in contemplation, “I mean, no one in their right mind is, but me in particular. At least the therapist will get a hefty pay for it.” Nik was perfectly aware of the chord Killian was trying to strike with his last words, but it was a familiar sort of blame for him, one he’d lived with ever since he returned to Houston years ago. “Oh calm down, you’ve had your fun, now it’s just getting boring and old. Pushing the buttons now will still bring you no more results than it did the last time.”, he exhaled, tipped his head back for a second before bringing his eyes back to Killian, “If Reapers sold her then it makes sense it would be easier for you to find her through records. That’s not an argument. You got anything else?”

“Oh sorry. Was that you flirting? Because you know, I can give you some tips?” Killian looked over his shoulder at the doorway where the girl disappeared. He came in here to ridicule Nik some more, but now he just felt bad? This poor neutered puppy had no game, whatsoever. It was no wonder he didn’t have a queen by his side, leaving him to sniff around the party for inebriated scraps.

“I’ll have to pass on the whole hair braiding thing, at least until I can grow mine out a bit. Though, I don’t think I’d pull off the whole Eddie Vedder look?” Oh shoot, he thought sarcastically.

“Finally! Common ground, this so great!” Killian excitedly agreed with Nik’s ‘we’re all going to die’ philosophy. As powerful as they both were, neither one of them were immortal. Which is why it was important for them to play nice while attending the event. One wrong move could provoke a domino effect. The party would become a Massacre Ball. Which to Killian, sounded a lot more fun than a Masquerade.

“You see, because that’s what I thought too. People die and we get over it. That’s the circle of life. For us and the animals. It’s uh…evolution, which is a part of nature and nature kills, right?” Killian stepped closer to Nik. Close enough to kiss him on the lips if he puckered his mouth. “I need you to know, I never planned for your sister to become a reaper. I sought her out, yes. I had one of my Jinnis bring her in, yes. But you have to believe me, brother, I never would have invited her into my gang knowing how that would make you feel.” He blinked a few times, trying to keep himself from getting too emotional. It was just a trick though, a way for him to get inside Nik’s head before the inevitable smile spreads across his mouth, where the spiders and scorpions reside. “To be honest, Nicky, I hoped she would die during initiation. I mean, I even gave her twice the amount of Grim before her death race around Skull Hill. Somehow, she pulled through. Then in her death match at Fright Night, I put her up against this woman—who lowkey is really a man, but, hey, who am I to interfere with the progression of civilization. The point is, she won. She may look like a 10-year-old from Whoville, but she’s got heart. Which is great. I admire a strong heart. It’s makes my interest in stopping it, more exciting.” After a moment of careful deliberation, Killian raised a hand and then tickled the chin of Nik’s beard with a smile. “Sorry, it just looked really fluffy.”

The only change in Nina’s demeanor when Killian slipped into a seat next to her was a slight straightening of her spine. He’d been hanging off of her all night, waiting for the right moment to drop her at her brother’s feet, and when the time had come there was little she could have done. She felt almost sick to her stomach after looking at him, but she wasn’t going to show that off to someone like Killian. 

She slanted her gaze to him, pushing the glass over so that he could drink what little was left of her vodka. “By all means,” her tone was smooth and devoid of emotion. She paused for a second before adding, “Your majesty.”

At his words though, a smile came to her lips, closed lip and sharp as a razor blade. Her brother’s position complicated matters, but it didn’t change her goals. “Regret what? Not running home to a brother that decided his own ambition was more important than me? He’s our father’s son, through and through.” The conviction behind those words wasn’t false. She’d built resentment up for fifteen years with every beating and every birthday that passed without them. “So no. Better a Reaper slave than a Lycan Princess.”

“Oh Nina, you’re not a slave.” Killian laughed as if that was one of the most ridiculous thoughts he’d ever heard. One of his greatest skills was psychological warfare; the ability to appear charmingly fun right before ripping someone’s guts out with a hunting knife. “Reapers are a family. We look out for each other. With us, you’re protected and looked after. We’re this city’s most dangerous organization. The Lycans wish they could be us. In fact, they were bred to stop us and yet they failed. For over 30 years they’ve been sniffing our asses. I could raid their homes and slaughter their families, but I don’t. Why? Because I don’t pick on the handicap. It’s rude...It’s just an unfair fight. We’d win ten out of ten times.” After finishing off Nina’s drink, Killian reached out and grabbed onto her chin so she’d look him in the eyes when he’s talking to her. “Now indulge me a moment. If I were to say, drug your brother’s drink and then slit his throat with the end of a broken champagne bottle, how would you reply?” As always, Killian was testing her loyalty. Extreme measures were a result of his trust issues.

