Page 27 of Property of Blade (Kings of Anarchy MC: Alaska #1)

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Hannah

T he sun warms my skin as I sip the peppermint tea Blade bought for me.

I’ve got my legs tucked underneath me on the bench on his front porch.

It’s calming—the quiet hum of the morning, the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the scent of pine all around.

It feels like I could stay here forever, in his home, in this moment.

My plan was to avoid snooping, but when it hit me that I didn’t have anything to wear, resisting became a lot harder.

When I open his closet, I find a lot of T-shirts and jeans.

I also find a black suit and a white, long-sleeved shirt in a dry cleaners’ bag.

I guess that’s for formal occasions, but what would an MC president need a suit for?

His choice of colors for T-shirts is either white, black, or gray.

I choose a black one, and it’s long enough to almost reach my knees.

If I put a belt on it, it could be a dress.

The fabric drapes loosely around me. It’s comfortable and makes me think of Blade.

His place feels like home already. I’m waiting for Blade to return, even though he promised he’d be back by five it’s almost seven now, and I really need to get home to Grace.

She’s been known to destroy things if I leave her alone for too long.

The sound of an engine rumbles in the distance, and I glance up, my heart skipping a beat when I see a truck coming into view. But it’s not Blade on his bike. It’s Prophet sitting in the driver’s seat.

I can’t hide my disappointment, but I push it down, lifting my mug to him in greeting as he climbs out of the truck. He gives me a casual wave, the same laid-back attitude he always carries.

“Blade had business at the compound,” Prophet says, his tone easy as if it’s no big deal. “Sent me to take you home.”

I nod, setting my tea on the bench’s arm. “Okay,” I murmur, but there’s a touch of disappointment in my voice that I can’t quite hide. “Would you like a cup?”

He shakes his head, his eyes glancing toward the road. “Nah, I really need to get a move on. There’s work to be done at the compound.”

I laugh at the impatience in his tone, but I get up, stretching the tension out of my back. “I can take a hint. Give me five minutes, and we can hit the road.”

“Thanks, Hannah... appreciate it.”

Walking back into the house, the quietness wraps around me, and I make my way toward the bedroom.

Blade’s room feels like an extension of him—simple, lived-in, yet warm.

The least I can do is make his bed, so I pull up the covers, smoothing the wrinkles out, then plump the pillows to make it look neat.

My fingers brush over the sheets, the faint scent of him still lingering.

I find myself smiling without meaning to and the bite mark on my shoulder throbs slightly.

Pulling the T-shirt to one side, I stare at it in the mirror.

It’s almost healed which is weird, but I guess he didn’t bite me as hard as I thought.

My dress lies on the floor, discarded after our night of passion. Bending, I pick it up and carry it along with my shoes into the kitchen. Turning on the faucet, I rinse out my mug, wipe my hands, and then slip into my coat.

Opening my purse, I pull out my lipstick, the shade of red always makes me feel a little bolder. I put it on then walk over to the refrigerator, lean forward, and press a soft kiss to the door. It’s my way of saying goodbye—a simple, silly gesture—but I hope Blade will like it.

Back on the porch, I slip into my shoes, holding my dress in one hand. Prophet stands there, staring up at the early morning sky. His posture is relaxed, as always, as though time means nothing to him. “Shall we hit the road?” I ask.

Prophet grins, the kind of grin that makes you wonder what’s going on in his head. “Yep. You’re over in the Bear Ridge Estate, right?”

“Sure am,” I answer, nodding.

“The house with the picket fence?” He raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Sure is,” I reply, matching his playful tone. “I’m a sucker for the classic look.”

Prophet’s grin widens as he steps toward the truck, opening the door for me. “Well, let’s get you home then.”

Prophet has one of those personalities that makes you feel completely at ease. His choice of music surprises me. I would never have picked him as a heavy metal listener. As if he can read my thoughts, he turns the radio down.

“So, do you like living here?”

“So far, so good.” I’m smiling as I think of Blade and last night.

“For a city girl, you’re fitting in well.”

We both go quiet on the drive to my place, the truck humming along the winding road.

I sit beside Prophet, watching the trees and the occasional house pass by.

The crisp air filters through the open window, making my hair flutter around my face.

