10. The Shadow
THE SHADOW
I paused in the doorway, my eyes narrowing as I took in Ava standing by the kitchen counter, her back to me, her long dark hair tumbling down her back in tantalizing waves, waves I wanted to touch to see if it was as soft as it looked.
Her hands shook as she worked, her shoulders tense like she was bracing for a blow. The sharp, bitter scent of tea and something else—something metallic—reached me.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice cutting through the stillness.
She jumped, spinning around, her eyes wide with panic. Her hands were trembling, and I noticed the teapot on the counter, the faint wisp of steam curling in the air. Her lips parted, but no words came out.
“I…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was just making tea… for the professor.”
My gaze slid past her to the pot. Something wasn’t right. My instincts were screaming at me.
Her nervousness, the way she kept glancing at the teapot, the way she stood like she was ready to bolt .
My chest tightened.
I stepped toward her, my movements slow and deliberate, as if I were approaching a skittish animal.
“Brownnosing little Ava,” I said, my voice dripping with mockery. “Trying to become the professor’s favorite, huh?”
“Go away,” she snapped.
I didn’t stop. I reached out, my hand landing on her shoulder, and shoved her gently aside.
She stumbled, her small frame unable to resist me.
“It’s not for you!” she cried, lunging toward the pot, her voice cracking. “It’s for the professor!”
I grabbed the teapot before she could reach it, lifting it high above my head.
Her small hands clawed at the air, trying to grab it, but I was taller, stronger, her desperation fueling my suspicion.
“For the professor, is it?” I taunted, my smirk twisting into something sharper. “A little bedtime brew?”
Her breath hitched, and tears filled her eyes.
“Give it back!” she pleaded, her voice breaking.
“What’s wrong, Ava?” I asked, my tone mocking as I stepped closer, towering over her. “Don’t want me to have a taste?”
“Don’t drink it!” she shouted, lunging again, but I twisted away, keeping the pot out of reach. Her panic confirmed everything.
She’d done something to the tea.
“Get. Out,” I growled, my voice low and dangerous.
Tears streaming down her face, she turned and fled, her footsteps echoing in the hallway until they disappeared entirely.
I set the teapot down on the counter and removed the lid. The bitter scent of the brew wafted up, sharper now .
Along with black tea leaves, pink petals floated on the surface, soft and delicate, belying their deadly nature.
Oleander.
My chest tightened, a mix of rage and guilt clawing at my insides.
Ava had done this. Ava, who never stepped out of line, who endured in silence, had reached her breaking point.
She was trying to poison my father.
I counted the flowers, my heart thudding with every petal. But she’d miscalculated. This wasn’t enough to kill him—just enough to put him to sleep.
My throat tightened.
This just confirmed it. She hadn’t wanted his attention. She hadn’t wanted any of it.
And I hadn’t protected her. I hadn’t been there to shield her from him, to save her from feeling like she had to do this herself.
My gaze swept across the counter, landing on a handkerchief haphazardly tossed aside.
A pale-pink petal peeked out from beneath it, its presence like a whisper of her hesitation.
I pulled back the cloth, revealing more flowers—more deadly oleander—enough to finish what she started.
I grabbed the handkerchief, scooping the remaining flowers into my palm, and threw them into the pot. They swirled in the boiling water, their color leaching into the tea, deepening its poison.
Could I really kill him? My father?
The thought twisted inside me like a knife. My feet moved, carrying me forward, but my chest felt like it was being crushed.
My father had always been cold, a man of discipline and control, his affection doled out like rare coins, if at all. He cared more for his work, his endless experiments, and his precious plants than he ever did for Ty or me. When my mother—our soft, kind, loving mother—died, he hadn’t even cried. Not at the funeral. Not in the days after. He’d gone back to the greenhouse, back to his vials and his notebooks, as if nothing had changed.
And yet…
He was still my father.
I clenched my jaw, the teapot handle cold and unforgiving in my grip. Memories flickered in my mind, half-formed and sharp-edged.
