Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 106 - 108

Chapter 106: Chapter 108

Kelsey POV

His name pours from Avara’s lips, a cry of strained passion and raw desperation, resonating in every octave with an intensity that shakes the air. It is outmatched by Colton’s guttural cry that bridges plea and longing, a symphony of surrender bound in the aching notes of his yearning and the feverish ferocity of his need.

No matter what I do, I can’t shut out a sound with my hands pressed to my ears as the bed nearly breaks with me beneath it. I make the mistake of peeking to see if it’s almost over, only to see his teeth clamped on his lower lip, holding onto a fistful of her hair with his dick in his mouth—which her mouth is not big enough to hold all of that.

With the stamina of a stallion, suffocating in silence until everything comes to a climatic end. And with some surprisingly gentle aftercare that seems jarring to the almost barbaric penetration I bore witness to.

His voice is a soft murmur against the stillness of the room, threading through the quiet like a confession. "I hope I didn’t hurt you," he whispers, his fingers grazing her bare back in languid, tender circles, a silent apology in every motion. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Her breath hitches, and her voice carries the weight of disbelief. "I’m... in shock. I never knew you felt so much for me."

"There’s so much you don’t know," he says, his tone dipping into a depth that feels almost infinite. "Including how I feel about you. It’s a depth not even the universe can measure."

Avara shifts, lifting herself so her face hovers just above his, her eyes searching his for truths she didn’t dare imagine before. "If you felt that way... why did you push me toward someone else?"

His hand stills on her back. "Your father would have never allowed it—and honestly, I wasn’t sure if you would want me either. So I chose the next best thing... to have you in my life, even from a distance. It was enough, or so I thought."

She lowers her head onto his hand, purposefully intertwining her fingers with the same hand adorned with his wedding ring. The silence between them swells with the unsaid. I go back down and wait...it’s when I hear her stifled moans as she struggles out of the bed that I’m alerted that he’s asleep. I crawl back out, grabbing her underwear on my way up before I toss it at her as we creep back out of the bedroom.

Once we’re outside, she slides on her underwear, her movements slow before leaning against the wall, her forearm pressed against the surface. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, as if her body is struggling to catch up with her will. A glob of white she spits out onto the ground.

"You okay? You can barely walk."

With a defiant twist of her wrist, she flashes his wedding ring, the glint of it almost mocking her own pain. She tries to push herself forward, but her steps falter, unsteady.

"Avara, forget this. You need to lie down."

"No," she snaps, her voice sharp and filled with fire. "Like I’d let that sick bastard get off clean. This is our only chance to find out his plan for my family. No matter the crime, I can send it to Simon. He’ll know what to do—but first, I must know."

I can’t watch her struggle any longer. Without thinking, I move closer, urging her to stop.

"Get on my back. I can’t hold you like Silas or Vance, but I’ll carry you."

She protests, her voice weak but firm. "No—"

"Get on." My command is softer this time, but it leaves no room for argument.

I lower myself so she can climb on. Her arms curl around my shoulders, her thighs finding their place against my sides. With a grunt, I hoist her up, feeling the warmth of her body press against mine as she moans softly, the strain evident in her every movement. I lock my arms under her, the weight of her resting against me, but I don’t care. I’ll carry her as far as she needs me to.

We descend to ground level. As we make our way down the hall, I step closer to the sophisticated panel. The glow of the ring illuminates the dark, and with a swift motion, Avara presses it to open the door. It slides open silently, and I step inside, her arms tangling around me as the door closes behind us. There’s only one button, and she presses it. The doors hum softly as the elevator descends.

Her head rests against my shoulder, her breath warm against the nape of my neck. I can feel her pulse quicken, but her body relaxes into mine as she lets go of the tension.

"I can’t believe that happened," I whisper into the quiet.

She doesn’t answer, but I know the weight of her thoughts is heavier than anything she could say.

After the long descent, the elevator doors slide open, revealing an underground sanctuary that feels plucked from the pages of a comic book—Batman Patrick Bateman kind of vibe. The ceilings stretch impossibly high, disappearing into shadow, while the vast space exudes a cold opulence. Towering bookshelves line the walls, their contents obscured by the dim lighting that feels more like a deliberate design choice than a deficiency. Recessed lights frame the perimeter, casting a futuristic glow that accents the dark, minimalist interior.

Carrying her still, I step inside. My eyes roam the space—sleek, intimidating, and unnervingly sterile. The black marble floor gleams under the soft light, reflecting fragments of our figures.

Near the centerpiece of the room, a monolithic desk plated in polished black mineral on the varnished wood, I lower to set her down gently. She steadies herself on the desk’s edge, her fingers trailing across its cold surface. "No laptop. No computer," she murmurs, her tone laced with both curiosity and disappointment.

I snort. "What, you think there’d just be a folder labeled ’My Grand Evil Plan’ on his desktop?"

She ignores my joke, her focus intent on the desk. Lowering herself gingerly into the leather office chair, she winces—a small, fleeting moment she tries to mask, but I catch it anyway. Her hands move swiftly, sifting through corporate portfolios and documents, the frown on her face deepening with each page.

I feign usefulness, wandering the room as I scan aimlessly, my eyes flicking over books, shelves, and empty surfaces. "There’s nothing here," I say, my voice breaking the silence. "Time to go."

"There has to be something," she counters, her determination cutting through her fatigue. "We just don’t know what it looks like yet."

I sigh, leaning casually against the desk as my gaze lands on a drawer. Unlike the others, it features an odd, ring-shaped indentation—a detail so out of place it practically screams for attention. My body stiffens, and I straighten.

Her head tilts slightly, noticing the shift in my posture. She twists in her chair, her brows knitting together as she follows my line of sight. "What is it?" she asks, her voice hushed with curiosity.

The moment she spots it; she knows what to do. Avara slides the wedding ring from her finger and presses it into the ring-shaped indentation. There’s a pause, a moment that seems to stretch endlessly, before the lock clicks open with a soft, satisfying thump. The drawer slides out smoothly, revealing its sole occupant: a leather-bound book.

She lifts it, the soft creak of the leather audible in the stillness. When she opens the cover, both of us gasp in unison. It isn’t a book at all—it’s an album. A collection of memories meticulously preserved, each page bursting with photographs that span between short years.

"Why does that woman look exactly like you?" I ask, my voice low with disbelief. "Could that be—?"

"My mother," she whispers, her tone laced with awe and unease. "When she was my age." Her fingers trace the outline of a young woman’s face, so hauntingly familiar it’s like she’s staring into a mirror.

"And the man with her... could that be Colton? When he was our age?" My breath escapes me in a sharp exhale. "This explains his secret obsession with you—it’s not about you. He’s fixated because you’re almost an exact replica of the woman he was clearly in love with. And now that conversation you overheard that night makes sense. Whoever Colton was talking to knew. Knew about his ulterior motives, about how you—not your father—were always at the center of his plan."

Avara blinks rapidly, her expression a storm of emotions, before snapping the album shut. The sound echoes like a gunshot in the quiet. "Part of his plan," she murmurs, sliding the book back into the drawer and shutting it with finality. "But it’s clear I’m not going to get the truth from him. Or my father."

Her resolve hardens as she rises, every movement purposeful despite the strain in her body. I follow, supporting her as we make our way back through the darkened study. At the end of the aisle, I crouch without a word, and she climbs onto my back once more. Her weight against me is light, yet the significance of what we’ve discovered feels crushing.