8.

Chapter Eight: Bound in Blood

KIERAN’S POV

Noah had tested him.

Again.

And Kieran had been lenient—too lenient. He’d let Noah believe he had choices, that he could step outside the lines Kieran had drawn for him. But tonight, that illusion would be shattered.

James had to be dealt with. Permanently.

Kieran sat in his car across from James’s hotel, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. The weight of the knife in his pocket was familiar, reassuring. He had considered making it look like an accident—a break-in gone wrong, a random mugging. But then he had remembered the way James had touched Noah, the way he had looked at him. The way he had dared to challenge Kieran.

No.

James needed to know exactly why he was dying.

Kieran stepped out of the car, pulling his hoodie up. The streets were quiet, the occasional car passing by, but no one paid attention. He moved with purpose, blending into the shadows. The keycard he had stolen earlier slid into the hotel’s entrance lock. A quiet beep, and the door clicked open.

James’s room was on the third floor. Kieran took the stairs, his heartbeat steady, his mind clear. This wasn’t rage. This wasn’t impulse.

This was necessary.

Outside Room 314, he paused. He could hear movement inside—footsteps, the sound of a bag unzipping. James was probably packing, thinking he could leave town and forget all about Noah. Thinking he had a chance.

Kieran smiled.

He knocked.

A pause. Then footsteps approached. The door cracked open.

James frowned. “You?”

Kieran shoved his way inside before James could react, slamming the door shut behind him.

“The fuck—”

Kieran struck fast. A sharp jab to the ribs, knocking the air from James’s lungs. He staggered back, gasping. Kieran followed, gripping his throat and slamming him against the dresser.

“You thought you could take him from me,” Kieran murmured. His voice was eerily calm. “You thought I’d let you.”

James choked, his hands clawing at Kieran’s wrist. “You’re insane—”

Kieran’s grip tightened. He leaned in, voice a whisper of steel. “Say his name again, and I’ll carve it out of your throat.”

James gasped, struggling, but Kieran had the advantage. He released his grip just enough for James to inhale, then drove his knee into his stomach. James crumpled, coughing.

Kieran let him fall, watching as he struggled to get up.

“You don’t deserve to say his name,” Kieran continued. “You don’t deserve to look at him, to touch him. And now, you never will.”

James’s eyes widened in realization. “No—”

Kieran struck again, his fist colliding with James’s jaw. Blood spattered against the floor. James groaned, trying to crawl away.

Pathetic.

Kieran pulled the knife from his pocket. The dim hotel light gleamed off the blade.

“I should kill you,” Kieran mused. “But that would be too easy. You need to understand why you’re suffering.”

James tried to scramble back. Kieran kicked him onto his stomach, pressing a knee between his shoulder blades.

“I want you to remember this,” Kieran murmured. “Every time you breathe. Every time you wake up.”

He grabbed James’s hand.

And pressed the knife against the fingers that had dared to touch Noah.

The scream that followed was muffled by the walls, but Kieran drank in the sound. The pain. The helplessness.

James would live. But he’d never forget.

Never try again.

By the time Kieran was done, James was shaking, blood pooling beneath his hands. His breathing was ragged, desperate.

Kieran leaned in one last time, whispering against his ear.

“If you ever try to reach him again, I’ll make this seem merciful.”

Then he stood, wiped his knife clean, and walked out.

Noah was waiting for him.

He just didn’t know it yet.

********

A Token of Devotion

KIERAN’S POV

Noah was his.

Kieran had made that clear tonight.

He drove with steady hands, the scent of blood still clinging to his hoodie, a ghost of the violence he had unleashed. James wouldn’t be a problem anymore. He had made sure of that.

But that wasn’t enough.

Noah still didn’t understand. He still flinched away, still thought he had a choice. He had let James touch him, let him get too close. It wasn’t just James who needed a lesson.

Noah needed to learn, too.

Kieran’s foot pressed harder against the gas. The city blurred past, neon lights flickering like distant stars. His heart pounded—not from the fight, not from the blood—but from the thought of Noah. His Noah. His delicate little bird who still thought he could fly away.

Tonight, Kieran would clip his wings.

—

Noah’s apartment was dark when Kieran arrived. Good.

He let himself in. The key he had stolen weeks ago slid smoothly into the lock. Noah hadn’t changed it. He was so careless, so trusting.

So perfect for Kieran to protect.

Inside, everything smelled like him—soft linen, old books, the faint trace of vanilla shampoo. Kieran inhaled deeply, shivering. This was his sanctuary. This was where Noah belonged.

He moved through the space silently, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The living room was neat, untouched. But the bedroom—

Kieran’s breath hitched.

Noah was curled up under his blankets, his raven-black hair spilling over the pillow, his face peaceful in sleep. The moonlight kissed his porcelain skin, making him look almost unreal.

