Dead Girls Don't Run ✔️

18 | Two Can Keep A Secret

Killian pushes off the door jamb, his steps eating up the distance between us before he detours, heading for the closet off to the side and opening it, retrieving the first aid kit.

I watch him like a hawk, every minuscule movement, every blink, every move as he turns back to me and walks for the couch.

He flicks his chin to it.

"Sit."

"How-"

"I just knew." He says cryptically.

I blink at the absurdity of it and Killian only waves an arm to encompass the couch again. "Sit down, Noah."

I huff but don't have the energy to fight him, not with my own blood coating my hands like a glove.

I slip onto the couch, twisting to get comfortable and as soon as I sit, I practically flop out in exhaustion.

Killian doesn't say anything as he moves, retrieving what he needs from the meagre first aid kit and staring at me through thick black lashes, trying to calculate my next move.

If he was good at it, he'd realise I wasn't going anywhere, too drained to even kick up a stink when his hands drift to the hem of my top and he looks to me, asking for permission to lift it.

I say yes, or at least I think do. It could have been an unintelligible grunt but Killian takes it as agreement.

His fingers work deftly, rolling the tight black fabric until it bunches at my ribs, below my breasts.

I suck in a swift breath when his fingers prod the wounded area and he looks up but remains quiet.

His silent inventory of the first aid kit and analysis of my wound has me watching his face as he thinks, my eyes tracking over his cheekbones and the small scar just below his eye. His dark hair is cut close to his head, but longer than when I'd first met him. Guess he hadn't got it cut in a couple weeks.

I trace his features with my gaze, his near perfect brows accentuating his hooded eyes.

Those eyes glance up at me, catching me staring but I don't stop. Too enamoured in his gaze, too trapped to do anything but find the hidden depths in the blue waters.

A small freckle in his eyes catches my attention, and for a moment, for a split second I see an unmovable rock in a raging tempest - so very much like Killian, the rock between Kade and Malac.

Malac the raging waters, destructive and all consuming. Kade the storm, baring down and near silent until he cracks across the sky like thunder and leaves you wondering if you should hide under your covers or embrace it.

I look away from the story in his gaze, swallowing the saliva in my mouth to try and quench my parched throat.

I vaguely notice his hand move, lifting towards my face and I force myself not to look, not to even breathe.

He rubs a piece of my hair between his finger and thumb, brows drawn in. "I prefer the red, Red." He mumbles.

I narrow my eyes, waving his hand away from me. "It's auburn, not red."

He rolls his eyes but goes back to what he's doing, removing alcohol wipes from the kit and tearing the package, beginning to wipe in small strokes across my skin.

A hiss wants to exit my lips as he continues his ministrations, focused on his task as he cleans and sterilises my wound before digging in the kit for another object.

He grunts out something before shuffling back. "I'll be right back, they don't have what I need."

I open my mouth to reply but nothing comes out and instead I watch as he stands swiftly and stalks for my door, slipping out and shutting it behind him.