Catching Pretty (Lovely Broken Doll #2)

1. The Warden

THE WARDEN

A s I waited for the automatic wrought-iron gates to open, I stared at Ava still sleeping in my passenger seat, her face soft and peaceful in the pale moonlight filtering through the window.

She had no idea what was waiting for her.

For a moment, I let myself look at her, really look—the way her lashes brushed her cheeks, the way her lips parted slightly as she breathed in slow, steady rhythms.

The tension she always carried, the fire, the sharpness, had melted away. She looked… delicate. Almost fragile.

My chest tightened, a familiar ache rising inside me, no matter how hard I tried to keep my emotions under control.

She was so damn beautiful, more so in sleep, when her walls were down and all I could see was the girl I had loved for years. The girl who had haunted my every thought, my every breath, my every fucking move.

I wanted to reach out, to touch the softness of her cheek, to brush a lock of hair away from her face, but I clenched the wheel tighter, knuckles white as I fought against the pull of it.

I did lean over to her, though.

“ Is leatsa thú ,” I whispered to her in Irish.

You are mine .

Ava didn’t respond. She didn’t wake. The drug I’d injected her with still held her under.

But not for long.

I caught a whiff of her familiar scent, which unlocked a part of me I’d long since repressed.

Jasmine.

I gave in, the need overtaking me, and my hands slipped from the wheel. I buried my nose in her hair and inhaled deeply.

Her scent threatened to undo me and my breath caught in my throat.

The moment was finally here.

She was here . With me . With no way of escaping.

After all those years when I’d survived only by imagining this moment—the moment when she was mine .

The gates clanged into their final resting place, signaling for me to enter the grounds.

I took a moment to brush the hair from her cheek, my fingers lingering on her pale slender neck as the spot where her steady pulse beat, before I composed myself and straightened.

We’re here, my hummingbird.

The gravel crunched beneath the tires as I drove down the long, winding driveway toward Halla an Draighean, Blackthorn Hall in Irish.

The looming silhouette of the gothic mansion rose up ahead, dark and imposing against the gray sky, its jagged spires and towering chimneys cutting through the horizon like sharp teeth.

The ivy that clung to the stone walls was thick, as if trying to swallow up the cursed place from the world, and the tall blackthorn trees lined the driveway, their gnarled branches clawing toward the sky.

The medieval arched windows stared down at me like dark, empty eyes, and the sprawling structure seemed both beautiful and haunting at the same time.

I repressed a shiver. To be back here…

I should’ve felt relieved. This was home, after all. But that sense of home came with too many jagged edges. Too much pain woven into the walls.

The windows were dark, like hollow eyes that followed me, watching, always watching.

Blackthorn Hall wasn’t just a building—it was a force, alive with the echoes of laughter and the weight of sorrow.

The darkness of it wrapped around my chest, squeezing tighter the closer I got and I feared that she wouldn’t let me leave this time.

Even the air inside seemed heavier as I drove the car into the garage, a sense of dread mixed with familiarity as the door rattled down, shutting behind me, trapping me in.

Trapping us inside.

At least, this time, I wasn’t alone.

In the dim light I could see the purple circles under her eyes, the smears of mud and blood over her cheeks, the tattered remains of her torn clothes.

I gritted my teeth against the anger that surged inside me. For a few moments, I let myself imagine the bloody painful vengeance I’d unleashed upon the people who’d hurt her. But only a few moments.

That was all the indulgence I would allow myself.

Because what we were here to do was more important than revenge.

“Welcome home, hummingbird,” I whispered against her jasmine hair.

I carefully gathered Ava into my arms. She felt no different held against my chest than she had all those years ago. As I carried her inside, it was tempting to believe that no time had passed at all.

I carried her to her dark wood paneled bedroom and laid her down on the pale-pink silk duvet before lighting a fire in the stone fireplace.

Even though it was late spring, the nights in the remote west of Ireland were still cool, and this cavernous old place was full of ghosts and drafts.

The flames danced on her icy skin as I stood there, watching her sleep.

The room felt impossibly still.

For years, I’d dreamed of her every night, planned every step, every detail of this exact moment. But nothing, not even the wildest reaches of my imagination, could have prepared me for the reality of seeing her here.

Real. Alive.

Right in front of me, the girl who had haunted my dreams. And now… here she was, within reach, her chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath.

It took everything in me not to crumble under the weight of it—the overwhelming awe, the disbelief, the longing that had clawed at me for years .

It made my chest ache.

I wanted to touch her, to make sure she was real and not just another ghost my mind had conjured. But I didn’t.

I turned away from her hypnotic allure to enter the en suite bathroom.

I ran a bath and gathered along the edge of the giant antique claw-foot tub all the soaps and liquids I would require.

I turned on her bath time playlist, a mix of classical piano music and Einaudi.

The white noise of the stream of water helped to focus my mind. What was to come next would be difficult, the first true test of what I was capable of. Or not.

I tested the temperature of the bath and lingered just a little too long on whether it was a little too hot, a little too cold.

The truth was I feared myself, feared how easily I might give in.

With controlled steps, I returned to the bedroom.

The warmth from the fire had already brought some color back to Ava’s cheeks, though her skin was still too cold.