Kieran ached.

He could watch him forever.

But he had something for Noah tonight. A gift. A reminder.

He pulled the small box from his pocket and placed it on the nightstand. Then, carefully, he reached out, brushing his fingers against Noah’s cheek.

Noah stirred, murmuring something soft, his lashes fluttering.

Kieran smiled.

Soon, he’d wake up and see the gift.

And he’d understand.

—

NOAH’S POV

Something was wrong.

The moment Noah’s eyes fluttered open, he felt it.

His apartment was silent, yet the air felt… different. Heavy. Like something unseen was pressing down on him.

His fingers tightened around the blanket as he forced himself to sit up. The dim glow of the streetlights seeped through his window, casting long shadows across his room.

Then he saw it.

A small, black velvet box on his nightstand.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

That hadn’t been there before.

Swallowing hard, he reached out with trembling fingers and lifted the lid.

His breath caught.

Inside the box lay a dagger.

A beautiful, wicked thing.

The blade was sleek, slightly curved, with intricate engravings along its surface—patterns that swirled like smoke, delicate and haunting. But what sent ice through his veins was the dried blood staining the steel.

A violent, rusty red.

His stomach twisted.

The handle was black, smooth, polished to perfection. And carved into the metal, right above where the blade met the hilt, was a single letter.

K.

Noah’s hands shook.

Kieran.

He knew it. He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew.

This wasn’t just a gift.

It was a message.

A mark of possession. A warning.

Noah’s breath came in short, ragged gasps as he stared at the weapon, as if it might come alive in his hands.

The blood on the blade… Whose was it?

Had it been fresh when Kieran placed it here?

Had he… done something?

A shiver ran down Noah’s spine.

He should be terrified. He should throw the dagger away. Call the police. Change his locks.

But his fingers wouldn’t let go.

The weight of it in his hands was cold, solid. Unshakable. And in some twisted, terrifying way, it felt like it belonged to him now.

Like Kieran had meant it to.

******

: DEVOTION IN SHADOWS

KIERAN’S POV

He watched from the darkness.

Silent. Unseen.

The shadows curled around him like a second skin as he stood outside Noah’s window, breath slow, measured, controlled. The glass reflected the dim glow of Noah’s bedside lamp, the flickering light making his pale skin seem even softer, almost ethereal.

But it was Noah’s expression that held him captive.

Pure. Overwhelmed. Drenched in something between horror and fascination as his delicate fingers traced the blade of Kieran’s gift.

The dagger looked perfect in his hands.

Made for him.

Kieran had imagined this moment—the way Noah’s lips would part in shock, the shiver that would ripple down his spine as realization sank in. But reality was so much sweeter.

Noah wasn’t screaming.

Wasn’t throwing it away.

No—he was staring at it. Holding it. Accepting it.

Kieran’s pulse pounded, thick and heady.

Mine.

His beautiful angel was finally beginning to understand.

Kieran’s hand pressed against the glass, fingers twitching with the need to touch, to feel Noah’s warmth beneath his palms. The knife had been an extension of him, a piece of himself laid bare for Noah to take.

And now he had it.

Cradled in those soft hands.

Kieran’s breath hitched as he watched Noah run his fingertips over the dried blood. So gentle. So hesitant. Fuck. He wanted those hands on him.

Wanted those dainty fingers wrapped around something else.

Heat coiled low in his stomach as he imagined it—Noah’s lips trembling, his lashes fluttering, his small gasps as Kieran guided him, forced him to take what belonged to him.

He exhaled sharply, his other hand drifting lower, pressing against the growing ache in his pants.

Noah shifted, standing from the bed, still holding the dagger.

Kieran’s stomach clenched. His pupils blew wide as he watched Noah move to the mirror, angling the blade, watching how the light caught the stained steel.

Did he wonder whose blood it was?

Did he like knowing it had belonged to someone else before him?

Would he tremble if Kieran told him that the blood had been fresh when he’d marked the blade? That he had carved his initial into the hilt just last night, ensuring that every inch of it belonged to Noah and no one else?

Kieran bit his lip, stifling a groan.

The way Noah’s body moved—so unaware, so vulnerable—sent a violent rush of need flooding through him.

He wanted to break inside.

Wanted to press Noah against the wall, force him to look at his own reflection as Kieran’s hands roamed him, as he whispered filth into his ear, as he ruined him.

His grip tightened around himself.

Noah sighed, tilting his head, fingers dancing over the hilt of the dagger like a forbidden lover.

Kiss it, Kieran thought darkly. Lick the blade, angel. Let me see you worship it like I worship you.

His breath came harsher now, misting against the glass.

You’re mine. You’ll always been mine.

And soon…

Soon, he’d make sure Noah never forgot it.

***