Ownership of the heart

The twenty-sixth floor of Blackwood Global smelled like high-end toner, expensive espresso, and the quiet, vibrating anxiety of three hundred people trying not to get fired.

Aria Vance slammed her stapler down on a stack of reports with more force than necessary and groaned loudly earning little looks from her colleagues. "uuuuurrrggghhh if I have to look at one more spreadsheet, I am going to develop a permanent twitch in my left eye."

"Careful, Vance," Leo muttered from the next cubicle over, not looking up from his dual-monitor setup already used to her antics. "The 'Eye-Twitch' is a symptom of Blackwood Syndrome. Stage one is the twitch. Stage two is caffeine induced hallucinations. Stage three is when you start believing the CEO actually exists and isn't just an AI programmed to ruin our weekends. And step four is .... ummm.... uhhhh.... I don't know." he finished with a shrug. Aria groaned again, pushing a stray lock of dark hair out of her face.

"He exists, Leo. I saw his signature on the memo that cut our department's overtime budget. It's a very jagged, very aggressive 'K. Blackwood.' It looks like he signed it with a knife or a sharpening tool."

"I heard he doesn't sleep," Maya one of her close friend and colleague chimed in, rolling her chair over from the filing cabinets. She leaned in close, her eyes wide with the look of someone who spent too much time on office message boards. "I heard he lives in the penthouse of this building, and he has a private retinal scanner in his elevator so he never has to breathe the same air as us the 'commoners.'"

"Well, tell the Ghost of the Penthouse that us the 'commoners' are drowning ," Aria said, gathering a mountain of folders into her arms and stood up, straightening her clothes that go wrinkled from sitting. "I have to get these to the twentieth-floor archives before five, or my manager is going to have my head on a platter. And my phone just died. Again."

"Good luck, soldier," Leo said, saluting her with his right hand while his left hand held a cup of coffee she could have sworn he wasn't with earlier. "Don't get stuck in the vents and don't faint on us. Got it ? "

Aria didn't have time to laugh or reply him. She checked the wall clock and it said 4:48 PM. If she missed the archive deadline which was 5: 30 pm, the entire quarterly audit would be delayed, and the wrath of the "Icy King" would trickle down from the top floor until it hit her directly on the head.

She sprinted toward the bank of elevators, her heels clicking a frantic rhythm on the marble floor. Her arms were aching under the weight of the heavy folders, and a dull ache was beginning to throb behind her temples, which she knew was flu since she'd been trying to ignore since breakfast that morning.

"Come on, come on," she whispered, stabbing the 'Down' button repeatedly and frantically. To her surprise, the gold-plated doors of Elevator 4-the one usually reserved for executive consultants-chimed and slid open immediately.

It was empty. Or so she thought for a split second.

She dived inside just as the sensors began to close the doors. Barely entering, She stumbled, her folders nearly flying out of her grip, and she let out a loud, ungraceful huff of air. In annoyance, tiredness, irritation and the many nameless emotions she was feeling.

"Oh, thank god," she breathed, leaning her back against the cool mirrored wall of the elevator. "I made it."

She reached out to press the button for the twentieth floor, but her hand froze in mid-air. The hairs on her body standing in awareness.

She wasn't alone.

Tucked into the far corner of the spacious car was a man. He was tall-terrifyingly and majestically so-wearing a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her entire college tuition and house rent for a year joined together. His hands were folded in front of him, and his face was carved from the kind of cold, flawless granite you only found in ancient cathedrals.

But it was his eyes that stopped her heart. They were a piercing, icy blue, framed by dark, long, very long lashes, and they were fixed on her with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.

He didn't move. He didn't blink. He just stared at her with his head tilted slightly as if she were a strange, messy creature that had accidentally invaded his private sanctuary.

Aria felt a blush creep up her neck to her face. As she turned a little bit red. She looked down at her messy hair reflected in the gold trim, then back at the man who looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine for "Beautiful Men Who Could Kill You."

