Page 28 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

As I close the small blue gate behind me, I find Killian standing on the opposite side of the cobblestone street, casually leaning against the wall outside the Hideaway Tavern.

Objectively, with his tousled blond hair, swimming-pool gaze, and the sort of bluntly defined bone structure reminiscent of vintage Roman coins, there’s no denying he’s easy on the eyes.

Though for me, his natural good looks and charm have lost their allure, making it hard to believe there was a time, not so long ago, when I was swept up in all that—when I foolishly convinced myself he was a better option than Braxton.

I also thought he was perfectly suited to this strange, hidden corner of Gray Wolf, this simple, tucked-away world where most of the support staff reside.

But now that I know what lies beneath his shallow, golden-boy facade, seeing him here, standing among the thatched roofs and brightly painted shutters of this quaint, storybook village, is like stumbling upon the big bad wolf within a real-life fairy tale.

“Hello, Shiv,” he says, blue eyes narrowed, steadily taking me in.

I fume under my breath, still questioning my decision to go through with this.

“After you.” He holds the door open with a hint of a challenge in his gaze. “Oh, and, by the way,” he whispers, as I step past him. “Nice try.”

He’s baiting me. Killian practically lives for mind games like this. And though I know I’m better off ignoring his remark, given this is likely the last time we’ll ever speak, I can’t help but bite.

“What, Killian?” My voice leaps way past annoyance, landing squarely in the realm of full exasperation. “Nice try— what ? Just say it already. Because honestly, I have zero patience for riddles and games.”

“Understood,” he says. Then, as we make our way to a secluded table, he can’t resist adding, “I was just making an observation on your attempt to downplay your beauty by dressing so plainly. Shame it didn’t work.”

I fix him with the most unimpressed look I can muster. “Are we done here? Have you said everything you need to—gotten that all out of your system?”

He lifts his broad shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “Sure hope so,” he says. “Then again, with me, you never know.”

“What do you want, Killian?” I say, eager to cut through the nonsense. “Let’s hear it already.”

As he signals for Maisie, the waitress, he turns back to me, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Not until we’ve ordered at least. Something to eat, and something to wash it down with. The usual for you?”

The usual. There is no usual. I’ve been here one time, and—

I stop the thought in its tracks. He’s getting to me, and I cannot afford that.

“Whatever,” I say, folding my arms. If he thinks he can read body language, this should give him something to ponder.

“Hey, Killian.” Maisie leans a hip against his side of the table, the corseted top of her bar wench uniform dipping so low her prominent cleavage is at risk of spilling out.

The memory of my previous pangs of jealousy as I watched their flirtatious exchange now seems so distant, like it happened to somebody else in another time and place.

Now, as I watch her twirl her hair around her finger and flash her eyes, I find myself feeling sorry for her. She has no idea that Killian is far from the hero they’ve all mistaken him for. He acts solely in his own self-interest and nothing more.

Barely acknowledging me, she offers a halfhearted, “Natasha.”

I give a terse nod in return, eager to move past all this and get the meeting over and done with.

“All right…” Killian begins, adopting a tone of false consideration, “Shiv here…oh, well, apologies. I guess that’s Natasha to you, since Shiv is more like a private joke between the two of us.”

“No, it’s not,” I cut in. “Not private, and definitely not a joke.”

Killian’s grin widens. “As you wish,” he concedes. Then, turning to Maisie, “Natasha is dying for a slice of your shepherd’s pie. And I’ll have the same.”

The only thing I’m dying for is to get the hell out of here, yet I offer a weak smile in response. No need to drag Maisie into all that.

“And to drink?” Maisie asks, her attention never straying from Killian.

“I’ll have a pint,” he decides, then glances my way. “Two?”

I shake my head. Not a chance. I need to remain as sober as possible with this guy. “Just water,” I say, which, for whatever reason, makes them both laugh.

As Maisie walks away, I center my focus on Killian. “You asked for this meet-up, so get to it already. What do you want?”

He leans back in his seat and surveys me with a leisurely gaze. “Actually, Shiv,” he says with a smirk, “’twas yourself, darlin’, who reached out to me. And I ’ave ter say, I was rather surprised by your text. Delighted, fer sher, but definitely a wee bit taken aback.”

I shut my eyes for a moment and take a deep, cleansing breath, trying to steel my resolve. Somewhere inside me is a bubbling cauldron of knowledge and wisdom, but when it comes to dealing with this clown and his bullshit fake accents—my last nerve is stretched to the breaking point.

Setting my focus on Killian again, I say, “Not how I remember it. But if that’s the story you need to tell yourself, fine, be my guest.”

Killian smirks. “Your concession is noted. It’s so generous of you to acknowledge your role in putting this whole thing into play.”

I’m about to unleash, but luckily, I’m saved by Maisie, who arrives with Killian’s pint, though my water seems to have slipped her mind.

