My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 347

Chapter 347: Chapter 347 PAWN OR PARTICIPANT

KIERAN’S POV

I stepped fully into the suite, but I didn’t move toward the bed.

I clamped down on the storm of emotions rising—outrage, indignation, confusion—letting years of discipline and control take over as my gaze swept the room in one controlled pass.

The curtains were shut. Lamps glowed deliberately dim. The air pulsed with the cloying sweetness of the aphrodisiac that coated my throat. It was so potent I had to deliberately slow my breathing to keep it from seeping deeper into my bloodstream.

And then I looked at her.

Celeste lay half-curled on the mattress, silk twisted around her legs. One strap had fallen loose from her shoulder, revealing the top curve of her breasts.

Her breathing was uneven and shallow, and her eyes were unfocused, staring at the ceiling.

She hadn’t noticed me. I wasn’t sure she even knew where she was.

I crossed to the window first and pulled the curtain aside, cracking it open to let the night air cut through the artificial sweetness. I flipped every switch within reach, lamps and overhead lights igniting one after another until the suite was washed in a stark, unforgiving brightness that made my eyes sting.

Then I reached out to Gavin through the mind-link.

‘Get Doctor Hale to room 417. Now.’

I heard the exasperation in his reply. ‘What’s going on?’

‘And lock this floor down,’ I said instead of answering. ‘No one enters. No one leaves. And I want Gunnar in a room under lock and key.’

A beat.

‘Yes, Alpha.’

Celeste stirred then, mumbling an unintelligible string of words.

I let out a shaky breath and shifted my focus back to the bed.

“Fucking hell,” I hissed.

What the hell was happening? How had Celeste gone from sunbathing on the beach in the Maldives to...this?

She stirred again, and her head tilted, her unfocused gaze falling on me.

“K-kieran?” she breathed, voice cracked and desperate, as if I were a lifeline instead of the worst possible person to find her like this.

I took a hesitant step forward and stopped, the scent of the aphrodisiac stronger the closer I got to her. “Celeste, what the hell is this?”

She tried to push herself upright.

Her arms trembled violently as she braced against the mattress, silk slipping further down her shoulder.

For a second, she looked almost lucid—determined, even—as if she were trying to prove she wasn’t helpless.

“I—I can—” she muttered.

Her legs swung off the side of the bed.

“Stay where you are,” I said, every instinct in me on high alert.

Whatever the fuck this was had been cleverly orchestrated, and I wasn’t sure yet what role Celeste was playing—pawn or participant.

She ignored me and tried to stand.

Her knees buckled immediately, body swaying as she lost her balance. For a moment, I watched the inevitable collapse unfold, needing to know whether this was a performance.

It wasn’t.

Her eyes rolled back, and she would have crashed face-first if I hadn’t moved.

I crossed the distance in two strides and caught her just as she pitched forward, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other bracing her shoulders. Her full weight sagged against me, boneless and overheated.

Her pulse hammered wildly beneath my fingers.

“Kieran,” she breathed again, clutching weakly at my shirt. Not seductive. Not strategic. Just desperate.

I cursed and shifted my grip to keep her upright, muscles rigid with caution.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered, fingers digging into the fabric. “Please—don’t—”

"I’m not leaving," I said, my voice clipped.

I guided her back onto the bed, keeping distance where I could, but she was shaking too violently to sit upright on her own.

Every time I tried to ease her down against the pillows, she clung tighter.

Her nails scraped my collarbone as she pulled herself up against my chest.

“Kieran,” she breathed again, and there was no seduction in it. Only need. Panic. Fear.

I exhaled and repositioned, sitting against the headboard to prop her upright while keeping as much space between our bodies as physically possible.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I couldn’t free a hand without destabilizing Celeste’s grip.

The door opened sharply a minute later, and Dr. Hale rushed in, medical case in hand. He stopped short when he took in the room.

“Goddess,” he muttered.

“Fix this,” I ordered.

He nodded and moved quickly, pulling a syringe from his case while assessing Celeste’s pupils and pulse.

“How much exposure?” he asked.

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