The drive back was a blur of speed and silence. Killian was conscious, but he wasn't present. His eyes were fixed on the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, and a low, menacing growl rumbled in his chest every time we hit a bump.
When we finally reached the Forbidden Wing, he didn't wait for me. He stormed into the house, tearing his shirt off as if it were burning him.
"Everyone out!" he roared at the staff. The maids scrambled away in terror, dropping their dusters.
He collapsed onto the sofa in the living room, burying his face in his hands. The black sun mark on his chest was pulsing violently, sending waves of heat into the air.
I approached him slowly, like one approaches a wounded animal.
"Killian?"
"Stay back," he snarled. He didn't look up. His voice was layered—his own deep baritone mixed with a scratchy, high-pitched static. The infant's rage.
"It's too loud," he gasped, clawing at his hair. "The noise... the hunger... it wants to break things. It wants blood."
"It's just the bond," I said softly, ignoring his warning. I took a step closer. "You're strong enough to control it."
"I don't know if I am," he admitted, looking up. His eyes were bleeding into black, the gold iris almost gone. He looked terrifying. "Elena, get away from me. I don't want to hurt you."
He stood up to leave, to lock himself in a cage probably, but I blocked his path.
"You won't hurt me," I said firmly.
"You don't know that!" he shouted, and a vase on the mantelpiece shattered from the force of his voice. "I am filled with the rage of a demon! I am a monster!"
"No," I said. "You are a father who just took a bullet for his son."
I reached out and placed my hand directly on the burning black mark on his chest.
Killian flinched, his muscles locking up. He expected it to burn me. He expected me to scream.
But I didn't.
The moment my skin touched his, the mark hissed. The angry red pulsing slowed down. The black veins that were creeping up his neck retreated.
His skin felt fever-hot, but my touch was cool.
"How..." he breathed, the blackness fading from his eyes, leaving them a clear, exhausted blue.
"I'm the mother," I whispered, stepping into his space until my body was pressed against his. "That anger comes from my child. It recognizes me. It won't hurt me."
I wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my head on his shoulder.
"And neither will you."
Killian stood rigid for a heartbeat. Then, with a shuddering exhale, he crumbled.
He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in my neck. He held me so tight it almost hurt, but I didn't complain. He was shaking. The invincible Wolf King was trembling in my arms.
"It's quiet now," he murmured against my skin. "When you touch me... the noise stops."
"Then I won't let go," I promised.
He lifted me up effortlessly, carrying me to the bedroom. Not for sex—he was too exhausted, and I was too heavy with child—but for comfort.
He laid us down on the bed, pulling the duvet over us. He positioned himself behind me, his arm draped protectively over my stomach, his hand resting right where the babies were.
The black mark on his chest pressed against my back. It was still warm, a constant reminder of the price he paid.
"Elena?" he whispered into the darkness.
"Hmm?"
"If I ever lose control..." he started, his voice heavy with sleep. "If the darkness takes over... promise me you'll take the twins and run."
I turned in his arms to face him. I kissed his lips, soft and lingering.
"I promise," I lied.
I would never run. If he fell into darkness, I would just have to go in there and drag him back out.
"Sleep, my King," I whispered.
Within seconds, his breathing evened out. The room was peaceful.
I placed my hand over his hand on my belly.
We are safe, I told the twins. Daddy's got us.
And for the first time in weeks, no nightmares came.