Chapter 357: Chapter 357: let me come with you
"I Never Said where I was going to right? I never said it was somewhere dangerous, so why do you look so serious," Isabella said, her voice softening as she rested her head on Kian’s chest again, no longer looking up at him.
She tucked herself in like she belonged there, cheek against warm fur, ear pressed to the slow drum of his heartbeat. His scent—sun-warmed hide, clean smoke, that quiet wild note that was only him—wrapped around her. The window to their left threw a pale stripe of light across the floor. The door sat opposite, a dark plank with a stubborn handle, like a guard watching them breathe.
Kian stared down at her. From above, he saw the line of her lashes, the tiny crease at the tail of her brow when she pretended not to worry, the way her mouth tilted when she was about to say something reckless and make it sound reasonable.
Complicated, that was Isabella. A girl of locked boxes. She kept a strong face like armor, but he could feel the small places where it thinned. Maybe that was the secret she guarded most: not danger, not courage, but the terror of leaning on someone and finding peace there.
He smoothed a hand over her hair, once. "At least let me have some men come with you," he pressed, voice even. "And if you don’t want that, let me come with you."
Normally, he would have let it go. He didn’t care for much. He didn’t care for many. Mother, sister—maybe a few others if the day was kind. Even then, he never pushed this hard. The effort felt strange in his chest, like a door he had closed long ago had swung open by itself.
She had done that. Isabella. She unlocked places that should have stayed sealed. She woke instincts he thought were dead and buried. He did not like the feeling. He also didn’t want it to stop.
To Isabella, he was just being Kian. To him, it was a lot more than that.
"I’ll be fine, Kian," she said, and a tired smile broke through. It was stubborn, a little crooked, but there. She nudged her forehead against him, almost a nuzzle, like a cat pretending not to beg. Then both of them heard it—the soft padding sound in the hall, familiar as trouble.
Isabella lifted her head a fraction. "The door is locked," she whispered, eyes bright with private mischief. Soooo—
Scrape.
They both looked at the door.
Scrape-scrape.
"Oh no," Isabella breathed, but she was smiling.
Another scrape, followed by a tiny huff. Then the rapid thump of tiny feet and a heavier bump like a small body throwing itself at dignity.
Apparently, Glimora was on the other side, hopping, reaching, trying very hard to grab the handle with those short arms. She kept missing by a finger-length, which made the wood complain in little scratches.
Kian’s chest rose under Isabella’s cheek as he held in a laugh. He angled his head toward the door. "Do you think we should help her?" he asked, dead serious on the face, but his eyes had gone soft at the corners.
He was definitely talking to Isabella, but he pitched it just loud enough for the beast outside to hear, which was rude and also very on-brand for him.
From the other side came a squeak so confident it had to be a grin.
Isabella turned to look at him, mouth already curved. "Nope," she said, shaking her head once, decisive. "She’ll do it. I know she will."
Kian smiled. The expression didn’t move far, but it moved enough. A hint of respect lit his eyes, a small nod to the little tyrant currently battling a piece of iron with her whole heart.
To be fair, it was a good lesson. Glimora had been the one to close the door with dramatic flair earlier. She could open it herself.
Isabella wasn’t planning to abandon her baby beast to struggle forever. She just wanted to watch her try. If it turned hard, she’d move. For now? Exercise. Problem-solving. Pride. Let the little queen earn her entrance.
They watched with matching amusement, bodies still pressed together, heads tilted the same way like they were two halves of one gossip. Scrape. Thump. Scrape. A tiny growl. Silence. Then—
Click.
The handle turned.
"Come on then," Isabella whispered, eyes shining.
A grunt. A push. The door opened a finger-width, then two. Glimora wedged her head in, snorted like a warrior at a gate, and shoved. Isabella bit her lower lip to smother a giggle at how serious she looked, tiny hands braced, back legs digging for traction, fluff trembling with effort.
The smart thing would have been to slip through the small gap. She was small. The gap was enough.
Glimora did not do the smart thing.
She kept pushing. Slowly. Painfully. All the way. Hinges sighed. The door swung open to the end until it tapped the wall, a full victory, no shortcuts. The beast stepped back, lifted her chin at the door like she had slain a god, and blew out a proud breath.
Isabella’s smile stiffened. She blinked at the fully open door. Then she blinked at Glimora. Her expression slid into a perfect judge-face: a little judgmental, a lot confused, a quiet why are you like this. She had expected competence. She had not expected... thoroughness.
Kian watched, and in that small moment he understood something new and very funny. Glimora was strange. Just like Isabella. Same brand. Same factory. No difference. He cut a glance sideways at Isabella’s stunned look, at the way her mouth parted like she couldn’t believe what she’d seen, and shook his head. There really was no difference.
Isabella’s gaze moved from the door to the little beast and back again, as if measuring the chaos levels side by side. She drew in a slow breath and let it out through her nose like a tired teacher who loved her worst student the most.
On the threshold, Glimora finally turned—chest puffed, tail flicking, expectant—only to freeze when she actually noticed the extra person in the room. Kian.
Her ears slid half back. The huff caught in her throat. Her eyes widened a tiny bit, then narrowed again, as if she was trying to remember whether this giant, dangerous, warm object belonged to enemy or furniture that hugs Isabella. She chose both for safety. Her expression went funny, trying to hold those two thoughts at once: excitement at seeing her mama and alarm at the very large lion behind her mama, who had arms and opinions.
Isabella felt Kian’s chest shake with silent laughter behind her. "Don’t," she warned, elbowing him gently without looking.
He said nothing, which in Kian meant: I am absolutely laughing.
Isabella sat up a little more, still in his lap but turned enough that she could see Glimora straight on. She reached out a hand, palm up, inviting the beast in. The light from the window fell across the floor between them like a bright ribbon, and Glimora stood in the shadow of the door, weighing the ribbon like it was a river she might have to swim.
The room held warmth and quiet. A strand of Kian’s hair tickled Isabella’s temple. She brushed it away and felt his breath on the top of her head. His arms stayed around her, loose, ready to tighten if she tried to stand, which was bold of him. Her spine pressed into him as if to say, I’m not running yet. Relax.