Chapter 34 Ciar
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CIAR
The pack thins out fast, the serious runners pulling ahead like a disciplined cavalry charge.
Against all my natural instincts, I hold back, letting the initial chaos settle.
We maintain our formation around Sorcha.
Her breathing is steady, her jaw is set, her eyes fixed on the path ahead.
There’s a fire in her that has nothing to do with fitness and everything to do with pure, stubborn will. It makes my cock twitch.
With great difficulty, I match her stride, my body a solid wall against the jostling students who haven’t broken away yet.
I won’t leave her, even if that means coming last in a sport I usually win.
My gaze scans the tree line, a dark, jagged edge against the grey sky.
Every shadow is a potential threat, every gust of wind a potential whisper of danger.
This is a fucking stupid risk, but showing fear is not an option.
We are the Cerberus Order, not a bunch of pussies.
As we cross the threshold into the woods, the light dims, the air grows colder.
The sound of a hundred pairs of feet on the dirt path that has been flagged to show us the way, is a dull, rhythmic thunder.
I glance at Cillian on her other side. His face is a mask of stone, but his eyes are alive, constantly moving, assessing.
Axl is a silent shadow at our backs. We don’t need to speak. We know the mission.
Keep her breathing. Keep her safe. Let anyone who tries to stop that from happening wish they’d never been born.
The path narrows, forcing us into a single file. I move in front of her, my back a shield against whatever lies ahead.
I can hear her breathing behind me, a steady rhythm that she is struggling to maintain. I hate not having my eyes on her. I want to turn, to see her face, to gauge her physical state, but my job is to clear the path, to be the first thing a bullet hits.
The thought doesn’t bother me. I’d face a firing line for her.
The realisation isn’t some big epiphany.
No, that happened last night when I was watching her sleep.
It happened when I rammed my cock into her this morning.
I know she is it for me. No other woman has ever come close to what I feel about Sorcha Gannon.
She is fire and ice. She is strength and weakness.
She is a challenge that would normally piss me off, but instead, I can’t wait for her next acerbic comment or the sass she gives off at every opportunity.
Being buried inside her in one of her most vulnerable moments was something I will remember for a very long time.
I took something from her, but she took something from me, too.
A runner from another group tries to push past us, a tall lad with more ambition than sense. Cillian’s arm shoots out, a solid bar that sends the guy stumbling into the undergrowth with a curse. No one gets between us and her.
The path twists, and I can hear Sorcha stumble on a root. A low growl rumbles in my chest.
“I’m fine,” she bites out, her voice tight with effort.
She’s not. But she’s pushing through it. Her pride is a weapon she wields even against her own body. I slow my pace a fraction, just enough to ease the strain without making it obvious. Axl and Cillian adjust instantly, a seamless, unspoken command. We are a single unit, with her at our core.
The canopy thickens overhead, plunging the path into a deeper gloom.
The thunder of running feet has faded to a distant echo, leaving us in an unnerving silence broken only by the rasp of Sorcha’s breathing and the crunch of our shoes on the damp earth.
We’ve fallen behind, isolated. Perfect ambush territory.
Her breath hitches, and I hear a soft curse behind me. She’s hitting a wall. My jaw tightens. Stopping is not an option. She will feel the sting of that weakness.
“Switch,” I say, my voice a low command.
Without a word, Cillian moves to the front. I drop back, falling into step beside Sorcha. Her face is pale, slick with sweat, but her eyes are a defiant blue blaze. She glares at me, ready to snap that she’s fine, but she’s saving her breath for the run.
I reach out, my hand closing around hers. Her fingers are cold, but she grips back instantly, a silent admission that she needs the anchor. I lace my fingers through hers, my thumb stroking the back of her hand.
“Keep moving,” Cillian says from the front, his voice tight. “You’ve got this, Gannon.”
The sound of her name seems to light the dying fire inside her. She nods and picks up her pace.
We run in a tight, silent pack for what feels like an eternity.
The path is a muddy ribbon winding through ancient trees that seem to watch us with silent malice.
Sorcha pulls her hand from mine and doubles down.
She doesn’t complain, doesn’t slow, even when I see her stumble again, her legs shaking with exhaustion. She just keeps going.
A flash of movement in the trees to our right makes my head snap in that direction. Cillian and Axl see it too. We don’t stop, don’t break stride, but the shift in the air is electric. We’re being watched. Followed.
The path ahead opens into a small clearing, the halfway point marked by a red flag tied to a low-hanging branch. It’s a bottleneck. A kill zone.
“Closer,” I murmur, my voice a low growl.
Sorcha presses against my side without question. Cillian slows, his body a shield. Axl drifts to our left, his eyes scanning the dense undergrowth. But it’s all clear.
We emerge into a clearing and follow the flags, showing us the way through. The path widens again, and we fall around Sorcha again. It eases some of the concern.
“I’m fucking dying,” Sorcha gasps, and I stop dead, gripping her upper arm and dragging her off the path, panic hitting my chest. “Figuratively,” she adds. “This is fucking torture.”