Who looked like he should be on runways.

"Hi," she squeaked shyly, her voice cracking. "Sorry. I'm just... going to twenty." The man didn't respond. And she could feel her cheeks and neck turning bright red in embarrassment. His jaw tightened, a small muscle leaping in his cheek, but his lips remained a firm, silent line. The air in the elevator suddenly felt twice as thick, and Aria's feverish head gave a sharp, painful spike reminding her of it's presence.

Great, she thought, clutching her folders tighter. I'm stuck in a box with a gorgeous statue who hates my guts and my flu is just about to get worse. This Monday couldn't get any better. ( if you didn't get it, she was being sarcastic. This is one of her worst Monday's ever).

Then, the elevator jolted.

A hideous, grinding sound of metal-on-metal screeched from above them. The floor beneath Aria's feet shuddered violently, throwing her forward. She flew up like an animation trying to jump to it's death.

And then, the lights went out.

Killian's pov

Killian Blackwood lived his life in the quiet spaces between heartbeats.

As the Alpha King of the Great North, noise was an irritant-a distraction from the sensory overload that came with being a werewolf in a concrete jungle. He could hear the hum of the city's power grid, the frantic pulse of the thousands of employees in the floors below him, and the rhythmic clicking of keyboards that sounded like a million tiny insects. To survive the sensory barrage, he had built a fortress of ice around himself. He was the "Silent King," the man who ruled a trillion-dollar empire and a supernatural nation with nothing more than a lethal stare and a sharp nod.

"The private lift is offline, Killian," Jax said, checking his tablet as they stood in the executive lobby. Jax was the only person who dared use his first name, mostly because they had shared a nursery as pups and because Jax was the only one who knew that Killian's "icy" silence was often just a mask for profound social boredom. "Technical glitch on the 50th floor. We'll have to take the public express. I've already sent the bypass code. I'll clear the car for you."

"I don't want a crowd, Jax," Killian rumbled. His voice was deep, a tectonic vibration that seemed to make the very floor tiles hum.

"I know, I know. 'Crowds are loud, humans smell like fast food and desperation.' I've got it covered," Jax teased, tapping the 'Call' button. "I'll pass the word through security. No one gets on until you're at the ground floor. You'll have four minutes of blissful, expensive silence."

Killian stepped into Elevator 4. The doors began to slide shut, promising him the isolation he craved. He adjusted his cufflinks, his mind already drifting to the Pack Council meeting scheduled for that evening. He needed to be sharp. He needed to be the King.

But then, the sensor tripped.

A blur of movement, a frantic gasp, and the scent-oh god, the scent-hit him before he even saw her.

A woman practically tumbled into the elevator, a chaotic whirlwind of paper, messy hair, and an aroma that bypassed Killian's brain and went straight to his soul. It was starlight. It was rain on hot pavement. It was the smell of a home he had never actually visited.

Killian froze. His inner wolf, a massive, obsidian-furred beast that usually slept in the back of his mind, suddenly stood up and let out a howl so loud Killian was certain the glass mirrors would shatter.

MATE.

The word echoed through his bones, paralyzing him. He retreated into the corner, his body going rigid as he stared at the intruder. She was small-well, most humans were small compared to his six-foot-four frame-but she looked like she was carrying the weight of the entire world in her arms. Her hair was falling out of its clip, and her face was flushed a deep, rosy pink.

"Hi," she squeaked. Her voice was like a bell, clear and sweet, despite the obvious panic in her eyes. "Sorry. I'm just... going to twenty."

Killian couldn't speak. His throat had turned to lead. If he opened his mouth, he wasn't sure if he would say "Hello" or let out a predatory growl. He was the King of the North, a man who had faced down rival Alphas and hostile boardrooms without blinking, and yet, he was currently being held hostage by a girl in a slightly wrinkled blazer who was clutching a stack of folders like they were a life raft.

