Page 4 of The Laird's Dark Obsession

He’s still wearing it. After all this time…

A thin red braid of thread was secured around his wrist, a gift from her more than a decade prior. It made her heart skip a beat, though she was honestly unsure what to make of the information.

When she looked back to his face, his gaze moved from the bracelet to her empty wrist. The wrist which once stayed forever tied with red thread, just like his. He squeezed her hand as if he wanted to hurt her. She winced at his force.

“Thought ye could forget about me, lass?” he asked in something between a scoff and a laugh.

His face was stony and unreadable as he turned around and continued to drag her along. The words stung more than his iron grip. As if she could ever forget Hunter.

She fought the entire way down the corridor and down the steps, even more so when cell doors came into view. She heard her own voice raise an octave or two as she asked him to stop, to let her go, to release her. But he was unmoved and with a shove, Kira was in a cell with Hunter’s ominous shadow blocking the dim light from the corridor.

“Hunter, please, dinnae—”

He cut her off. “It ismy Laird. I am nay longer Hunter to ye. Dinnae forget that.”

Before he could so much as slam the cell door shut, Kira was on the dirt floor. She blinked rapidly against the darkness and coached herself in an attempt not to freak out.

But the walls were already closing in.

Through the lens of her anxious mind, the stone walls stretched in height and grew ever closer to her. Her chest was tight and the air around her seemed thin.

She had always been unnerved by close quarters, and this was made only worse by her looming fate. Kira was completely undone by the threat of the cell and the door hadn’t even closed yet.

She was crying, tears beading down her face, pleas for her very life escaping her in blubbered sentences. He stood there, watching it all, unmoved and unphased by the rapid deterioration of Kira.

“Yer tricks will nay longer work on me, lass,” he taunted.

Nay matter what, he’s nae going to release me. I’m going to be stuck in this cell. In this cramped place. How will there be enough air to breathe? How long do I have before I run out?

The air that had already seemed thin was nearly nonexistent then, her mind worked into a complete lather with worry over the walls and just how close they seemed to be. Would she be crushed or suffocated first?

Her breathing became labored, each inhale shorter than the last. She cried out for him in breaths, taking several exhales to simply get outM’Laird.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered in the distance.

As the world started losing its focus, arms were around her, strong and warm and safe. Her wide, frightened eyes lifted to find Hunter’s face as he headed out of the cell with her in his arms like a bride.

She didn’t care what became of her, so long as it wasn’t in that bloody cell. And so, she allowed her heart to be grateful for him and this fleeting moment of kindness. Her body relaxed against his and her eyes closed while sobs continued to shake her entire body.

This would be the last time Hunter ever saved her. Had it even been saving, or was he only tormenting her? She didn’t dare ask, knowing that only hate resided in his heart for her.

2

She was a feather in his arms, more frail than even the younger version of her that existed in his head. Kira’s cheek was pressed to his chest as her body was limp and her breathing was shallow.

Hunter’s lip sneered in annoyance as he carried her out of the cell and through the dungeon corridors. Kira Fairbairn deserved no gentleness from him. And while he knew what it looked like, carrying his prisoner from the dungeon like that, he didn’t care. He had big plans for Kira, and if she died of stress in that cell, she would be rendered useless. All of his planning would be for naught, and his revenge would never come to fruition.

He felt the eyes on them as he walked through the castle, but he didn’t falter. Kira might have been his weakness all his life, but things changed six years ago and he would never forgive her for her part in the downfall of his family.

Reaching one of the spare rooms on the second floor, he laid her on the narrow bed and stared down at her as he loomed overhead. It was so strange to see her there with him, instead of living in the recesses of his imagination and memories alone.

They were no longer kids on the cusp of adulthood, laying before him was a woman. Her full cheeks were defined now, her white-blonde hair cascaded to her waist, the rough ride of his men freeing the wild strands from her braids. She was beautiful, but in the same way as a venomous snake.

She’d trick you with her beauty and vibrant colors before striking with lethal intent.

Perhaps now that she was there, his mind would cease its cruel games of picturing her lingering around every corner, passing by in the corridors with that playful smile of hers that felt as though it belonged to him and him alone.

And sometimes, when he was particularly exhausted and had a bit too much whisky with his supper, he would envision her waiting on his bed for him in a white shift, bathed in moonlight with kind eyes burning in his direction with a look that said,“Ye’re finally here”.