My father teaching me to tie a tie for the first time, his hands precise but detached. His stern voice guiding Ty and me through fencing stances in the garden. The pride in his eyes—faint but real—when I’d managed to memorize the Latin names, both genus and species, for all the different kinds of lilies that he grew.
There was a time I’d wanted his approval more than anything. A time long before Ma died, when I believed if I worked harder, performed better, maybe he’d look at me like I mattered.
But I’d learned, far too late, that no amount of effort would earn what he simply didn’t have to give.
And then Ava.
My grip tightened on the teapot lid in my hand.
He’d stripped away her innocence, her trust, her safety—all for what? Power? Pleasure? Control?
A part of me screamed that he didn’t deserve the title of “father.” He’d desecrated it with his actions.
But another part—a quieter, stubborn part—whispered that no matter what he’d done, he was still the man who had brought me into this world. The man whose blood ran through my veins.
Could I live with myself if I did this?
And yet, could I live with myself if I didn’t ?
Ava’s face flashed before me—her trembling hands as she brewed the tea, the haunted look in her eyes when she’d fled the kitchen, the fear she tried so hard to hide.
She’d been forced to act because I hadn’t been there for her. Because I had failed to protect her.
My father was a monster, but Ava wasn’t. And I wouldn’t let her become one.
This was the only way.
My hands shook, but my resolve was steady as I turned and carried the teapot out of the kitchen. It felt heavier than it should, like it carried not just the tea but the burden of what I was about to do.
He would never hurt her again.
Not after tonight.
I would carry this stain on my soul so she didn’t have to.
I’d become a monster… for her.
I exhaled slowly, the confession leaving me raw, like an open wound exposed to the cold.
For a long moment, I couldn’t bring myself to look at Ava, sitting next to me on the bed, our legs stretched out in front of us.
My eyes stayed fixed on my hands in my lap, fingers knotted together like they could somehow tether me to the present, keep me from unraveling completely.
Would she see me as a monster now? Would she hate me for what I’d done? For the punishment I let Ty take for me? For everything I didn’t tell her?
Finally, I forced myself to look up, bracing for disgust, for judgment, for the slightest flicker of rejection in her eyes.
But what I found wasn’t anger or revulsion. It was love— pure, unwavering love that etched itself into every line of her beautiful face.
It gutted me.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” she asked, her voice soft but tinged with something I couldn’t quite place—hurt, maybe. Sadness.
A bitter laugh escaped me as I leaned my head back against the headboard, the weight of it all pressing down on my chest.
“I wanted to,” I admitted, the words dragging out of me like stones. “But Ty… he fucking confessed out of nowhere. Then he made me promise not to tell anyone it wasn’t him.”
Her brows furrowed, her hand finding mine, her touch grounding me in ways I didn’t deserve.
“Ty wasn’t just protecting me,” she whispered.
“No.” I shook my head, the guilt clawing at my insides. “He wasn’t. He was protecting me , too.”
He’d taken my place in that hellhole. Without hesitation. Without a second thought.
“It should’ve been me,” I went on, the words spilling out of me now, unstoppable. “He shouldered what I did. What I should have been punished for. And I let him. I fucking let him.”
“You didn’t let him,” she said softly, her voice steady in a way I didn’t deserve. “Ty doesn’t let anyone do anything. You know that.”
I laughed bitterly because she was right.
Ty had always been like that—unyielding, immovable, the only constant in a world that had always felt like it was falling apart.
Still, it didn’t change the fact that I’d let him go to prison for something I’d done. That I’d let him carry a burden that was mine to bear.
Her hand moved to my face, her fingers brushing against my cheek. When I finally met her gaze, I saw strength there—quiet, fierce strength—and it made my chest ache.
“You did what you did to protect me,” she said, her voice so soft it felt like a balm against the rawness inside me. “And Ty did what he did to protect both of us. That doesn’t make you a monster, Ciaran. It makes you human.”
Her words should have lifted the weight on my chest, but they only made me feel it more acutely.