My heart rate accelerated as I reached for her hem and tugged off her top.

Her small pink nipples peaked from the lingering chill of the rain and they shifted on the pale-white swell of her breasts like cherries atop fresh cream.

I longed to taste them despite the muddy streaks marring her beautiful chest, but I chastised myself.

Not the time. Not now.

I slipped off her heels and let them fall with a thud to the carpet beneath the bed. I rolled her torn stockings down the long length of her shapely legs, careful not to scratch her perfect skin.

I couldn’t figure out how to undo her pleated skirt, so I ripped it off her.

Ava lay before me, naked except for simple white cotton panties with the girlish trim of dainty lace.

I dug my fingernails into my palms because the need to claim her right then and there was threatening to overwhelm me.

I ran my fingers down her neck and over her breasts, the blood droplets now dried so they flaked off.

She was extraordinarily beautiful, even with leaves in her hair and a monster’s blood splattered on her skin.

Stay strong.

My fingers trembled as I ran my palm over her stomach and along the edge of her panties.

I pulled them down over the soft curve of her hips, pushing her knees to her chest so I could get it over the supple globes of her ass.

My dick surged with blood.

It would be so easy, so fucking easy to take her, claim her right now.

Control yourself!

I forced myself to step back, to lower her legs back to the mattress.

But the rebellious part of me, the part that screamed to lose control, drew her panties up to my nose.

Fuck. Musky and sweet.

My cock surged with blood and my cells screamed for me to just fucking take her .

For so many years I’d deadened myself, burning off all my emotions and nerves so I didn’t have to feel, but I was coming alive again.

Because of her.

I clamped my teeth around her panties like it was a leather bit as I steadied my breath.

In. Out.

I drew the familiar lines against my thigh, a grounding technique that Eamon taught me. I drew them over and over until the fire in my blood retracted, until my breath steadied and I was back in control.

I tucked her panties into my pocket. For later.

They would be my reward for remaining in control.

Later.

I lifted her into my arms and held her to my chest, her bare heat searing into my body.

The proximity of her naked body was a true test of my control.

If I wanted, I could touch her. Taste her. Take her. Unleash every single fantasy I’d had of her over the long years.

The thought made my knees weak as I carried her into the bathroom and climbed with her into the tub, my shoes and clothes still on.

Patience.

I reclined against the side of the tub and positioned Ava between my legs, her back against my chest. Making sure her mouth and nose stayed above the surface of the warm water, I began to bathe her.

I lifted one arm and then the other to wipe them clean with a sudsy sponge, the water droplets tinkling against the bathwater sounding playful.

Cold, murderous anger swelled in my chest as I discovered the bruises beneath the dirt. As I cleaned the raw skin around her wrists.

I painstakingly cleaned each inch of her skin and wished I’d had more time to make that bastard pay for hurting her. I imagined all the different ways I could have tortured him, drawn out his suffering, made him beg for death.

For a while, these thoughts served to keep me distracted. But there was only so much of Ava’s body to clean before I had nothing left but the most tempting parts.

When I shifted the sponge over her breast and then the other, there was no thinking of Cormac, of blood and pain and vengeance.

My cock swelled beneath the surface, straining between Ava’s ass cheeks. I wondered why I even ran a bath in the first place. I could have licked every inch of her, lapped at her flesh till she glistened with me.

Arousal struck me so hard that I had to pause with the sponge against Ava’s belly before dipping it further to clean between her legs.

Closing my eyes was no good because all I could see was me dragging her from the tub and fucking her against the flooded bathroom tiles, her perfect breasts bouncing with streaks of bubbles still on them.

I forced my eyes to stay open and punished myself with the sight of Ava’s beautiful body beneath the water in front of me.

I had to remain in control.

This was my test .

My test of worth.

With slow, cautious movements, I allowed myself to stroke the sponge along Ava’s pussy.

Everything inside of me yearned to feel her velvety lips with my own fingers, but I kept the sponge between her and me.

I didn’t dare trust myself otherwise, not even with a brush of my pinky against the soft, dark hair over her pretty little pussy.

My cock screamed in protest, but I pulled the sponge away from between her legs and did nothing more than look down at her, drinking in the sight of her naked and wet.

I stayed in control, even if my chest was shuddering against Ava’s back as I admired her naked body in my arms, even if I could hardly breathe knowing she was now all mine.

One day soon, she’d let me do this to her when she was awake.

But all in good time.

Bathwater sloshed over the side of the tub as I leaned over to retrieve the special bottle of shampoo.

“I have all your favorites,” I whispered, leaning my lips in close to her ear.

I poured the shampoo into my palm and massaged it into Ava’s raven hair. The scent of jasmine filled the steamy bathroom, intoxicating me with memories.

Cupping water in my hand, I started to rinse the shampoo from Ava’s scalp, my head clearing with every pass, the realities of what I was going to do to her flooding back in .

“If you’ll only trust me,” I said to her as her clean hair swirled around her breasts, “I think you’ll come to like it here. With me.”

I admired my work even as I thought of all that was left to do.

“One day you’ll even come to love it,” I said, pulling her naked body in tighter against my chest. “To love… me .”