Page 18

Kai

I flip Lana’s omelet to perfection, the aroma of her favorite spices curling into the air.

My hands are moving on autopilot—much like everything else I’ve done in the past two weeks.

My mind, as usual, is stuck somewhere else.

Specifically on one off-limits, stubborn-as-fuck woman.

Two fucking weeks.

Two weeks since she walked out of my gym, spine straight as a ruler, chin tipped up like she hadn’t just blacked out from coming so hard.

Two weeks since I told her to lose the ring.

And she hasn’t shown up to a single class since.

She’s clinging to her scholarship by the skin of her teeth and really can’t afford to miss another hour. Yet the woman is willing to let it all burn just to avoid me.

All because I gave her an order.

Seeing the Aldridge boy follow her out of the lecture hall sparked something primal inside me.

I had to mark her as mine. To ruin her for him.

She was supposed to be on her knees with my cock in her throat, getting punished. Toyed with.

But one look into those big blue eyes and I saw something else, something that made me want to burn the world just to end whoever put that look there.

Nicole Abbott was hurting. And Christ, did I want to soothe her.

And also tie her to my bed.

Bend her to my will.

Put a collar around her neck and break her until there’s nothing left but desire and submission.

But my need for control is nothing new.

What shocked me was what I ended up doing to her.

I haven’t fucked a woman since Elena’s body was pulled out of L.A river five years ago.

My subs usually suck me off—grateful just to please me, and I get them off in return.

But Nicole . . . I wanted to lose myself in her pleasure until nothing else existed.

And now she’s running.

My jaw locks, the pan handle creaking under my grip.

It stops today.

The deliberate tapping of a spoon against his ceramic bowl draws my attention, and I look up to catch my uncle’s glower from where he’s parked at the breakfast bar, halfway through his soaked lentils.

“You’re not listening, Kai.”

“Oh, I heard you,” I lie, sliding the omelet onto a plate and setting it on the warming rack. “You said the faculty must like me.”

I’m still not sure why he hasn’t left for Auckland yet. Either he’s that reluctant to have the surgery, or it’s an excuse to hover because he’s convinced I’ll run his class into the ground.

He huffs. “That’s not what I said. It’s the students, your lectures are packed. There’s already a waitlist forming. Applications are spiking. Aldridge’s ranks are going to rise. Imagine if you stayed for another—”

“Not happening,” I cut him off. I’d rather make money than teach the techniques. But if I had to, it sure as hell wouldn’t be in L.A. There are too many ghosts here.

He shrugs, unfazed. “Figured you’d say that. Still, it’s good to have you back. Feels right being under one roof again, even if it’s for the last time.”

I look up sharply. “It’s just general anesthetic, Uncle, not the end of the world as you know it.”

He shakes his head. “Who said anything about the surgery?”

“Anyway,” he barrels on before I can call him out on that cryptic statement. “You’ve done an amazing job of combining theory and practical—”

“Thank you—”

“Which is why I don’t get why you’re offering a booster test just two weeks in.”

I wondered when he’d call me out on this. “It’s optional,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “Only for students who know they’re falling behind.”

That’s the party line. The real reason? To flush her out.

She probably knows it too — and hates it — but do I give a fuck? She’s going to face me whether she likes it or not.

I sent the emails four days ago. Every student had to reply directly to me. Dozens of gushing responses poured in, along with a handful of inappropriate and wildly suggestive ones.

I barely skimmed them, looking out for one.

It finally came in last night. Clipped, cold, completely impersonal.

She needs the grade more than she wants to hate me. Still, she made me wait three days.

My uncle’s scowl deepens. “They’ll get lazy. Handing out extra grades like candies isn’t going to help them learn grit.”

“Grit’s overrated,” I retort. “Besides, they wouldn’t need extra grades if you didn’t fail half your class every semester.”

He mutters something about soft-bellied instructors, but I’m already gone—drifting right back to her.

Soft footsteps and the rustle of fabric at the doorway announce Lana as she steps into the kitchen.

Her long blue satin robe swirls around her ankles as she leans in to hug Manny, then starts toward me. I hold out my arm out of instinct.

“Hmm, you made my breakfast. Thanks,” she smiles.

“Of course.” I press a kiss to her forehead, catching the faint lavender scent she favors. “How’s the migraine?”

Since the fall, she’s been getting early morning headaches.

“Not so bad today,” she replies, tucking a loose strand of black hair behind her ears. Her scars catch the light—faint silvery ridges curving from her left cheek to her collarbone, stark reminders of the night that changed everything.

