Chapter 103 Kisses
IRIS
The knock on the door is soft. Too soft. Like he’s trying not to wake something that’s already wide awake inside me.
I don’t answer. I don’t have the strength. Not for him. Not for anyone.
But the door opens anyway.
Darian steps in, quiet, cautious, holding a tray in his hands. A bowl of soup. Bread on the side. A glass of water with lemon. All of it steaming, fresh. Thoughtful.
Infuriating.
I sit up straighter in bed, my spine stiff with resistance. I don’t even look at the tray. I look at him.
“I said I didn’t want to see you.”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t flinch. “You need to eat.”
“I don’t want your food,” I snap. “I don’t want you.”
Still, he crosses the room, setting the tray down on the table beside the bed like he hasn’t heard me at all. Like I’m a tantrum he’s willing to wait out.
I seethe. “Don’t pretend you’re here because you care about whether or not I eat. You came back because you didn’t like that I told you to get out.”
His eyes meet mine, dark, tired, but unwavering. “You think I need a reason to check on you?”
I bark a laugh. “You brought food. Nice trick. But anyone else would’ve done it happily. You came because you didn’t want to leave. Because you never do what I ask.”
His stare hardens, but his voice stays low, controlled. “If you expect me to disappear because you said so, you’re living in a fantasy, Iris.”
I swallow, pulse rising.
“You need to wake up,” he continues, stepping closer. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
Something inside me snaps.
I reach for the tray, intending to shove it to the floor, to destroy this stupid peace offering like it means nothing to me, because it shouldn’t mean anything.
But before I can tip it over, his hands catch mine.
Strong. Warm. Steady.
We freeze.
His hands wrapped around mine. My breath is shallow, my heart thudding too loud in my ears.
His eyes are on mine now. Locked. Burning.
Neither of us moves.
Not away. Not forward. Just suspended in something hot and fragile and far too dangerous.
I am upset with him for not telling me the truth.
For marking me.
For making my wolf stir when he’s near.
And yet my skin ignites where his fingers touch mine.
“Let go,” I whisper, but it’s weak. A lie. I don’t even believe it myself.
His grip tightens just slightly, not possessive, not rough. Just… grounded. Present. Like he knows I could yank away if I wanted to.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
His gaze drops.
To my lips.
I feel it, like the temperature in the room shifts. Like the air itself pulls taut between us.
When he looks back up into my eyes, his voice is lower. Rougher.
“Can I kiss you?”
I don’t answer.
I lean in.
And I kiss him.
The second our lips meet, it’s wildfire.
All the anger. All the grief. All the things I couldn’t say without screaming, melt into heat and hunger and chaos.
His mouth crushes mine like he’s starving for it. For me.
His hand slides into my hair, fingers tightening just enough to make me gasp, and he uses that gasp to deepen the kiss. His other hand is still holding mine, and I realize I’m gripping him back just as tightly, clinging like I’m afraid he’ll vanish.
My back hits the headboard and he follows, pressing into me, slow but unrelenting. The heat between us thickens, coils, threatens to unravel me entirely.
My name escapes his mouth between kisses, raw, reverent. “Iris…”
I shouldn’t want this.
I shouldn’t need this.
But gods, I do.
I arch into him, and he groans softly against my mouth, like the contact sets his blood on fire. His lips trail from my mouth to my jaw, then lower, until I’m trembling beneath him, not from sickness, not from fear, but from want.
My hands slide up his arms, over the curve of his shoulders, memorizing every tense line of him. He’s solid, hot, real. Every inch of him sings to the part of me I’ve tried so hard to bury.
The part that wants this bond.
The part that wants him.
I tug him back to my lips, and this time the kiss is slower. Deeper. Less angry. More broken.
He kisses me like he’s sorry. Like he’s been holding this back for years. Like he’s trying to say everything he never said, with his mouth, his hands, his body.
I break the kiss with a gasp, forehead pressed to his, both of us panting like we’ve run a race we didn’t train for.
“I’m still mad at you,” I whisper.
“I know,” he breathes, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “I deserve it.”
“But I still want you.”
He closes his eyes, like the words break him. “You have me. All of me.”
Silence. Thick and raw and trembling.
And then, because I’m not ready for what comes next, because the fire’s already lit and I know it could burn us both, I pull away.
Just enough to breathe.
Just enough to remember that this doesn’t solve anything.
But gods, it felt like something.
Something dangerous.
Something real.
Something like the beginning of a storm we won’t survive unscathed.
My lips are still tingling.
His breath is still warm on my skin.
And yet I sit there like I’ve just woken from a trance, heart pounding, mind racing, mouth slightly parted like I’m trying to hold on to something that already slipped between us.
Darian doesn’t move, not right away. He gives me space, though his hand lingers near mine like he’s not sure whether to pull back or reach for me again.
I glance at him.
He looks… undone.
Eyes wild. Chest rising and falling like he ran here. There’s a flush at his throat, high on his cheekbones. His lips are slightly plump and red, my doing.
I tear my gaze away.
And then, slowly, I reach for the tray of food beside me.
The soup has gone a little cool, but the scent still drifts up, warm, earthy, comforting. I lift the spoon with trembling fingers and take a small bite.
He watches me the whole time. I can feel it, his eyes. But he says nothing.
A few more bites pass in silence before I finally speak. My voice comes out low. Honest.
“…I’m sorry.”
He blinks. “What?”
I glance at him, not ready to see his full expression. “For slapping you.”
He’s quiet. Then, softly: “You don’t have to apologize for that.”
I swallow hard, my throat thick. “Yes, I do. You didn’t deserve it. I was angry and scared and…” My voice cracks a little. I drop my gaze to the bowl. “I just lashed out.”
He takes a slow breath. “I’ve been slapped harder.”
I let out a shaky laugh.
“I’m sorry for being mean too,” I add, quieter now. “You were just trying to help and I… I made you the villain.”
“You had every right to be upset.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t have to twist the knife while I did it.”
His fingers move, just barely brushing the edge of the blanket where it pools over my lap, like he’s trying to reach out without invading.
“I can handle your anger, Iris,” he says gently. “I just can’t handle losing you.”
The words hit deeper than I expect.
I glance up.
His expression is soft. And tired. And real. The armor he wears around others has dropped again, just like it did the night I almost died.
There’s no prince here. No soldier. Just him.
Just Darian.
I set the bowl down, half-eaten, and wrap my arms around my legs, pulling my knees close to my chest.
“You shouldn’t love someone like me,” I say, barely above a whisper.
He leans forward slightly. “Too late.”
I press my forehead against my knees and close my eyes.
It’s quiet again. The air between us no longer crackling with fury or lust, but something quieter. Heavier. Maybe even sadder.
“I don’t know how to be okay with any of this,” I admit. “The mark, the bond, the way my wolf reacts to you…”
He nods, and there’s no pressure in his voice when he says, “You don’t have to be okay with it today.”
I lift my head. Meet his eyes.
“You always say the right thing.”
He offers the faintest smile. “Not always. I just got lucky this time.”
For a moment, we don’t speak.
Then I gesture to the bowl. “You made this?”
He nods once. “It’s not great. Nana gave me instructions. I may have ignored half.”
“It’s… edible.” I manage a small smile, then whisper, “Thank you.”
His eyes soften. “Anytime.”
There’s another long beat before I ask, a little shy now, “Will you stay?”
His eyebrows lift slightly.
“Not to argue,” I clarify quickly. “Not to kiss. Just… to sit. I don’t want to be alone.”
He stands, crosses the small room, and lowers himself gently into the chair beside the bed.
“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes again, finally breathing without fire in my lungs.
For now, this is enough.