11. Ava
AVA
I f it had been for anything less important, I would have asked Ciaran to stay. Begged him to stay.
I wanted him here, for our first night in the dorms. It should have been another moment for us—a chance to keep reconnecting, rebuilding us .
Instead, it was just Ty and me.
And that made me nervous.
Stupid. It wasn’t as if Ty and I hadn’t spent the entire summer together, trapped in Blackthorn Hall, bound by dark secrets and pain.
He was my best friend, had been since childhood. A part of me still clung to that—clung to him.
Maybe that was the problem. Because deep down, I knew exactly why I didn’t want to be alone with Ty.
The part of me that clung to him wasn’t innocent.
It wasn’t the part that remembered childhood laughter or the warmth of his presence when I felt small and scared.
It was the part of me that remembered what happened between us in Blackthorn, the intimacy we’d shared, the way he’d let me see him. All of him. The way he peeled back his icy armor and let me touch the cracks underneath.
And the way he’d touched me, the way he’d licked my pussy, and the way he thrust his cock inside me and fucked me.
I still felt that pull, the ache in my chest when his walls dropped, the heat when his hand brushed mine. It terrified me, how much my body still reacted to him, even now. Even after everything.
That was why I didn’t want to be alone with him.
Because a part of me wanted to be.
I pushed open my bedroom door, which wouldn’t shut properly anymore, and found Ty sitting on the armchair he’d positioned to face my door. He’d been waiting for me and he wasn’t even hiding that fact.
My breath caught as his gaze locked on mine, amusement flickering across his face.
“Hello, hummingbird.”
Even though he was across the room, his voice felt like a whisper against my ear, soft and intimate, sending shivers skittering down my spine.
I flushed, heat pooling under my skin in a way I didn’t want to think about.
“Don’t call me that,” I said quickly, too quickly.
He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curving. “Why not?”
Why not? A good question—one I didn’t have an answer for. It wasn’t the nickname itself. It was the way it felt when he said it, like a thread pulling taut between us, something I wasn’t ready to confront.
It felt too… personal. Too close .
Ty shouldn’t be giving me nicknames. And I still didn’t even know what it meant.
A part of me wanted to turn around and retreat back into my room, to yank the sheets over my head and pretend this wasn’t happening.
But I knew better. If I showed him even a crack in my resolve, he’d burrow right in.
I squared my shoulders, determined to act like nothing had happened between us, like we were just friends. Because we were. We were.
I’d chosen Ciaran.
“Just… don’t,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
Ty didn’t flinch. He remained in his armchair, one ankle casually crossed over his knee, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants. His muscled, tattooed arms crossed over his chest in a posture that was somehow both relaxed and predatory.
My eyes flicked to the tattoos and scars woven into his skin, like pieces of a dark story that only I knew how to read.
To the raven perched across his chest, wings outstretched across his collarbones as though ready to take flight. Its mechanical heart exposed, gears and cogs spilling out as if being torn apart.
To the broken hourglass with bloodred sand pouring out down his ribs, twisted branches and roots snaking through the cracks as if trying to hold it together.
And the cracked human skull across his stomach, nestled among thorny vines and black roses, with a flickering light glowing from within its hollowed eye socket.
Heat rushed to my cheeks before I could stop it .
“Can you put a shirt on or something?” I blurted, stomping toward the living room lamp to switch it on, doing everything I could to avoid staring.
“I’m perfectly comfortable,” he replied, his tone a slow drawl. “Are you saying you’re not?”
“No,” I muttered, fumbling with the lamp. The soft amber light filled the room, but I instantly regretted turning it on. It illuminated too much—his piercing gaze, the smirk playing on his lips, the tension humming between us.
I quickly turned away, moving to switch on another light as if I were busying myself, but my heart hammered too loudly in my chest to ignore.
“Are you avoiding me?” Ty asked, his voice cutting through the silence.
“Of course not,” I said, too defensive, too fast. “ I am a student, you know? I actually have to study .”
“I’ve been studying too,” Ty replied, his voice low and smooth.
There was something in his tone that made me pause, the hair on the back of my neck rising.
When I turned, he was suddenly closer— too close.
I hadn’t heard him move.
My breath hitched as I realized how near he was, the heat of his body brushing against mine. My chest grazed his, and I was painfully aware of how sensitive my skin felt, how my nipples tightened at the contact. Mortified, I fought the urge to step back—or worse, lean in.
Ty’s eyes dragged over me, slow and deliberate, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
I tried to hide the shudder that rippled through me, but his smirk told me I’d failed .
“I’m going to make dinner,” I said, forcing myself to break the spell, shouldering past him before I did something I’d regret. “If you want to help.”
“I’m an excellent cook,” Ty said, his voice darkening as he added, “as you already know.”
I remembered holding back moans of pleasure as I ate yet another perfectly cooked meal under his watchful eye.
I remembered him feeding me when I was tied up and blindfolded before he fucked my mouth with his fingers.
I remembered that disastrous dinner when I’d tried to stab him and he’d done God knows what to my body when I was under.
I shoved the chaotic swirl of thoughts away, forcing myself into motion. Pots and pans clanged as I grabbed them blindly from the cabinets and tossed them onto the stove with more force than necessary.
“Did you know it was Ciaran who killed your father?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, raw and jagged, my head still spinning from his confession.
Ty appeared beside me, silent as a shadow. His hand brushed my wrist, steadying my fumbling attempts to light the gas stove.
