Marking

The kitchen's warm light spilled across marble counter tops as Killian and I stepped through the doorway. My heart stuttered when I saw them – two women standing by the island, their expressions frozen in a moment of recognition that felt both foreign and familiar.

The first woman, with silvery hair swept into an elegant twist, had my mother's face – only weathered by time and painted with decades of memories I'd never known. But her eyes, crystal blue like a summer sky, were different from the emerald ones I'd inherited from my grandfather. Those same green eyes I'd seen in my mirror every day, a constant reminder of my unknown heritage.

"Oh my God," she whispered, her hand trembling as it rose to cover her mouth.

The woman beside her, Killian's mother, looked at me with glistening eyes. "You look just like Mya," she managed to say, her voice catching on my mother's name like a delicate thread snagging on rough wood. The words hung in the air, heavy with years of loss and longing.

My grandmother – Anne, I reminded myself – approached me with careful steps, as if I were a deer that might bolt at any sudden movement. Her gaze fixed on the locket hanging around my neck, the very one I'd clutched countless nights while wondering about my family. A single tear carved a path down her lined cheek, carrying with it years of grief and hope.

"I thought you both were gone," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, "but my baby's baby is here." Her eyes searched mine, pleading. "Can I hug you, please?"

I nodded, unable to find my voice beneath the weight of this moment. Her arms enveloped me, and suddenly I was surrounded by the scent of vanilla and lavender – a grandmother's perfume I'd never known I'd missed. Her tears dampened my shoulder as she held me, years of loss transforming into joy in our embrace.

"Now, Anne, don't scare the poor girl off," my grandfather's deep voice rumbled good-naturedly as he gently pried her away. His eyes – my eyes – twinkled with mischief and love.

She turned to him, wiping her tears with one hand while the other swatted his arm. "Oh, shut it, James!" she scolded, but there was no heat in her words.

Laughter erupted around us, breaking the tension like sunshine through storm clouds. In that moment, surrounded by these strangers who were somehow my family, I felt something click into place – a missing piece of my heart I hadn't known was empty until it was finally, wonderfully full.

The dining room was bathed in warm afternoon light as we settled around the mahogany table, the gentle clink of china teacups providing a soothing backdrop to our gathering. I sat between Killian and his mother, feeling both nervous and strangely at peace as my newly discovered grandparents studied me with eyes full of wonder and pain.

"What were your favorite childhood games?" my grandmother asked softly, her silver hair catching the sunlight. My throat tightened as I struggled to recall any happy memories from those dark years. Killian's hand found mine under the table, his touch grounding me.

"Her childhood was difficult," Killian explained quietly, his voice carrying a protective edge that made my heart flutter. My grandmother's delicate hand reached across the table, her fingers trembling as they touched my arm. The compassion in her eyes made my chest ache.

"No one will harm you again," my grandfather's deep voice rumbled, his declaration more of a promise than a statement. Killian's answering growl of agreement vibrated through the room, making me feel safer than I had in years.

The tension broke as Killian's mother began sharing stories about my mother's youth, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Your mother once convinced Killian to help her paint all the neighbor's garden gnomes hot pink," she recalled, sending the room into fits of laughter. My sides ached as story after story painted a picture of the woman I'd lost.

"When did she die?" my grandmother asked gently, and the room grew still.

"Ten years ago today," I whispered. Her hand clutched mine, tears welling in her eyes as she apologized for not being there. I squeezed back, my thumb tracing soothing circles on her skin. "I understand," I assured her, and I did.

The mood lightened again as Killian's mother turned her storytelling to his childhood adventures. Killian groaned dramatically as she described his failed attempt at becoming a teenage magician, his face flushing crimson. Carter patted his back sympathetically, but couldn't hide his own amusement.

Without thinking, I leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Killian's warm cheek. The collective "aww" from around the table made my own face heat up, but I couldn't bring myself to regret it. In that moment, surrounded by family both old and new, I felt the pieces of my heart finally beginning to heal.

The afternoon sun continued its lazy descent, casting long shadows across the dining room as we sat together, weaving new memories from the threads of the past. For the first time in ten years, the anniversary of my mother's death felt less like an ending and more like a beginning.

The elevator doors slid shut, the metallic clang echoing the nervous flutter in my chest. The scent of aged brass and faintly ozone-tinged air – a familiar perfume of this building, of *us* – hit me hard. Before I could overthink it, my arms were around Killian's neck, pulling him down into a kiss, a kiss *I* initiated. His hands found my hips, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrapped around his waist, the worn, plush carpet of the elevator suddenly insignificant. Our tongues dueled, a desperate, delicious dance. He carried me, the gentle sway of the elevator giving way to the more decisive rhythm of his steps as he strode towards our room.

I broke away, gasping for air, the need for oxygen a sudden, jarring interruption to the wildfire in my blood. My lips trailed down his neck, a teasing path of kisses, finally latching onto his earlobe with a soft, sucking pressure. A low moan rumbled in his chest. He gently tugged my hair, his grip firm but tender.

"Are you sure?" His voice, husky, barely audible, brushed against my skin. The question hung in the air, a fragile thing amidst the raging storm brewing within me. A single word, a breathless "yes," was all it took.

My back met the plush mattress with a soft thud, the impact a release of tension. His mouth found mine again, a kiss that sent shivers down my spine, curling my toes. His lips traced the tender skin of my neck, his teeth marking a spot that blossomed with heat and throbbed with a delightful pain. A moan escaped my lips, unbidden. He ripped my shirt away, the soft cotton a whisper against my skin. In one swift, fluid movement, he shed my bra and shorts, the fabric a useless barrier to the burgeoning desire between us. His eyes, dark and smoldering, took in my body. "Amazing," he breathed, the word a caress. His lips found my neck again, his touch both brutal and reverent, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

The scent of sandalwood and something musky, uniquely *him*, hung heavy in the air. His weight settled between my legs, warm and solid. A breath, hot on my neck, trailed down, a feather-light touch that quickly intensified. His lips found my breast, a gentle nip, then a deeper pull on my nipple, a vacuum that stole my breath and arched my back.

A moan escaped, involuntary and raw. His finger, cool and slick, found its way inside. A gasp – a surprised, involuntary shudder as my hips bucked, meeting the invasion. The pressure, gentle at first, grew, circling, teasing, drawing another moan from the depths of me. It wasn't pain, not exactly; more a delicious, unfamiliar stretching.

Then another finger, joining the first, extending the pleasure, shattering into a thousand exquisite fireworks across my skin. Black spots danced behind my eyelids as my body convulsed, a wave of pure, unadulterated sensation washing over me. I felt weightless, adrift. His hardness pressed against my entrance, a promise of something more. The slow, deliberate entry burned, a sharp, searing pain that stole the air from my lungs.

He paused, giving me a moment to adjust, to acclimate to the fullness of him within me. His hand found the tender nub between my legs, stroking, circling, igniting a fire that made me wetter, needier. My head tossed back, a desperate cry caught in my throat as he moved, a friction that bordered on agony, and then… bliss. "Killian…" I whispered, the name a breathless plea. His lips found my neck, a different kind of heat. I felt his fangs, a sharp prick, a tiny sting that was instantly eclipsed by a wave of pure, overwhelming pleasure. My body shuddered, spasmed, then exploded in an orgasm so intense it stole my senses. My eyes rolled back, toes curled, a scream tearing through me, burying itself in his name. He licked the tiny wound, a seal on his mark, before reclaiming my lips in a deep, possessive kiss. Then, he collapsed beside me, spent, the tension leaving his body in a shuddering sigh, as the silence settled back into the room, thick with the lingering scent of passion.