I glare down at her, the frantic terror in my chest slowly morphing into something else. Something possessive and infuriated. “Don’t fucking do that,” I snarl, my hand tightening on her arm.
“She’s got a flair for the dramatic, you have to admit,” Axl says from behind us, his tone laced with dark amusement.
“We need to move,” Cillian says, his gaze sweeping the trees around us, a hunter on high alert.
Sorcha tries to pull away, to straighten up and prove she can keep going, but her legs tremble with the effort. She’s running on fumes and fury alone.
Fuck that.
“When was the last time you ate?” I bark at her.
Her cheeks, which are already ruddy from the run, go bright red. “I don’t know…”
“Yesterday, brunch-ish,” Axl says. “And then lots of vodka.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, rubbing my hand over my face.
The failure hits me square in the chest and makes me loathe myself.
We are supposed to be protecting her, and we can’t even make sure she fucking eats properly.
“From now on, you eat when I tell you to eat. You sleep when I tell you to sleep. You don’t get to be this reckless with yourself again, Gannon. Understand?”
“Excuse you?” she spits out. “You are not my keeper!”
“No? We’ll fucking see about that,” I growl, furious with her, with myself, with all of us.
“Move your arse now, and when we get back, I will feed you my-fucking-self.” I shove her forward, my hand a brand on the small of her back, ignoring the poisonous glare she throws over her shoulder.
The defiance in her eyes is a fire I want to stoke and smother at the same time.
“Shove me again and I’ll break your fucking fingers,” she hisses, her voice strained but still full of acid.
“Try it,” I challenge.
She growls, and it puts strength back in her step. She refuses to be seen as weak, and right now, that is a blessing.
We manage to pick up the pace enough to join a large group of students, who, at my best guess, are in the middle of the pack somewhere, as we head out of the woods and start the perimeter run, which is around two miles.
I don’t take my eyes off her for a single second.
The defiance is a drug, and I’m addicted to the high.
She’s running on empty, fuelled by my anger and her own fucking pride.
I can see the exhaustion in the slump of her shoulders, the slight tremble in her legs every time her foot hits the tarmac path, but she doesn’t slow.
If anything, she pushes harder, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps that tear at my insides.
I want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her the rest of the way, but that would break her spirit, and I’m not in the business of breaking her. Just owning her.
The sky opens up, a cold, miserable drizzle that plasters her red hair to her face and soaks through our thin kits in seconds. The other runners are a faceless, panting mass around us, but my world has shrunk to the woman at my side. Every ragged breath she takes is a punch to my gut.
We cross the finish line somewhere in the middle of the pack, a respectable finish for people who aren’t trying. She stumbles to a halt, hands on her hips, gasping for air. Her entire body is trembling.
“We’re done here.” I glance at Axl and Cillian.
No words are needed. My expression says it all.
I’m taking over every aspect of her life until I can trust her to take care of the basics, like feeding herself.
I slide my arm around her waist, half-lifting her as I steer her away from the crowd and towards the changing rooms. She’s too spent to fight me properly, but I feel the resistance in every muscle.
She can fight all she wants. She’s learning a new lesson today.
Her well-being is my responsibility now, and I don’t fucking fail at my responsibilities.
I drop her off at the entrance to the changing rooms and push her inside.
She glares at me. If I were a lesser man, I’d wither up and die, but unlucky for her, I’m not lesser in any respect.
When the door closes behind her, I move to the men’s changing room and, as quickly as I can, shower and get dressed so I can beat her to the punch.
I make it back to the door of the women’s changing room as she is coming out. She purses her lips, looking like she wants to say something.
“What is it?” I ask.
She avoids my gaze for a moment, but then it snaps to mine. “This has been a rude awakening. I can’t keep up with you, and that makes me a liability. I refuse to be a liability. Train me. Every day. Feed me, make me sleep, stop me from getting drunk, whatever it takes.”
I stare at her in shock.
I was expecting the exact opposite of this.
More fighting, more arguing, more defiance.
She has grown a pair and understands what’s at stake here.
I couldn’t be more proud of her. She’s accepting my control, better, she’s demanding it.
This isn’t weakness. It’s strategy. It’s the smartest fucking move she could make.
“Good,” I say, my voice a low rumble. I cup the back of her neck, my thumb stroking the soft skin there, pulling her closer until our foreheads are almost touching.
“That’s my girl. Smart. Adaptable.” The words are a reward, a brand of approval I know she craves even if she won’t admit it.
Her eyes search mine. She’s giving me everything, laying her weaknesses at my feet and trusting me to forge them into strengths.
It’s the most profound surrender I’ve ever witnessed.
“It starts now,” I murmur. “You’re mine to build. I won’t let you break.”
“Gannon girls don’t break,” she mutters. “We burn everything to the ground.”
“And that’s why I’ve fallen arse over tit for you,” I murmur, gripping her chin and tilting her head back to brush my lips over hers. “First lesson,” I say, against her lips. “Food.”