He watched her reach for the buttons. He saw the way her hand trembled. His wolf whined, a pathetic, high-pitched sound that made Killian's jaw tighten. She's sick, the beast whispered. She's hurting. Protect her.

Killian's eyes narrowed as he scanned her. He didn't need a thermometer to know she was running a fever. He could smell the slight change in her chemistry-the heat rising off her skin, the way her heart was thumping a ragged, exhausted rhythm against her ribs.

He wanted to reach out. He wanted to tuck that loose strand of hair behind her ear and tell her to put the folders down. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to his private suite and call the best doctors in the world.

Instead, he did what he always did. He stood there like a statue, staring at her with an intensity that he knew was terrifying. He saw the blush deepen on her neck. He saw her look away, her shoulders hunching as if she were trying to make herself smaller.

Great job, Killian, he thought bitterly. You've been in the same room as your mate for thirty seconds and she already thinks you're a serial killer.

He thought about his assistant. Jax. I'm going to kill Jax. He said the elevator was clear. He said no one would be here. But even as the thought passed, a darker, more selfish part of him was glad. If Jax hadn't messed up, Killian would still be alone. He wouldn't be breathing in the scent of her.

Suddenly, the world turned violent.

A horrific, metallic thud shook the elevator, followed by a screeching sound that set Killian's sensitive ears on fire. The cables groaned, a sound of heavy steel snapping under too much tension. The car dropped six inches, then jerked to a violent halt that threw the woman off balance.

"Oh!" she cried out, her folders slipping from her arms.

Killian didn't think. He didn't calculate. His body moved on instinct-the blurred speed of a predator. He caught her before her knees hit the floor, his large hands wrapping around her waist to steady her.

She felt like fire in his arms. The heat of her fever soaked through his suit jacket, and for a second, the world narrowed down to the sensation of her small frame pressed against his chest.Then, the power died.

The emergency lights flickered once, twice, and then vanished, plunging them into a thick, suffocating darkness.

"Is... is everyone okay?" her voice came from the dark, small and trembling. She was still in his arms, her hands clutched against his chest. He could feel her fingers bunching the fabric of his expensive shirt.

Killian's heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He should let her go. He should step back and maintain his "icy" professional distance. But in the dark, with the scent of starlight filling his lungs and her heart beating against his, the King found himself unable to move.

"Stay still," he managed to rasp out. It was the first time he had spoken, and his voice sounded like dry leaves crushing together-deep, rough, and dangerously close to her ear.

"I... I think the elevator broke," she whispered. He could feel her breath on his neck. It was hot. Too hot. "I'm Aria. I work in... I work on the twenty-sixth floor. I'm sorry I fell on you. I think I'm just a little dizzy."

Killian didn't answer. He couldn't. He was too busy trying to keep his wolf from taking over. The beast wanted to nuzzle into her neck, to scent-mark her, to claim her right there in the dark between the twentieth and twenty-first floors.

"Are you still there?" she asked, her voice hitching. "It's really dark. I can't see anything."

"I'm here," he said, his hands tightening slightly on her waist. He felt her relax just a fraction at the sound of his voice.He realized then that they were going to be here for a while. The sensors on the building's main frame would have alerted security, but a mechanical failure of this magnitude would take hours to fix safely.

Hours.

He was trapped in a ten-by-ten box with his mate, a woman who didn't know he was her boss, didn't know he was a king, and currently thought he was just a very quiet, very warm stranger in the dark.

"Sit," he commanded, his voice softening. He didn't want her standing if she was dizzy.

"What?"

"The floor," he said. He guided her down, his hands never leaving her shoulders until she was safely seated against the back wall. He sank down next to her, his massive frame taking up most of the space"My phone is dead," she muttered, and he could hear the sound of her patting her pockets. "And it's so cold in here. Why is it getting so cold?"

It was the building's climate control. Without power, the industrial AC was venting the last of the chilled air into the shaft. For a normal person, it was a nuisance. For someone with a rising fever, it was dangerous.

