Chapter 120: Wrong Hands

Nyra grabs the front of Killian’s shirt tightly, her body trembling so hard the fabric shakes with her. The sweet, heavy scent of her heat fills every corner of the room--vanilla and warm daisies. It is completely intoxicating, even for a human male.

Killian stares at her, unable to understand the sweet scent coming off her. But then he realizes, and his eyes widen in shock.

"Heat," he whispers. "Nyra, you’re in heat!"

He has heard the stories. Human researchers who studied captured wolves spoke of it in clinical terms--cycles, pheromones, uncontrollable need.

But seeing it is different.

Nyra’s skin has turned completely red, her amber eyes are unfocused, thighs pressed tightly together as another wave of pain-pleasure passes through her.

"Nyra, you’re not thinking straight," he says carefully, voice low. "Is there anything else I can do? Water? Medicine? Something?"

"Suppressants," she gasps. She’s crying from the intense need coursing through her body. She wishes Adrian was here. "Do you have suppressants? Please. It hurts, I can’t--"

Killian’s brow furrows. "What is that?"

Right, of course, he wouldn’t know.

She cries harder from the sheer helplessness, releases his shirt and crawls onto the bed on shaking limbs, curling into a tight ball on her side.

Her body keeps shaking because of the heat, and she can’t stop whimpering and pressing her legs together, trying to ease the ache.

Killian remains on his knees for a long second, staring at her frame in the bed.

Her experiment gown is almost transparent now because of her sweat-damp skin, outlining the curve of her waist, the rise and fall of her breasts, the way her thighs squeeze together again and again.

And her scent. God.

It’s pure invitation--sweet, fertile, aching. Even as a human, he knows what it means.

For some reason, all his blood starts rushing downward, settling in his groin, and his cock springs to life.

Fuck!

God knows he has wanted her since the moment she walked in here. And now, she is right here, open and needy, and the only person who could truly help her is nowhere to be found.

For once, he decides to be selfish.

He rises, crosses to the bed, and lies down behind her. He cuddles her from behind, chest to her back, one arm carefully wrapping around her waist.

She is burning hot, but not the kind from a fever.

"What did you want from me that first time?" he whispers against the shell of her ear. "I can give it to you. I’ll help you, Nyra. I know I’m not a werewolf, but I can still make you feel so, so good."

She shakes her head. "I didn’t mean anything. It was just the heat talking. If you can get me suppressants instead--"

Killian clicks his tongue in frustration. "Don’t be like that, Nyra. You clearly wanted me, so why are you acting like this now?"

He lowers his mouth to her shoulder, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the bare skin of her arm, then higher, brushing the side of her neck just below the mating mark.

Each press of his lips is slow, tasting the salt of her sweat and the overwhelming sweetness of her scent. His arm stays locked around her waist, holding her against him while she shakes.

But Nyra...her body is refusing the touch.

It is not her mate’s touch. It is not the bond. It is foreign hands and foreign lips on a body that already belongs to someone else.

Deep inside her, something completely snaps.

The drug that has kept Nyx buried for almost three days cracks under the force of pure rejection. Nyx wakes back up with so much force, Nyra almost bends over in half.

She’s awake, and oh boy, she’s raging mad. She doesn’t ask for permission before immediately taking over, Nyra’s eyes turning red with black rings around them.

Killian behind her hasn’t noticed. He is grinding softly into her now, trying to convince her to let him move.

Nyx turns before he can blink. She grabs his arm around her waist, pushes it off her, then pushes Killian away so hard he hits the wall on the other side and slides to the floor, stunned.

"Wait, Nyra--"

"I’m not Nyra." A female, but much deeper and more confident voice comes from her mouth. It’s even deeper because of the drugs. She rises from the bed in a way that’s a little inhuman, and the way she stands shows she’s ready to fight him if he comes close. "You dare lay your hands on us when you are not our mate?"

Killian pushes himself up from the floor angrily.

