by James, Lylah
And especially not when I knew that Coal needed me.
Some would say I had the power to speak with horses because of how good I was with them.
I still remembered the flash of platinum blonde hair when Grace had rushed to hide when my gaze had caught her behind the hay.
“I know you’re there,” I called out, rubbing a hand over Coal’s chest. He stomped his heel and turned his head to the side, almost grumpily. “Yeah, yeah. You hate me,” I muttered to the stubborn stallion.
“You better come out now,” I said, loud enough for the girl to hear me. “I don’t like people sneaking up on me and Coal is a bit unpredictable. You might end up hurt.”
That did the job. She let out a small squeak, and from my peripheral vision, I saw her coming out from behind the stack of hay.
“And who you are, Miss…?”
She wrung her hands. “Do I have to answer that?”
“Are you a thief?” I questioned, sternly. But I already knew she wasn’t.
First of all, she was neither dressed nor looked like a thief. She had a lavender dress on and it came down to her mid-thighs. Her hair was loose, with two tiny braids on either side of her temple, but they pulled back and got lost in her waves. Her ankle boots were black and leather, still quite new.
Second, she fidgeted too much to be a thief.
And third – Bishop’s security was tight and a little girl like her would definitely not be able to sneak inside. So, I had already come to one conclusion.
“Of course not,” she responded, clearly affronted by such judgment.
Coal’s attention was on her and I knew that look very well. He definitely didn’t like her and felt threatened by her presence. I kept a hand on him, trying to soothe the big beast. “Did you do something wrong and now you’re running away?”
Her lips thinned. “No.”
“Then why can’t you give me your name?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“Not an acceptable answer, princess,” I rasped.
Her lips parted and I watched her inhale sharply. “You already know who I am,” she accused.
My lips twitched. “I might already have an idea.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and inched closer to me. “Tell me,” she challenged.
“You tell me,” I shot back. Coal threw his head back, stomping and letting out a small huff. He had been a good boy all day today and I didn’t want our intruder to mess this up, so I led the stallion back to his stall. He happily stomped inside and I closed the latch behind him, making sure he was securely locked inside.
He had already tried to run away twice.
I faced the girl once again and rubbed my sweaty palms over my pants. I still wore my office clothes since I wasn’t supposed to be here today to train Coal, but it was a last-minute decision. I might have missed his stubborn and grumpy ass.
She eyed me carefully, her gaze drifting from my polished leather shoes, up my legs and then my stomach. Her eyes lingered a second longer on my chest, where the top of my white shirt gaped open; the buttons were undone and my sleeves were pulled up to my elbows while I worked with Coal.
I leaned back against a beam and crossed my ankles. “Once you’re done checking me out, please don’t hesitant to introduce yourself.”
She gasped indignantly. “I wasn’t checking you out.”
I quirked an eyebrow, watching her flush and mumble under her breath.
“What’s your name?”
“Killian,” I finally introduced myself. “Killian Spencer.”
Her jaw went slack and she sputtered. “You–”
She looked left and right and wrung her hands together. Her wide eyes would have been comical if she wasn’t so goddamn… beautiful, while looking so confused.
Her round face. White-blonde hair. Grey eyes. Pink lips and a curvaceous body. I usually went for brunettes, but I’d definitely make an exception for this one.
“You are… the Killian Spencer. William Spencer’s son? What are you doing here, training my father’s horse?” she rambled, clearly in shock.
Ah.
So that confirmed my suspicion. She was Bishop’s daughter.
And she must have thought I was some stable boy her father hired. How fucking hilarious.
I tucked my hands into the pockets of my black slacks, watching her. “I have to go,” she breathed, when I didn’t answer her quick enough. “Um, I shouldn’t be here.”
She was already walking backward and I watched her disappear around the corner of the stables. She left without giving me her name.
I saw her again the next day.
And the day after.
And the day after that.
She had a habit of running away and every time, I’d let her.
Until…
I slammed the whiskey glass on the countertop. The fury still festered, even after three long years. It dug holes inside me until I was less human and more monster. And it was all because of her.
I closed my eyes. The memories didn’t make me sad anymore nor did they hurt because I was fucking enraged.
Julianna.
My wife.
She stole the one good thing I had in my life.
Her face, hidden by the black and lace veil, flashed behind my closed eyelids. Even though I had put more distance than possible between her and me, she was still here. In my head. Mocking me with every breath she took, taunting me every minute of the day.
How was it possible that I thought of the woman who destroyed my life with a simple flick of her wrist more than I thought of my Gracelynn?
The heartbreak had long been forgotten. I was no longer heartbroken; I was just so goddamn angry. At Julianna. At my father… at everyone and everything. It was easier to be angry than to feel hurt.
Heartbreak made me weak.
Rage gave me purpose.
It had been six months and two weeks since our wedding, since I left her on the Island. I thought she’d come back a few weeks into our marriage, demanding her wifely rights. I thought she’d expect us to stay together – to share a fucking bed and a life.
