6am.
He must just be getting home. There's a warm temptation to remain in the softness of the sheets, surrounded by his scent but my desire to actually see him is stronger so I swing my legs out of bed and pad towards the bathroom.
“Killian?” His name slips softly from my lips as another yawn takes me but he doesn’t respond. I push open the door and step inside, wiggling my toes against the heated tiles before a strangled gasp rips up my throat.
Killian’s clothes are discarded in a heap on the floor and they’re soaked in blood.
“Killian!?” My heart bolts into my throat and I rip back the shower curtain. My husband flinches into view with red tainted soap suds sliding down his rippling torso and his dark hair plastering wet to his head.
“Cara!” he exclaims in fright. “I tried not to wake you—”
Throwing myself into the shower, I catch his wrists, scanning every visible inch of his body for the source of the bleeding.
“Are you okay?! What happened? Why is there so much blood!”
The words trip over themselves in my desperation to get them out and Killian merely chuckles softly which infuriates me.
Now is not the time!
“Cara, darling, it’s not my blood.”
“What?” My heart stutters painfully to a stop for a moment and as he rolls his shoulder into the shower spray to wash away the suds, there appear to be no injuries marring his body.
“Whose blood is it?”
“Archer’s.”
The panic that was slowly ebbing rushes back tenfold.
“Is he okay?!”
“Yes, he’s fine,” Killian soothes and slowly pulls his wrists from my grasp, turning the touch back onto me as he grasps my upper arms firmly.
“We ran into some trouble and Archer ended up on the wrong end of a knife but he’s okay. He was seen by our doctor and he’s resting safely with Dante. It’s not serious. It was just wide. Hence all the blood.”
“Oh thank god.” I sag faintly as Killian’s explanation washes over me and it’s then I register the smothering weight and closeness of my soaked nightie. I’d been so worried I hadn’t given much thought to the fact I was clothed before diving into the shower.
“I adore the panic though,” Killian teases but there’s trouble lacing his tone. He’s distracted, something on his mind which is likely how I surprised him. He releases me for a moment and turns back into the heat of the shower to wash away the remaining bloodied suds.
He’s okay. He’s not hurt.
Deep breath.
Fear had locked up my limbs but sensation trickles back now that the panic is dulling. Logically I know if Killian was seriously hurt he wouldn’t be here. He’d be with Dante and the doctor.
Stupid.
I turn to leave, wanting out of my soaked nightie and reasoning that Killian needs time to wash up when his large hands are back on my shoulders and he pushes me firmly against the shower wall. His lips crash against mine a second later and all thoughts of leaving flee from my mind.
“You were so concerned for me,” Killian purrs against my lips, and heat, burning hotter than the shower, floods up my breastbone as I lift my hands to meet his arms.
“Of course I was!” I manage against his lips, flicking my tongue out to catch just a taste of him. “I thought something had happened to you, that you were hurt or—or something. I can’t lose you, Killian, Ican’t.”
My plea writes itself along his lips as he kisses me deeply again, his eager tongue teasing its way into my mouth and swallowing anything else I can think to say.
He’s back in my arms and yet it’s not enough. Desire pools in my lower abdomen and by the time Killian breaks the kiss, I’m breathless with my chest heaving against the restricting wet material.
“You know, I never did get a chance to finish my dinner earlier,” Killian murmurs, and our eyes meet. There’s pain swimming in the storm there but it isn’t the right time to ask. Killian’s seeking a distraction and who am I to dissuade him?