"Mate, mate, mate--what the fuck is your problem?!" he snaps. "You’ve been here three days and he hasn’t even come for you. I’ve been the one protecting you! I even fucking messed with the machine so the experiments would stop. I--"

At his words, the door behind them slams open. His father, Victor, stands in the doorway, face folded into pure rage.

"What the hell did you just say?!" he bellows

----

"Nyra, you’re not thinking straight," he says carefully, voice low. "Is there anything else I can do? Water? Medicine? Something?"

"Suppressants," she gasps. She’s crying from the intense need coursing through her body. She wishes Adrian was here. "Do you have suppressants? Please. It hurts, I can’t--"

Killian’s brow furrows. "What is that?"

Right, of course, he wouldn’t know.

She cries harder from the sheer helplessness, releases his shirt and crawls onto the bed on shaking limbs, curling into a tight ball on her side.

Her body keeps shaking because of the heat, and she can’t stop whimpering and pressing her legs together, trying to ease the ache.

Killian remains on his knees for a long second, staring at her frame in the bed.

Her experiment gown is almost transparent now because of her sweat-damp skin, outlining the curve of her waist, the rise and fall of her breasts, the way her thighs squeeze together again and again.

And her scent. God.

It’s pure invitation--sweet, fertile, aching. Even as a human, he knows what it means.

For some reason, all his blood starts rushing downward, settling in his groin, and his cock springs to life.

Fuck!

God knows he has wanted her since the moment she walked in here. And now, she is right here, open and needy, and the only person who could truly help her is nowhere to be found.

For once, he decides to be selfish.

He rises, crosses to the bed, and lies down behind her. He cuddles her from behind, chest to her back, one arm carefully wrapping around her waist.

She is burning hot, but not the kind from a fever.

"What did you want from me that first time?" he whispers against the shell of her ear. "I can give it to you. I’ll help you, Nyra. I know I’m not a werewolf, but I can still make you feel so, so good."

She shakes her head. "I didn’t mean anything. It was just the heat talking. If you can get me suppressants instead-"

Killian clicks his tongue in frustration. "Don’t be like that, Nyra. You clearly wanted me, so why are you acting like this now?"

He lowers his mouth to her shoulder, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the bare skin of her arm, then higher, brushing the side of her neck just below the mating mark.

Each press of his lips is slow, tasting the salt of her sweat and the overwhelming sweetness of her scent. His arm stays locked around her waist, holding her against him while she shakes.

But Nyra...her body is refusing the touch.

It is not her mate’s touch. It is not the bond. It is foreign hands and foreign lips on a body that already belongs to someone else.

Deep inside her, something completely snaps.

The drug that has kept Nyx buried for almost three days cracks under the force of pure rejection. Nyx wakes back up with so much force, Nyra almost bends over in half.

She’s awake, and oh boy, she’s raging mad. She doesn’t ask for permission before immediately taking over, Nyra’s eyes turning red with black rings around them.

Killian behind her hasn’t noticed. He is grinding softly into her now, trying to convince her to let him move.

Nyx turns before he can blink. She grabs his arm around her waist, pushes it off her, then pushes Killian away so hard he hits the wall on the other side and slides to the floor, stunned.

"Wait, Nyra--"

"I’m not Nyra." A female, but much deeper and more confident voice comes from her mouth. It’s even deeper because of the drugs. She rises from the bed in a way that’s a little inhuman, and the way she stands shows she’s ready to fight him if he comes close. "You dare lay your hands on us when you are not our mate?"

Killian pushes himself up from the floor angrily.

"Mate, mate, mate--what the fuck is your problem?!" he snaps. "You’ve been here three days and he hasn’t even come for you. I’ve been the one protecting you! I even fucking messed with the machine so the experiments would stop. I--"

At his words, the door behind them slams open. His father, Victor, stands in the doorway, face folded into pure rage.

"What the hell did you just say?!" he bellows.