Killian looked at her through the darkness. To her, it was pitch black. To his wolf-vision, he could see her perfectly. He could see the way she was shivering, the way her eyes were fluttering shut.

He reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before he pulled her toward him.

"What are you-"

"You're shivering," he said, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "Lean on me. I'm warm."It was the understatement of the century. His body temperature was a steady 103 degrees. To her, he must have felt like a furnace.

She didn't fight him. She was too tired, too sick, and the darkness was too heavy. She let her head fall onto his shoulder, a small sigh escaping her lips.

"You're really warm," she murmured, her voice trailing off into a daze. "Like a big... heater."

Killian leaned his head back against the mirror, staring into the dark. He could hear Jax's voice in his head, teasing him about his silence. He could hear the Pack Elders talking about duty and bloodlines.

But as the girl on his shoulder shifted, her hand instinctively tucking into the crook of his arm for warmth, the Trillionaire King realized that for the first time in his life, he didn't want to be anywhere else.He was the King of the North, but in this dark, broken elevator, he was just a man holding the only thing that mattered.

"Sleep, Aria," he whispered into the silence, the words a promise she wouldn't remember. "I've got you."

The silence of the elevator had changed over the four hours they had been trapped. It was no longer the silence of two strangers; it was the heavy, rhythmic sound of a shared struggle.

Aria's fever had peaked somewhere around the three-hour mark. In her delirium, she had stopped being afraid of the "Icy Man" next to her. She had tucked her freezing hands into the warmth of his armpits and rested her hot forehead against the cool silk of his tie.

Killian sat like a tombstone, his heart thundering so loudly he was sure she could hear it. Every time she whimpered in her sleep, his inner wolf let out a low, mourning sound. She's fading, the beast snarled. Save her.

"I hate the reports..." Aria mumbled, her voice thick and raspy. "Tell Mr. Blackwood... he can take his spreadsheets... and shove them..."Killian let out a breath that was almost a laugh-a dry, rough sound in the dark. "I'll be sure to tell him, Aria."

"He's a robot," she sighed, snuggling closer to his chest. "I bet he... he runs on batteries. Cold ones."

"He's not a robot," Killian whispered, his hand finally finding the courage to rest on the top of her head. He smoothed her messy hair, his touch infinitely gentle. "He's just... lost. He forgot how to be a person."

Suddenly, a loud clanging sound echoed from above. The car groaned.

"Aria? Aria, someone's here," Killian said, his voice instantly snapping back to a position of authority.

The ceiling of the elevator was pried open, and a beam of blinding white light cut through the darkness like a blade. Killian's wolf-senses recoiled at the sudden brightness.

"Sir! Mr. Blackwood? Are you okay?" It was Jax's voice, sounding frantic.

Killian looked down at Aria. She was blinking, her eyes glazed with fever, staring up at the light. This was it. The bubble was about to burst. If the world saw the King holding a junior manager, her life would never be the same. The Pack Elders would hunt her. The media would ruin her.

He had to protect her.

As the first paramedic lowered himself into the car, Killian gently-but firmly-slid Aria off his lap and moved to the opposite corner of the elevator. By the time the paramedic hit the floor, Killian was standing, his suit jacket straightened, his face once again a mask of frozen granite."The woman," Killian commanded, his voice a whip-crack. "She has a severe fever. Take her first."

"But sir, you're the priority-"

"I said take her," Killian growled, a hint of his Alpha power leaking into his tone. The paramedic flinched and immediately turned to Aria.

Aria looked up, her vision swimming. She saw a man in a dark suit standing far away from her, his back turned, his silhouette sharp against the light. He looked so cold. So distant. Was that the man who had held her? The man who had felt like a furnace in the dark?

No, she thought as the paramedics lifted her onto a stretcher. I must have dreamed the warmth.

The City General Hospital - Two Hours Later

Aria woke up to the sound of someone crying, but it didn't sound like "sad" crying. It sounded like "I'm-annoyed-and-also-hungry" crying.

