Page 44 of Property of Blade (Kings of Anarchy MC: Alaska #1)

Hollywood moves quickly, his steps fast and purposeful. He’s back in no time, wrapping a thick blue waffle blanket around me. The weight of it helps, but it doesn’t stop the shaking. Nothing will stop the shaking. I feel as though I’m going to fall apart, pieces of me scattered on the floor.

“Hannah, do you have anything strong to drink?” Prophet asks gently, crouching in front of me. His voice is kind, but there’s a firmness to it. It’s as though he’s trying to pull me back from the edge.

Confused, I shake my head, my thoughts hazy. “No,” I murmur.

“No whiskey or brandy?”

“Rum in the cupboard,” I add, almost as an afterthought. “I use it at Christmas for rum balls.”

Hollywood glances at Prophet before nodding, a silent agreement passing between them.

As Prophet continues to check on me, Hollywood briefly leaves the room, returning with a bottle of rum in his hand.

He moves quickly, pouring a generous amount into a glass and offering it to me.

The warmth of the glass against my hand is comforting, but nothing seems to stop the coldness that’s settled deep inside me.

Prophet helps me lift the glass to my lips, but my hands shake so badly I spill some. I can barely taste the rum as I take a small sip, but it burns down my throat, a fire chasing away the numbness. For a second, I almost feel like I can breathe again.

Hollywood pulls the blanket tighter around me, his concern evident as he hovers. “It’s going to be okay, Hannah,” he murmurs. “You’re safe.”

But I can’t shake the image of Blade—no, the bear —and Jasper’s mangled body. The blood. The violence. The reality of what I’ve just witnessed. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff and can’t find my balance.

“Blade,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Where is he?”

Hollywood meets Prophet’s gaze, but it’s Prophet who answers. “He’s keeping watch. He’s not far.”

“Good.” I close my eyes, the warmth of the rum and the blanket mixing with the cold dread in my chest.

A loud flapping noise sounds from outside, and Hollywood strides toward the back door.

His movements are purposeful, but I can’t make out the words being exchanged outside.

I sit frozen on the couch, every muscle in my body still tense, my mind racing to process everything.

My thoughts are too scattered, too consumed with the image of Blade’s transformation, the blood, and the destruction.

Hollywood comes back in a few minutes later, his expression tight with a new sense of urgency. He heads straight into my bathroom and reemerges with a towel, heading back outside without saying a word.

A few moments later, Flint walks in, the towel wrapped around his waist, concealing his otherwise naked body.

His face is strained as he speaks, his voice a low growl. “Blade is going to gut me for this.”

I don’t understand why they’re so worried about Blade. The man, or whatever he is, has already done the impossible. I don’t even know how to think about him anymore, except for the safety he’s given me. Even though the fear lingers like a cloud, I can’t push him out of my mind.

“We need to warm her up quickly.” Prophet’s voice interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “It was either you or Fury, but she’s scared of him. Besides, we both know you could take Blade if you had to.”

“But I will never want to,” Flint responds, his tone light but serious.

The room feels too big. Too overwhelming.

Every corner feels as if it’s closing in on me, and yet, in the midst of the chaos, there’s something about Blade, about what he is, that pulls me in.

Even though I’m terrified, even though everything inside me screams to run, I can’t break free from the grip he has on me.

Flint removes the blanket from my shoulders and sits beside me on the couch. Without asking, he pulls me into his lap, his warmth a sharp contrast to the cold that’s settled inside of me. Prophet wraps both of us in the blanket, his movements gentle but purposeful.

“Flint runs warm,” Prophet says by way of an explanation, his voice calm and steady as he keeps his eyes on me. He turns to Hollywood, who is hovering by the door. “Go get a wet face cloth from the bathroom.”

Hollywood nods, slipping out of the room, and returns a moment later with a damp cloth. Prophet takes it from him and gently wipes the cool fabric across my cheek, his touch soothing against the residual tremors wracking my body.

I’m staring at Prophet now, his eyes filled with concern. The smile he gives me is soft, almost paternal, and it somehow feels like a lifeline. “You’re going to be fine.”

I try to nod, but the weight of everything presses on my chest, making it hard to move or think clearly.

Then, a loud roar echoes from the backyard, and all the men freeze, their heads snapping toward the sound. The air is thick with tension, and I can feel the unease creeping back in.

“For fuck’s sake, go calm him down. He’s scaring her,” Flint growls, his hands rubbing my arms in a comforting, rhythmic motion. “And make sure you tell him I’m covered.”

Hollywood chuckles quietly, though his amusement doesn’t mask the concern. He strides toward the door, opening it with a purpose, and steps outside. I hear him muttering something, but I can’t make out the words over the growing roar from Blade.

“W-will he be safe?” I ask, my voice small, trembling with uncertainty.

Flint leans forward, his expression softening, but there’s a glint of something unspoken in his eyes. “Yeah. Blade won’t gut Hollywood. He has a soft spot for the succubus... we all do. I think it’s part of his charm.”

“Succubus?” I blink, my mind too clouded to follow the meaning of his words.

Prophet frowns, the lines of his face hardening. “Never mind that.” His gaze softens as he looks down at me. “Do you want to see Blade?”

My head moves from side to side instantly, a firm denial before I even realize it. The thought of seeing him in that monstrous form again, the blood, the raw violence, makes me want to crawl into myself and disappear.

“No,” I whisper, the word barely escaping my lips as the realization hits me. I don’t know if I can handle seeing Blade like that again, not after what happened. I want to be close to him. I want to understand him, but I can’t bear the image of the bear that was once the man I loved.

“Give her some time,” Flint says, his voice low and steady, a clear understanding in his tone.

Prophet nods in acknowledgment, then stands and walks outside.

The door closes softly behind him, and the quiet that settles around me feels strangely suffocating.

My eyes feel heavy. The weight of the night is catching up to me all at once.

With a soft sigh, I close them, trying to block out everything—the blood, the terror, the roar of Blade’s transformation.

For the first time in hours, the world feels distant. Unimportant.

I rest my head on Flint’s broad shoulder, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath me a quiet comfort. His warm arms wrap around me, pulling me close, the blanket cocooning us together. The heat from his body is a balm to the cold dread still swirling in my chest.

Under the blanket, with my eyes closed, I listen to the steady beat of Flint’s heart, the softness of his breathing, the rhythm of life continuing in this small, quiet space. It’s the only thing that feels normal right now. Safe.

Slowly, the world fades away. The images, the sounds, the chaos—all of it starts to blur.

I fall asleep.