Chapter 31

FREYA

I saw the muscles in his back tense. That was the only indication Aiden had heard me. Otherwise, he hadn't moved or replied. He removed his watch and flung it onto the dresser. His hands caught my eye; his knuckles were bruised and bloodied.

The silence was heavy with tension. Ignoring his disregard for my presence, I stepped inside.

"What happened?"

"Not now, Freya," Aiden grunted, his tone clearly dismissing me. But I was equally stubborn.

"No, Aiden. I need to know." He turned slowly. His eyes stopped my breath. They were different—unlike anything I'd ever seen. A sane woman would have fled. I, however, had never been sane. I was probably the horror-movie character who dies first because she investigates creepy noises.

I swallowed. "Your knuckles are bloody. What did you do?"

Probably the wrong question. A twitch flickered in Aiden's eyes. He clenched and unclenched his fists.

"I didn't kill him. If that's what you're asking."

A shiver ran down my spine at the low intensity of his voice. He hadn't killed Noah, and he didn't sound pleased about it. Had he considered it? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had thought he might; his body language suggested as much. He looked dangerous, unapologetically and distinctly vicious.

I swallowed my nervousness and approached until I could see the turmoil in his eyes up close. "Are you okay?"

He didn't answer, just watched me quietly. I couldn't decipher the emotions swirling in those brown orbs. I lowered my gaze to his hands.

"That needs cleaning. Where's the first-aid kit?"

Aiden continued to stare. I almost thought he hadn't heard when his eyes shifted toward the bathroom. I nodded and went to get the kit. He followed and leaned against the counter, waiting while I retrieved the supplies.

I ran the water, gesturing for him to rinse his hand under the cold water. He complied, which was a relief and unexpected. He held his hand out.

"Let me," I said, dabbing at the cuts with a saline-soaked cotton pad. I watched his face for a reaction. There was none; it was as if he felt no pain. His unnerving silence actually helped me focus.

"We need to ice that," I said, looking up. I hadn't realized how close we were. I smelled tobacco mingled with his cologne.

I wondered what was going through his head. His silent stare was overwhelming, yet I didn't create distance. I stood there, letting him pierce me with his gaze.

"I wish I did," Aiden muttered. I almost missed it, but the conviction and cruelty in his voice made my hair stand on end. It took a few seconds to understand.

"I didn't kill him. If that's what you're asking."

He meant Noah. He wished he had killed him.

"No, you don't!" I stepped back, staring incredulously. Though I'd feared the possibility, hearing him say it was different.

"You can't kill someone over that!"

A dangerous glint sparked in his eyes. He pushed off the counter. I moved closer until he crowded my space.

Chapter 31

"Over hurting you? Sure can. After putting their filthy hands on you, no one fucking lives." The words were controlled and calm, a stark contrast to his appearance—unmerciful and gloriously lethal.

Aiden lifted his less injured hand, brushing the hair from my face. His touch trailed down to my neck, his thumb grazing my skin. I could taste the tobacco. A jolt of electricity shot through me, making my head spin. When he spoke, my breath hitched.

"Ironically, the only reason he lives is you."

I understood, though I wished I didn't. He spared Noah's life because of me, because I wouldn't have wanted it.

My chest felt heavy. Why did he consider my feelings? Why did he think of what I wanted? On the other hand, he wanted to kill Noah for touching me.

"No one touches you and goes unscathed."

I didn't know how to process this. Despite knowing I habitually wandered into dangerous territory, my brain refused to shut up. I inhaled shakily.

Aiden squeezed his eyes shut and breathed out. The next second, he put considerable distance between us. I saw him run a hand through his already tousled hair. He looked distressed, frustrated, and mostly angry—very angry.

He spared me one last glance before storming out, leaving me dizzy and extremely confused.