Lana may prefer to stay indoors, running most of her business online, and mingling only during her quarterly fundraisers, but she’s never hidden her scars.

“You look good,” I pass her breakfast to her

She smiles her thanks—a small, imperfect curve of her lips—and takes my offering.

“Where are the twins?” I ask, wondering why the two tornadoes of energy aren’t tearing through the kitchen like starving warriors.

“They’re staying at David’s until the weekend,” she says around a forkful of eggs, suddenly finding something interesting in her mug of coffee, but the flush creeping into her cheeks says more than she wants to admit.

A few years ago, I might have broken the fucker’s jaw for attempting to leave the friend zone, but now, I’m grateful for it.

Lana retreated into her shell after she lost Mark. Seeing her open herself up to it again is something I never thought I’d witness.

“Can he handle Liam and Lucas though?” I ask.

She waves off my concerns. “The twins adore him. You should’ve seen how excited they were to see his new gym. Besides, David offered to run the school runs, have them fed, bathed, and occupied. I couldn’t ask for more.”

I snort. “Neither could I, given how crazy he is for you.”

Lana sputters into her coffee. “He was just being nice.”

Manny pipes up. “That’s not nice. That’s strategic.”

“I agree,” I reply to Manny, not sparing Lana a glance. “Who knew cracking your head would knock sense into his.”

Lana rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitch. Shaking her head, she grabs her plate and mutters, “I can’t deal with you two,” as she walks out of the kitchen.

Her retreating footsteps fade down the hall, and for a moment the old guilt creeps back uninvited.

Cass and her phobia of large spaces.

An out-of-town meeting I couldn’t reschedule.

Lana and Mark offering to stay with her.

The fire.

Cass ending up in the pool.

Mark hadn’t made it out. Lana barely had. My fingers curl against the countertop, knuckles whitening.

The flames were years ago and miles away, but some things follow you no matter how far you run.

“Kai?”

I clear my throat, shoving the guilt back into the corner where it belongs. “What?”

Manny leans forward, his expression turning reflective. “Your true love has been walking into doors trying to reach you, you know?”

Jesus Christ. Here we go.

I blink at him. “You sure you don’t want to check your tea leaves first?”

Manny stares me down like I’m a slow student he’s given up on.

“Spare her the headache. You are both going to experience devastation anyway—“

“Oh shit, look at the time!” I grab my phone and hightail it out of the kitchen before he can really sink his teeth into the prophecy du jour.

His chuckle follows me out of the kitchen. “What are you running from, nephew?”

Death, Manny. Death is what I’m running from.

That old bastard’s always one wrong move away. Three dead women, one innocent man, and a sister scarred for life are proof enough.

I take the stairs two at a time, practically jogging to my room, not stopping until I’m inside the walk-in closet.

I change into my usual—plain black turtleneck, the fabric yielding and stretching over my chest.

Even as a dirt-poor kid in threadbare clothes, I couldn’t stand the stiffness of pure cotton.

A navy blazer catches my eye. Tailored, sleek, entirely unnecessary for a simple lecture.

And yet, my hand reaches for it. The urge to put it on wins.

Let her be, Kai. My rational mind warns.

I’m shrouded in dark mystery and the path to me is paved in bones. An entire gulf of forbidden territory separates us.

But I’ve already crossed it.

On my way out, I pause at the stack of mail waiting on the gleaming hallway table and sort through the routine clutter.

Standard envelopes—some junk flyers. A few bills for Lana, a charity magazine. My fingers flip through them absently, mind still lingering on Nicole.

And then, something falls out of the stack and floats to the floor.

A single black feather, the tip curled, almost like a beckoning finger.

My throat tightens, and a steady thumping starts in my chest. The last time I saw a feather like that . . .

No. That was years ago. This is just a feather.

But instinct never lies.

My legs feel wooden as I cross to the wide windows, half-expecting to see someone standing at the edge of the drive. Watching.

But the driveway is empty. Only the faint rustling of autumn leaves stirs the air.

I turn back to the table and sift through the rest of the mail to check for an accompanying note.

There’s nothing—just paper and silence.

I’m about to turn away when something dark catches my eye.

Wedged between the curved leg of the table and the wall is Lana’s onyx-studded mask from the last charity ball. A few more black feathers stick out from it, bent and crushed.

My shoulders sag in relief. I’m overreacting. The feather must have come from the mask. The twins probably got a hold of it and played until one came loose.

Still, when I pull the door open to the crisp autumn morning, I let the feather slip from my fingers. It tumbles end over end, landing softly on the cold stone step.

False alarm or not, it’s the reminder I need.

Wanting more than fleeting pleasure is how the curse begins.