It’s a stark contrast to the city, but the longer I’m here, the more it feels like home.

A thought crosses my mind, and I glance over at Prophet, curiosity piqued. “So, you’re the chaplain, huh?” I ask. “What does that even mean, exactly?”

He shoots me a sideways grin, his eyes never leaving the road.

“Means I handle the spiritual side of things. I’m the guy they come to when they need guidance, whether it’s a prayer or a pep talk.

I keep the peace when the club’s heads are too hot.

It’s not all about religion, though, sometimes it’s just about listening.

And, yeah, I have to handle the tough stuff too. Someone’s gotta do it.”

“Sounds like a heavy responsibility.”

“It can be,” he says, his tone shifting for a moment as though he’s thinking about it. “But someone’s gotta keep the heart of the club in check.”

Before I can say anything else, Prophet pulls up in front of my house.

His grin returns as easy as ever. “See you around, Hannah.”

Smiling, I reach for the door handle, but something in his gaze makes me pause. “I sure hope so.”

Prophet looks past me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Did you lock up last night?”

“Of course I did.” But then, my heart skips a beat. I turn my head, and sure enough, my front door is slightly ajar.

“Grace!” I blurt out, panic surging through me. I’m already halfway out of the truck, moving quickly toward the door. Prophet’s hand lands firmly on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.

“Wait,” he commands, his grip tightening just enough to hold me steady. “Don’t go in just yet.”

Glancing up at him, confusion and worry make my voice shake. “What are you talking about? Grace is inside. I have to make sure she’s okay.”

Prophet doesn’t let go, his eyes scanning the house with a sharper focus now. “We don’t know if anyone’s in there. Stay back.”

I hesitate, uncertainty crawling up my spine. Prophet doesn’t seem worried, but his body language tells me he’s not taking any chances.

“Let’s make sure it’s safe first,” he says quietly, his voice serious. “Let me go first.” He sniffs the air, his nostrils flaring slightly as his eyes narrow. “Blood.”

The word hits me hard, sinking into the pit of my stomach. My heart races, and I almost scream, my voice faltering. “What?”

“Stay here,” Prophet commands, his voice low and controlled as he leaves me on the front porch.

His grip tightens on the doorframe as he gently pushes my front door all the way open.

Then, with a swift, almost fluid motion, he pulls a gun from under his jacket—a gun I hadn’t even realized he was carrying.

My stomach lurches at the sight of it, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

Prophet holds the gun steady, his eyes scanning the room with precise movements.

Every inch of the house is searched as if he’s already anticipating danger.

His head swivels like a hawk, alert and calculating.

He steps inside cautiously, moving through the living room and into the kitchen.

My eyes stay locked on him, my heart pounding hard.

He glances back at me, nodding once, and raises a hand to signal me to stay where I am. Without another word, Prophet disappears down the hallway, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

I’m frozen for a moment, my body trembling as I shift from foot to foot.

A minute stretches into an eternity, and I can’t stand the silence any longer.

Tentatively, I take a few steps into my home, trying not to make a sound.

The house feels different now. The air is thick with something I can’t identify.

There’s an unsettling stillness to it, but then I hear a low, rhythmic sound.

Prophet’s voice, murmuring, chanting almost.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I inch closer, my breath shallow. The hallway stretches out in front of me, and when I reach it, I freeze. Blood. It’s smeared across the walls in jagged streaks. Panic rises in my throat, choking me. My heart races faster.

I can’t stop myself from moving, and as I continue down the hallway toward my bedroom, my legs feel as if they’re made of stone.

When I push open the door, I see Prophet standing in the center of the room, something cradled in his arms. His eyes flick to mine for just a second, but his lips keep moving, the words coming out in a low, rhythmic chant I don’t understand.

His voice doesn’t stop, even when he turns slightly, and my breath catches in my throat at the sight. Grace is in his arms, covered in blood.

“No, no, no, no!” I scream, my voice breaking as I lunge toward them, desperate to take her from him.

Prophet steps back, holding his arm out in front of him to stop me. “She’s okay, just give her a minute.”

My heart shatters at the sight of Grace, her tiny body shaking in his arms, her fur matted with blood. I can’t breathe, can’t think. “What happened to her? We need to call a vet!”