Wake of the Dead | Three

Chapter Seventeen | Killian

The sun was setting, Killian's eyes narrowed to keep out the blinding rays of orange light. Rain pattered on the ground relentlessly, soaking him through Jasper's jacket and his thin white button-up Stephan had provided the day he arrived. An ominous fog coated the ground, floating between the trees and ferns, tangling in the barbed thorns and bramble bushes. He flinched as thunder rolled through the distance--storms were a thing he wasn't particularly fond of, or loud and spontaneous noises in general. It reminded him too much of his father. To most, thunder just sounded like thunder. To Killian it imitated the chaos of shattered glass from thrown bottles, offensive belting of profanity-filled tirades that carried a promise of pain and confusion. 

Stephan was sitting behind Killian again, both riding on Midnight. The Clydesdale was strong, much stronger than he thought any horse ever could be. The mare had no qualms with seating both him and his captor--who probably weighed more than twice as him. He was leaned back against Stephan again, eyes closed tight as he tried not to think about where he was, what he was doing and the storm in the distance. Shuddering in the rain, Killian could feel the chill in his bones, melting through his skin and perforating a deathly cold through his whole body. Stephan didn't seem to mind the rain as much. 

Whereas Killian's curls were flattened out to make himself look like a drowned rat, Stephan was even more intimidating than usual in contrast. His charcoal-black eyes glared even darker under the shadows of his brows, the dreary fog and gloomy sky dulling him like a ghost in the night. The lightning flashes were worse, lighting up his face and the deathly glint in his hypnotic, dangerous gaze. "You're cold again, Rabbit." It was more of a statement than a concerned question. 

Nodding, Killian could feel his emotions numbing. I just want to go home. I just want to see Jasper. Why can't I? Out of all the groups you had to attack, invade or ruin you chose ours. Why? Was it selfish for Killian to think that, he wondered? Why not anybody else? When he looked up at his captor, he shuddered again, but this time it wasn't from the cold. Stephan was staring straight back at him, making a threatening, unbroken contact. His large hand ran up the length of Killian's throat, then lifted his chin. Killian still looked down. Stephan's hand nearly wrapped around his neck, leaving only the nape untouched. If the man wanted to strangle him, he most definitely could. "You're skittish when the weather is bad, aren't you?" 

Killian expected Stephan's comment to be mocking, but it was a tone he just couldn't translate or understand. Calculative, intrigued was the best way he possibly could. Why are you like this? Get your hand off of me! But he didn't voice his threats, a lingering threat accompanied every single touch Stephan set on him. His captor was unpredictable, there was no denying that. So, Killian wondered, how long would it take before he snapped? So he simply nodded, prompting to remain silent. It felt wrong to talk anyways. The tension between him and the other man made it hard to even utter a single murmur. But it wasn't the good kind of tension like he had with Jasper, the one that made him feel sheepish and warm. No, this kind was cold and emotionless, nauseating. 

"You should consider yourself lucky, Rabbit." Stephan murmured. Even his softer-spoken words were triggering something deep within Killian, an almost primal fear, one that made him want to run. He knew he couldn't fight, but there was no escape either. He was truly prey cornered by a looming predator, one that was ready to tear him apart at any given notice--or worse. He'd had nightmares of everything this man could do to him, all were violent and very bloody. "I've decided I'm going to keep you." Wonderful. 

When Killian didn't answer, Stephan's head slowly tilted to the side. "I can feel your pulse," the man rumbled. Killian swallowed anxiously as his captor's thumb delicately trailed across his soft skin to rest above his jugular. "Your heart is racing." Gee, I wonder why. Yet again, Killian prompted to bite his tongue for once. He usually had trouble holding back insults, but around Stephan it came naturally. The man exuded an imposing presence, one any person with common sense would never challenge. Not unless they had a particularly grim death wish. He could kill me. Killian thought. He could tear out my throat in a split second and kill me. He shivered again. But I can't do anything about it. I can't even move when he looks at me.