"If she's dead, I'm going to kill her," a voice sobbed. "Who's going to help me with the audit? And who's going to tell me when my outfit is too much?"

"Maya, shut up, she's not dead. She's just sleeping off a fever and 'Elevator Trauma,'" another voice-Leo-replied. "And your outfit is always too much. You're wearing sequins to a hospital."

Aria cracked one eye open. The room was sterile, bright, and smelled of lemon bleach. Maya was sitting in a chair, holding a bag of Cheetos like a rosary, her eyes puffy. Leo was leaning against the wall, looking at his phone but with his leg tapping nervously."I'm... I'm alive," Aria croaked.

"Aria!" Maya shrieked, dropping the Cheetos. She lunged forward, hugging Aria so hard the heart monitor started beeping. "You absolute idiot! Why would you get in an elevator during a power surge?"

"It wasn't a power surge, it was a mechanical failure," Leo corrected, though he looked visibly relieved. "The whole building is talking about it. Some big-shot executive was stuck in there with you. Do you know who it was?"

Aria rubbed her temples, the memory of the "Icy Man" flicking through her mind. "I don't know. Some guy. He was... really quiet. He barely said two words to me."

"Typical," Leo snorted. "Probably some VIP who was worried your 'commoner' germs would get on his Armani. Listen, we're going to go find the cafeteria, Maya hasn't eaten since the 'tragedy' began, and she's starting to look at my arm like it's a burrito."

"I am not!" Maya protested, though she followed him out. "We'll be back in ten minutes. Don't die!"

The door clicked shut, leaving Aria in silence. She leaned back against the pillows, her mind wandering back to the dark. Why did she feel so empty now? Why did the hospital blankets feel so cold compared to-

The door opened again.

Aria expected to see Maya back for her Cheetos, but the person who walked in was not her friend.

It was him.

He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing thick, powerful forearms. He looked dangerous. He looked out of place in a hospital.

"You," Aria whispered, her heart doing a strange little flip-flop. "The guy from the elevator."

Killian stayed by the door, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked at her with that same intense stare, but there was something else there now-a flicker of something that looked almost like... guilt?

"How are you feeling?" he asked. His voice was the same deep rumble from the dark.

"Like I got hit by a bus and then shoved into a refrigerator," Aria said, trying to be brave. "But I'll survive. Long enough to sue the life out of this company, anyway."

Killian's eyebrow twitched. "Sue? On what grounds?"

"Negligence! Emotional trauma! Being stuck in a box with a guy who won't even tell me his name!" Aria started to get fired up, her fever-brain taking over. "I'm going to milk the CEO for every billion he has. I heard he's a trillionaire. I'm going to make him buy me a private island just so I never have to take an elevator again."

Killian took a slow step into the room. A strange, small quirk appeared at the corner of his mouth. "Every billion? That's a very ambitious lawsuit."

"I'll have the best lawyers," Aria bluffed, crossing her arms. "I'll take his car. I'll take his penthouse. I'll make him work in the archives for a week just to see how it feels!"

"And what," Killian asked, his voice dropping an octave as he reached the foot of her bed, "do you think a man like K. Blackwood would do when you come for his billions?"Aria paused, looking at the man's intense blue eyes. "I don't know. He's a robot, right? He'll probably just send a lawyer-bot to pay me off. I'm just exaggerating, anyway. I'd probably settle for like... a hundred thousand. And a dental plan. My wisdom teeth are coming in and the company insurance is garbage."

Killian looked at her for a long, silent moment. The King of the North, a man who controlled the wealth of nations, found himself staring at a girl who just wanted her wisdom teeth fixed.

"A hundred thousand," he repeated quietly. "And a dental plan."

"Yeah," Aria said, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. "That would be enough. Why? Are you his lawyer? Are you here to talk me down to fifty thousand?"

"No," Killian said, his eyes softening just enough for her to see the gold in them. "I'm not his lawyer."

I'm the man you're going to sue, he thought. And I'd give you every billion I own just to hear you say my name.