“So sorry,” Maisie says. “I guess I forgot about you—erm, the water, that is.”

When she’s gone, I turn back to Killian. “You might want to reassure her that I pose absolutely no threat to whatever it is you two have.”

Killian raises a brow, takes a slow sip of his beer. “And why would I say something like that?” He returns his pint to the table. “Why would you ask me to lie to the poor lass?”

Silently, I count to three. When that doesn’t work, I do it again. When my composure is somewhat intact, I say, “Here’s what I know. One—you killed my dad. Two—there is zero chance of anything happening between us—never, ever, ever, forever—because of the first reason. The sooner you make peace with that, the better for everyone.”

Killian leans way back in his chair, tipping it on its two hind legs. “I wouldn’t be too certain of that,” he says.

“Well, then you grossly overestimate your powers of charisma,” I snap.

Killian offers a sardonic grin. “I seem to remember you threatening to go back in time so you could kill me and save your father,” he says. “And yet, I’m still here.” He rights his seat and spreads his arms wide, presumably so I can marvel at his impressive wingspan. “Which leads me to believe that you rather enjoy having me around. If nothing else, I’m witty, amusing, and as many will vouch, devastatingly handsome as well.”

“Or maybe,” I say, a sharp edge to my voice, “and far more likely, I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“But you did Trip, Shiv, didn’t you?” he prods, looking at me with an all-knowing gaze.

I refuse to confirm or deny.

“Because when I returned to Gray Wolf, I found you and your pal Elodie notably absent. Of course, I covered for you, and told Arthur you were feeling unwell. Which, by the way, you still haven’t acknowledged.”

“I’ll be sure to pop a thank-you card into the mail.” A smirk tugs at my lips. “Tell me, Killian,” I say, “were you worried? Were you checking every five minutes to see if you still exist?”

He hesitates, giving Maisie the opportunity to set down our shepherd’s pies without having to listen to this. Of course, my water is conspicuously absent.

“Maisie, darling,” he says. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Maisie casts a wary look my way before departing.

“So, Shiv, where were we?” Killian asks, refocusing on me.

“You were worried I might actually follow through on my threats against you.”

“Right.” He nods. “That.” Attacking his plate with the vigor of one who hasn’t eaten for a week, he glances at my own untouched meal. “Aren’t you at least going to take a bite?” He gestures with his fork toward my plate.

I shake my head and slide the pie across the table toward him. “Look,” I say, “let’s cut through this charade. We both know you’re the one who asked to meet when I saw you in Arthur’s office. So can we please just skip this unbearable back and forth and just tell me what this is really about?”

He chuckles, pausing mid-bite, fork hovering before him. “Boy, you really have quite the aversion to the small pleasantries in life, don’t you?”

I roll my eyes, seconds from walking away if he insists on continuing with this.

“All right,” he concedes, “here’s the bottom line…” He pauses, drawing out the moment in a clear display of dominance that annoys me to no end.

Still, I sit here and watch as he leisurely forks a piece of shepherd’s pie into his mouth, deliberately taking his time to chew. After swallowing, he sets his fork down and indulges in a lengthy sip of beer. Then, with exaggerated precision, he grabs a napkin and dabs at the corners of his mouth.

While I’m sure there’s someone out there who would really get off watching a man as objectively handsome as Killian eat with such gusto, for me, this absurd display is totally nauseating.

Finally, when it’s over, he motions me closer, another obvious power play, but I remain right where I am, refusing to yield to him.

“Suit yourself.” With a casual shrug, he takes another quick swig of his beer, pushing me this close to walking out. Finally, he says, “Simply put—you need to know that I can’t, and won’t, allow you to go through with your plan.”

At first, I honestly have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Arthur,” he clarifies. “I know you’re planning something, and I’m telling you right now, I will not let it happen.”

“Is that it?” I say, confused by his need to announce this. I always assumed he’d try to stand in my way.

He nods. “Pretty much, yes.”

I scoff. “You do know you could’ve just put that in a text—saved us both from having to do this?”

“But then I wouldn’t get to see you,” he says.

That’s it. I’m sick of him thinking he can talk to me like this—like I’m no different from Maisie, or anyone else he can easily manipulate.

“I’m out,” I say, patience frayed to its very last thread.

“And if I’m not finished talking?” he challenges.

“I’m not sure I care,” I snap.

“I’m sure you don’t,” he says. “But that’s only because you don’t know what I’m about to propose.”

“Still not sure I care,” I say, and yet, I’m pretty sure he can see the way my resolve falters just enough for him to continue.

“Imagine,” he leans in, lowering his voice, “if there was a way to have the best of both worlds.”

“Meaning?” I ask, struggling to keep my curiosity from seeping into my voice.

“What would you say”—he pauses for effect —“if I told you I’ve figured out a way to undo what happened to your dad?”