He stood beneath a grand bookcase, a grand piece of mahogany with carefully crafted golden etchings and rows after rows of books, neatly tucked away and seemingly untouched, the spines of finely bound leather free of that wear and tear all beloved books are marked with. Someone had cared enough to dust them off regularly, but that was the extent of care they were provided, a shame, considering the collection. Nik took a sip of his champagne, allowing the silence to hang between him and the person who’d just walked into the study for a stretch of a moment before he spoke, “Seems like such a waste, doesn’t it? It’s an astonishing collection.” A crystal ashtray stood on the expensive-looking end table beside him, and Nik tapped the ash from his cigarette into it, before taking a slow drag, “If you’re here to tell me I’m not supposed to be here - I’m going to have to argue you’re here too.” His fingers, still carefully gloved in fine black leather, reached for one of the books and pulled it out, and he ran them absentmindedly and gently, as if to caress it, along the golden letters, “There are cigarettes here on the end table, help yourself.” 

Killian was taking a mindful stroll through the estate, while trying to figure out the event’s true intentions. He didn’t believe everyone was gathered here today to rectify the horrors committed against Houston. Why would the mayor go through such lengths? He was just as crooked as the gangs themselves. He was benefiting off the town’s crime. How else was he going to support that lavish lifestyle of his? A fast car, beautiful home, the designer suits worth more than most families make in a month. This could all very well be a con. A way for him to get richer. Charity was for suckers. Still, Killian donated fifty grand of his own money. If only to keep up appearances. He was the best and wouldn’t let anyone forget it.

While traipsing through the house, Killian heard a familiar voice that lined his skin with goosebumps. The kind of spine-tingling chill that prickles with excitement. “I thought I smelled wet dog in here.” Killian laughed from the doorway, interrupting Nik and his guest. “Mind if I have a moment alone with my friend?” Killian stepped closer to the person, eyeing them down with nothing but darkness in his eyes and heart. His signature death-stare seemed to work because not a second later, the person scurried off, leaving the two boys to work out their differences.

“You know smoking kills, right? I guess for you it’s inevitable, so what’s the difference, am I right?” he slid his Devil mask upward, letting it sit atop his head. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t upset about before? You know…the whole thing with your sister? I knew for years. You see, my father, he was crazy, therefore very lonely. He wrote everything down in a journal…There’s records of everything. There’s this paragraph about how much he resented my birth, I had it framed. I had no idea my father could be so sentimental.” While smiling, he reached for a book, if only to use it for a prop. He pretended to be reading it while he spoke, “There was this one part about you and your family. So when I found out you had a sister, I looked for her. How weird that I found her before you? ...Kinda makes you wonder if you ever cared to begin with? Hm.”

KILLIAN STEELE: DEADLY LIAISONS 

“Grey goose, double, neat.” Nina swept her dress out to the side as she took a seat at the bar and ordered from the masked bartender. Her feet were already aching from her ridiculous heels and it felt good to take a minute. She was alone in only the most artificial of terms. Killian was only yards away and she was at his beck and call tonight, kept carefully beneath his wing. She could guess at why. Streaming through the crowd, beneath masks, were Lycans and one among them must be Nik.

Her palms sweated at the idea, a weird knot forming in her stomach, but no one would have noticed. She was all laughs, and nods, and smiles tonight. Performance was something she could manage, but the trick of locking herself away was alluding her. The reality of Houston warred against her memory. Had these streets changed that much, or had she simply become someone different. She took the drink when it arrived and brought it to her lips. “To doomed peace offerings,” she toasted.

Killian had his fun with Nik and Nina. He paraded her around under his arm, made a few snarky remarks, and even invited big brother to come visit his sister at The House for a show. That’s what tonight was about, wasn’t it? A night for peace offerings. Yet, he could tell he ruffled a few feathers. Because now baby sister was sitting at the bar, alone and drinking grey goose – if he’s heard her correctly. Which, he had. Killian was a master of stealth. In fact, he’d been creepily standing behind her for a minute now.

“To doomed peace offerings? I like that.” His voice came soft like velvet doused in snake’s venom. His movements were slow and deliberate as he slipped quietly onto the stool beside her before adding a straw to her drink. “You don’t mind, do you? Of course you don’t.” His head cocked to the side, eyes cast upward as he pulled the liquid into his mouth and then swallowed it with an exaggerated hum.

“Family’s a bitch huh? Who would have thonk it! Your brother, a mangy wolf. If you weren’t such a castaway, you would have been considered a Lycan princess. So tell me, princess – do you regret joining the reapers now? Because there is a way out. I just don’t think you’d like it…”

Every word that Killian spoke was eerier than it’s last. Izzy could feel the chills run down her spine. Which was, kind of ironic really. Considering the conversation that just unfolded not a minute prior, about fear. It pegged the question of whether or not Killian intended that? He preached about one subject only to find that, Izzy gets roped into experiencing it. Of course, it would make sense. Killian was a gifted mastermind. Part of the reason why he was so successful was because of his acute, acumen. If there was one thing his father, had never taken from him – it was his mind. Though, plagued by demons and nightmares when nightfall neared, Killian was still as sharp as the knives he used to carve people up.