But Julianna shocked me by not only continuing to stay on the Island, but she made it her home. When Bishop had asked her to return back to the mainland, she simply refused.
When my father had tried to convince her to come back to Spencer Manor, she said that she had already settled on Isle Rosa-Maria and that she liked it there.
The gossip had spread far and wide – but both my father and Bishop had tried to shut it down. They succeeded when my father’s illness was made public.
The focus had switched from my failed marriage with Julianna to my father’s little time left on this earth.
A tumor in the brain, the doctor had explained. It was not operatable. And worst, it was invasive and growing rapidly. One doctor said my father had less than a year to live. Another one gave him an estimate of eighteen months. They said he could try radiation therapy or chemotherapy, but I remembered the look on their faces – the pity and the defeat.
They said it all depended on my father’s luck and God’s will.
But fuck that. What was the reason for science and evolution when we still had to depend on “luck” and “God”?
My father was dying and I had approximately ten months to make his wishes come true and fulfill our contract with Bishop Romano.
An heir for the Romanos and Spencers.
A child to connect the two families by blood.
My fist clenched around my glass. “Fuck,” I hissed under my breath, reaching for the bottle of whiskey.
“Well, you’re in a good mood today.” My father joined me, coming to stand by my side. He grabbed the bottle before I could and poured the whiskey into my glass.
“Are you packed yet?” he asked, almost lazily, but I didn’t miss the threat in his tone.
“You’re literally kicking me out of my own home,” I snapped, before bringing the glass to my lips, taking a
sip.
“Your home is with your wife, Killian. If she’s not coming here, you will go to her.” He was talking as if I was a five-year old and still needed my father’s guidance in life.
Yeah, no. I knew exactly what I had to do and it has nothing to do with Julianna Romano.
“You have a contract to fulfill,” my father reminded me. “And I don’t have long to live. I want to see my grandchild before it’s my time to go.”
Thanks, dad. I definitely needed that reminder.
My mother was traveling Europe with her lover and my father was dying. I married my dead girlfriend’s sister who also happened to be her killer and I detested my wife.
Breathe in the rage, breathe out any other emotions.
I dropped the glass on the marble countertop and walked away.
“Julianna is not the villain you’re making her out to be, Killian,” my father called out. “It was an accident.”
I paused. Fire licked through my veins and I felt the spark of rage, starting from the bottom of my spine, and my fists clenched at my sides. “She had a choice,” I gritted out. “She shouldn’t have been driving that night. Especially not when she was intoxicated. Accident or not, she killed Gracelynn.”
I heard him walking closer and my father stood in front of me. His jaw squared and his pale face stern. We were the same height and we used to be the same build. But my father had lost weight over the last three months. I could see the fatigue in his eyes as death dug itself inside his bones.
“I tried to give you time, Killian,” he said, his voice harsh and unyielding. “Two years to come to terms with the fact that Julianna was going to be your wife. Then, I gave you six months. You left her at the altar, you didn’t consummate the marriage, you left her on the island and came back to Spencer Manor alone. But I don’t care anymore. You married her and you need to take responsibility. She’s your wife and the mother of your future children. I expect you to figure this relationship out. Now, before it’s too late.”
My jaw clenched and I locked eyes with my father – a silent battle neither of us were ready to lose.
“I expect you to be back on Isle Rosa-Maria at dawn and this is final.”
My lips thinned.
“Is that understood, Killian?”
A big hole burrowed itself inside my chest and I gave my father a sharp nod, before stalking away.
“I vow to spend the rest of my life making you regret what you did to Gracelynn. To hurt you, to break you… and to hate you for the rest of our days. I will never be your protector, never your defender; I vow to be the villain in your story.”
“In health and in sickness, through sorrow and pain, for all the days in my life, I will be your worst nightmare.”
“Till death do us part…”
It was time to face Julianna and the vows I took. She was the darkness plaguing my half-dead heart; the reason why I was the man I was today.
The world saw me as Killian Spencer – the man of wealth and power at his fingertips. I was the gentleman in a suit. I smiled at the camera, shook hands and I did everything they expected me to.
A lawyer with an insane drive for justice.
A politician with a perfect and clean record.
But no one really knew of the monster lurking underneath the skin of Killian Spencer.
I’m coming, Beasty. And your life will never be the same.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Julianna
I gave Ragna a little nudge with my heel. It startled her and she took three quick steps forward, before relaxing into a steady walk.
“Good girl,” I praised, running my fingers through her mane while keeping one hand on the rein. Almost as if she understood me, Ragna snorted and sounded pleased.
“You’re doing good,” Gideon said, keeping up with my mare. He walked beside her, a steady hand on Ragna’s bridle to guide her, in case she went a little wild and I had trouble holding onto her.
This was my fifth time on Ragna. We were taking it slow, but every day I enjoyed this time with her. She was a gentle creature and we got along pretty well, while Gideon guided me with patience.