I leaned into her touch, closing my eyes and breathing her in, trying to anchor myself in her warmth.
“I’m so tired of secrets,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“Then let’s not keep any more,” she said, her voice like a promise. “Not from each other. No matter what.”
I nodded, pressing my forehead against hers, her warmth seeping into me. For the first time in years, I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t dared to believe in for so long.
Hope.
Ava let out a slow sigh, her gaze dropping to the space between us. “Then I need to tell you what happened at Blackthorn…”
My chest tightened, that fragile hope crushing under the weight of dread. “Okay…”
Her hands twisted in her lap, and she hesitated, visibly gathering the courage to speak.
“Ty… he took me through a kind of therapy.” Her voice was barely above a whisper when she finally spoke. “A… sexual form of therapy.”
Her words hung in the air, sharp and heavy, cutting straight through me, her admission reverberating in my head like the tolling of a funeral bell.
A sexual form of therapy.
My mind couldn’t wrap around the implication, couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“He touched you?” My voice came out low, sharp, dangerous. I searched her face for a denial, for anything that would contradict the images searing through my brain.
Her expression gave her away, a flicker of guilt, of shame. I didn’t need her to say it.
Ty had done more than just touch her.
The realization hit me like a fist to the chest. Fury surged, burning hot and uncontrollable, and before I knew it, I was off the bed, my body moving on pure instinct.
I didn’t care that I was barefoot, shirtless, just wearing my gray sweatpants.
I didn’t care about anything except hunting down Ty and making him pay.
Ava blocked my path. “Scáth, wait!”
“Ava, move,” I growled, my voice like gravel, raw and rough.
Her hands pressed against my chest, trying to hold me back. “Please,” she said. “It was… just tough love. It didn’t mean anything.”
Didn’t mean anything? My head spun. My chest heaved as I tried to rein in the rage clawing at my insides.
“Step aside, Ava,” I repeated, my tone harder, colder this time.
“Promise me you won’t hurt him.”
“Can’t. Promise. That.” My words were ground out between clenched teeth .
Her expression shifted in an instant, her anger flaring to match mine.
“Ty has suffered enough,” she shot back, her voice rising. “He has paid enough.”
“He hasn’t paid for this .”
“Do you know what your brother went through in prison?” she said, her voice breaking. “He was just a boy, Ciaran. A boy in a cage with men. With monsters. Do you know what they did to him?”
Her words landed like a punch to my gut, knocking the wind out of me. My blood ran cold, the fury draining from my body, leaving behind a hollow, twisting ache.
I didn’t know. I hadn’t let myself imagine it.
Until now.
Ty had suffered for me. He’d gone to prison for a crime I committed. And while he was locked up, enduring God knows what, I’d been free. Free to live, to breathe, to seduce Ava. The girl he’d always loved.
My shoulders sagged under the weight of her words. My legs gave out, and I sank onto the bed. The rage that had burned so brightly just moments ago was replaced with something far worse—guilt.
I buried my face in my hands, disgusted with myself.
“I’m a shit brother,” I muttered, the truth tasting bitter on my tongue.
Ava kneeled in front of me, her hands on my knees.
“Ciaran,” she said softly. “You have to forgive him. Please… for me?”
Maybe I could forgive Ty for his… sexual therapy, if it helped Ava .
I lifted my head to meet her gaze, her plea slicing through me.
“Did it help you?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “He only did what he did because he was trying to save me. And he did. He saved me, Ciaran. I remember what your father did to me, and I’m still standing. I remember the pain, and I’m still smiling. I remember the darkness, and my heart is still filled with love.”
Her words should have been a balm, but they only cut deeper. She was alive, whole, because of Ty .
The way she said his name. The light in her eyes when she spoke of him. It was like a blade twisting in my chest.
Ty had burrowed his way under her skin. He owned a piece of her now, a piece I wasn’t sure I’d ever get back.
My fear was a living thing, coiling in my gut.
Ty wouldn’t stop. I knew my brother. He wouldn’t stop until he reclaimed her completely.