“And what’s that?” There it was again… the fear returning. Rising up in Izzy’s stomach like a volcano threatening to explode. If she wasn’t careful, Benjamin would have to come in and clean her guts up off the floor after they implode all over Killian’s desk and luxurious-skull emboidered carpet. “Don’t be silly, mi amor.” Izzy’s attempts to laugh off her King’s worries were shoddy at best. They could’ve used a little more practice. But, quite frankly she was caught off guard by the suspicion. Right away, she started thinking back to the events that led up to this moment. She tried to recall when her eyes might’ve lingered on Benjamin a little too long, or her touch might’ve appeared too affectionate. Being kind to Benjamin came as natural to Izzy as breathing. He was someone, both of them had trusted with their secrets, knowing he’d take every last one of them to the grave. In the end, Izzy came up short. Unless…. saving Ben from having his face ripped off, was some sort of declaration of love? Then Izzy didn’t know how or why Killian came to such accusations. 

Needless, it didn’t matter how or why. He still wanted an answer. Or rather, he wanted affirmation that she wasn’t cheating on him with their canary. She wasn’t. At least, not today of all days. She had more respect and decency than that. “Mmm—” A strangled cry got caught in Izzy’s throat as she felt Killian wrap his fist around her underwear and tug. Enough to where her body was pulled in the direction of his hand. Of course, Izzy didn’t mind it. She loved and preferred her King when he was most depraved. His ire was attractive and sent a fire through her belly that she couldn’t quite explain, no matter how hard she might’ve tried. “Is that what you think of me?” That, she was like his father’s whores. Or the mother who abandoned him? It was insulting really, but, Izzy knew better than to make this matter about her. It was about him. And what he needed to hear. Which was that, she only had eyes for him. And he could bend and break her to his will and she would thank him ever so kindly for finding her worthy. After all, it was an honor to be his chosen queen. And many women would’ve killed to be in her position, quite literally. Killian wasn’t just a criminal mastermind. He was profoundly godlike in many other ways that extended far beyond his gruesome psyche. He was beautiful and decadent. Born with baby, blue eyes and a sex drive that would put even the dirtiest of nymphos to shame. 

“Mi amor–” Izzy could hardly contain herself. She didn’t have to see Killian to know what he was doing behind her back. Her senses could pick up on the sounds of him inhaling her scent and sniffing the sweet aroma of her pussy juices from the burgundy red lace of her underwear. No doubt, a gift from him to make up for something. Like, missing dinner or for throwing a tantrum that landed her in his crosshairs. “That won’t be necessary–” But rather, calling Benjamin in, would only pose as a distraction. And why wait? –Was the way that Izzy chose to look at it. Who knows how long it would take Benjamin to get there. 2 seconds… 3 seconds, 5…. Every little bit of time counted. “I choose you. I always choose you. Now, will you do me the honor mi amor, and quit stalling?”

His fingers lodged inside of her, felt good. Amazing, even. Every brush of his thumb over her clit, caused her hips to jerk forward and wriggle away from him. Only for him to draw her back in as punishment. “I need you now,” she cried. Into the sex crazed air. Loud enough for Killian, for Benjamin outside of the door, and even their collective gathering of Reapers to hear over the music. If she had to scream and cry her desperation, or sing it from the rooftops, she would. Just to feel him thrust into her ferociously from behind, until she couldn’t talk, couldn’t walk, or couldn’t breathe. “Please.” Her fingers twitched at her sides above the desk, as she struggled to latch onto it’s wood, bracing herself for whatever came next. Whether it was his angry reprieve or her own sudden disappointment at not being sated properly. To which– she might even have to throw a tantrum of her own.

Killian didn’t know how to properly answer Isabelle’s question. The truth of the matter was, he didn’t know what to think of her yet. He’s never met anyone like her before. Isabelle was strong and fierce, yet completely vulnerable. She was everything he wanted in a Queen. If she was monstrous, he wouldn’t have trusted her. And if she was too pure, she wouldn’t have fit in. Isabelle resided somewhere in the middle of it all. She was the kind of girl he could have had a real relationship with, in another life. They could have gone on dates to the movies, rode bikes on the boardwalk, and made out on the front step of her father’s house, while he waits up for her on the couch. That wasn’t their life, though. Killian was a psychopath and Isabelle was dormant. She came from war and madness just like him. Her father made a living off the very bullets that were piercing this city’s heart. And her mother’s mood swings were deadlier than any of the artillery hoarded at Samson Inc. Violence and chaos was in their blood. 

“What if —I wanted Benjamin in here mi reina?” Killian mused, as he undid his slacks behind her. He didn’t honestly want to bring their canary in to watch them fuck. Benjamin didn’t deserve to see their queen stripped down to nothing. Though, he has once or twice before, things were different now. Isabelle was his. She belonged to him. He made sure of that when he raised his hand above her ass and then wailed down on her cheeks until they were bright red.