“You’re a natural.” Gideon smiled.
I flushed under his praise and fatherly smile, but I was far from a natural like he said. My horse did all the effort; I let her guide me into her personal space and did what she wanted. She let me on her back and didn’t buck me off. She accepted me as her rider and gave me a chance to sit atop a horse again.
Ragna was made for me.
I patted her long neck, rubbing my hand down the side of it. “Do you want to go for a gallop, my love?”
Gideon released the bridle and I steered Ragna toward the center of the big arena. She started slow, galloping. My thighs squeezed, my hips tightened for a moment, feeling an ache spread through my bones, but I ignored it. My hands clutched the rein and I nudged her with my heel again, encouraging her to go faster.
The wind blew on my face, my black veil fluttering, and the breeze caressed my bare skin. I breathed in, feeling my chest tighten before I released a loud exhale. My body loosened and I sat in a rocking motion atop Ragna.
I clucked my tongue and she understood my command, going faster, until my heart was in my throat and my stomach fluttered with butterflies I didn’t know I still had in me. I rode the wave, feeling her strength under my butt and against my thighs.
Ragna was a big girl, but God, she made me feel safe.
The wind streamed past her, whipping my black hair into my face, but I couldn’t help it. I let out a small laugh. The ground rushed by us and the only sound I heard were the pounding hooves and my heart thudding in my ears.
When we came to a stop, Gideon was there, his face slightly paled but an affectionate smile on his lips. “Damn it, little one. You scared me there for a moment, but then I saw that you got her. And she got you. You rode her beautifully, Julianna.”
I petted Ragna and she sighed into my hand. While Gideon held onto the bridle, I swung my right leg off and then released my left foot from the stirrup as I dismounted my mare. The moment my feet were on the ground, my legs gave out under me.
Both Gideon and I expected it and he was prepared, already reaching out to me. His arm wrapped around my waist, keeping me upright.
I let out a small shaky laugh. “Thank you, Gideon.”
He kept me anchored to him. “At your service, milady.”
“You’re a perfect gentleman,” I said, teasing.
He winked in response. Gideon was a handsome man and probably around the same age as my father, but he was vastly different. In his emotions, his words and the way he just was.
Bishop Romano wasn’t exactly a bad father. But he was guarded and too busy.
He expected perfection.
And well, my flaws were too many to count and I was riddled with imperfections from my body to my heart straight down to my soul.
Gracelynn was always his favorite, even though he never said it out loud. After she died, I became his only child and no matter that my flaws were too many to count, I was still his blood and the only family he had left.
His expectations of me were high, but I did everything he demanded of me.
In the end, I only ever wanted his approval. And I got that by marrying Killian, even though it killed me.
Once I felt that I could stand on my own again, I patted Gideon’s arm and he released me. My feet were unstable on the ground and my legs were shaking, but I leaned against Ragna, letting her support me.
Three years…
It took me three years… to find what I had been searching for.
The freedom I found in Ragna.
The undeniable connection between my mare and me.
The story between us – the look in her eyes and the way my heart squeezed.
I pressed my forehead against her nuzzle. “I love you,” I whispered to her. She let out a soft breath, speaking to me in her own language. I imagined she was reciprocating the same feelings.
“Julianna!” I flinched away from Ragna and looked over my shoulder to find Mirai running toward me, flailing her arms.
I took a step away from my mare and toward her. Gideon grabbed Ragna’s bridle and guided her back to her stall and strutted away as Mirai came to a halt in front of me. She bent over, hands on her knees as she gulped in several loud breaths.
I patted her back, waiting for her to catch her breath. “Why are you running?” I asked when she straightened. Her lips parted as if to speak, but she only ended up gasping some more. “What happened.”
“Killian,” she panted.
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach.
“Killian is here. On the island.”
My black dress swished around my feet as I walked as fast as my legs would allow me to the dining room, where Mirai told me Killian was.
I found him sitting at the head of the long dining table that could easily fit thirty people. He lazily took a bite of the juicy steak Emily had made for lunch today.
Killian must have noticed me entering the dining room, but he didn’t acknowledge my presence. I stayed by the pillars while he ate his food, enjoying his late lunch, and he never even glanced at me.
I watched him, quietly. His suit was unrumpled, his dark hair was slicked back and he was clean shaven; his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing his strong forearms, and his spine was straight against the chair, his shoulders tensed.
Killian Spencer looked every bit the royalty that he was.
He dominated every room he was in, and this dining room was no difference. The air sizzled with tension and cracked under the cold pressure.
He took his sweet time, carefully cutting his steak into precise pieces and taking slow sips of his wine.
Once his plate was cleared, he dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin.
“I’m sure you are aware of what is expected from you, out of this contract marriage,” Killian drawled, finally acknowledging my presence but still not looking my way.
I took a step forward, my shoulder squaring. I knew exactly what he was talking about. “I know what is expected from both of us, yes.”