yellow flicker beat
When Kiara had gone off to Russia Kellan had never expected her to come back in any shape other than perfectly working condition. He had never expected her to come back with a stab wound.
Stepping out of the car, he nudged his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, grabbing the brown paper bag from the passenger seat. He closed the door, pocketed his keys and moved up the winding stone path to the house.
It was a pretty little cottage, two bedrooms and one bath. It wasn't particularly big, but Kellan didn't think he needed big. Kiara wasn't likely to toss herself across the room in her en pointe shoes, so he wasn't worried. It was nice and warm, inviting and homey, and it would serve its function. Getting Kiara healed and walking without pain was all Kellan cared about.
He unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping in. “Kiara?” he called, tucking the bag under his arm, nudging the door shut with his hell and moving through to the kitchen, glancing out the window.
The tide was out, sun glinting and reflecting off the rocky surface. Maybe Kiara would want to go out tomorrow or the day after. It was supposed to storm sometime within the next week, and Kellan figured she would want to soak up as much sunshine as possible.
While Kellan had been stabbed before, it had never required immediate medical attention. Flesh wounds that could be easily taken care of in his dingy bathroom, and nothing like the wound on Kiara he checked over every morning and night, carefully searching out for any signs of infection and applying fresh gauze. He may have never been so significantly wounded, but nice things tended to make recovery easier. It was probably why there was a fresh vase of colourful flowers in each room of the house.