The brief contact sent a jolt through me, and I stepped back to the kitchen island, pressing my palms into the cool surface to ground myself.
“He finally told you, huh?” Ty said, his tone infuriatingly calm as he twisted the knob and ignited the burner in one fluid motion. “He finished what you couldn’t.”
I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, trying to steady my racing heart.
In the darkness behind my lids, I could hear him moving— gathering ingredients from the fridge, the soft scrape of a cutting board being pulled from a cabinet, the metallic clink of a knife. Every sound was deliberate, controlled.
Peeking out through narrowed eyes, I watched him moving with feline grace, every motion fluid, like a predator biding its time. The play of muscles under his skin of his back, scarred and tattooed, was mesmerizing.
The sleeping reaper and the dark-haired girl leaning in to kiss him.
And farther down to the ghostly wolf that slunk around his lower back, its body half-faded into smoke.
And on the back of one sleeve was a ship trapped inside a glass bottle, the movement of his arm muscles making the flames that engulfed the ship look alive.
Before I knew it, my feet had carried me closer to him, his presence drawing me in like a magnet, even though my mind screamed at me to stay away.
“I went to jail thinking I was taking the fall for you,” Ty said, his voice quiet but cutting as he set the cutting board down beside me. His knife flashed in the soft kitchen light, his movements precise. “Ci admitted later that he knew the amount of oleander you’d added wasn’t enough. He added the lethal dose.”
My fingers curled around the edge of the counter. His words sank in like cold iron. For all Ty’s beauty, his ruthless, calculating core was never far beneath the surface.
I watched his hands work the knife, the blade moving so expertly over the garlic and onions it was almost hypnotic.
“But you stayed in jail for him?” My voice was barely above a whisper. “All those years?”
His scars caught the light as I scanned his body, the marks of battles I hadn’t been there to see. I ached to reach out and trace them, to piece together the pain they represented, but I kept my hands tight at my sides.
“Of course,” Ty said simply, the knife pausing mid-cut. “He’s my brother.”
There was no emotion in his tone, no passion. Just a cold, matter-of-fact truth. But something flickered across his face—a crack in his armor, fleeting and almost imperceptible.
I knew their relationship was complicated. Actually, complicated didn’t even scratch the surface.
But I also knew Ty loved Ciaran.
A pang of guilt twisted inside me. I thought it might have been easier if they hated each other—if the love they shared hadn’t made the rivalry between them even more excruciating. It wouldn’t be me tearing them apart.
They’d both already destroyed pieces of themselves for me. Ty had given up years of his life in prison. Ciaran had taken their father’s life for me. How much more could I ask of them? How much more could I take?
“Do you want to wash the tomatoes?” Ty asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
I nodded weakly, the sound of running water filling the silence. I reached for the basket he’d brought earlier from the market.
Behind me, the hiss of onions hitting hot oil made me jump. I was too aware of his presence, the way the heat from the stove seemed to mix with the heat radiating off his body.
A tomato slipped from my hands and rolled into the sink .
Ty reached around me, his fingers brushing mine as he plucked it up. The deliberate graze of his skin against mine sent a shiver straight through me.
“Here,” he murmured, his hands closing loosely over mine. The water cascaded between our fingers, warm and intimate.
My breath hitched as the closeness became almost unbearable.
“Why do you call me hummingbird?” I asked, the question tumbling out before I could stop it.
“You’re smart. Why do you think?” His voice was low, teasing.
I should have turned away, pulled back. Instead, my nipples tightened from his nearness, and I hated the way my body betrayed me.
“Hummingbirds are small and weak,” I said, the words tumbling out in frustration.
Ty froze behind me. In one swift motion, his hands gripped my hips and spun me to face him, pinning me between his body and the counter.
“Hummingbirds might be small,” he said, his voice a low growl, “but they’re fierce and protective. They’re one of the few animals who are bigger on the inside than out… like you.”
Oh.
His gaze burned into mine. “There’s nothing weak about you, Ava. I don’t know who gave you that idea.”
The intensity of his words left me breathless, my heart pounding as his grip on me lingered. My resolve wavered, dangerously close to crumbling.
No. You chose Scáth .
I cleared my throat and stepped out of Ty’s grasp before I could do something irreparably stupid.
He let me go, but the heat of him lingered on my skin, crawling under my defenses.
I busied myself by roughly chopping the tomatoes before throwing them into the fragrant mix of onion and garlic sizzling in olive oil.
The kitchen filled with the warm, rich aroma, a scent that should have comforted me but only added to the stifling tension.
As I stirred the sauce, willing my hands to stop trembling, Ty moved beside me.
He reached across to fill the pot with water, his body pressing against the side of mine with casual inevitability. He didn’t move away immediately, his presence suffocating in a way that left me weak.
My resolve faltered, my grip on the spoon tightening as if it could anchor me.
Finally, he stepped aside, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Ty set the pot on the burner, his tattooed forearms flexing as he adjusted the heat. The intricate black ink that covered his skin seemed alive under the flickering light, his scars weaving through the designs like threads of pain.
I tore my gaze away, forcing myself to focus on stirring the sauce as the tomatoes broke down.
He reached past me to grab the salt from the shelf above and brushed his arm across my breast. The contact was brief, casual, but it sent a jolt of need through me.
My breath hitched, and my fingers slipped on the wooden spoon, and it bounced off the side of the pan and clattered to the floor, splattering red sauce everywhere.
Shit.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, smooth, as he leaned over my shoulder for the paper towels. His breath tickled my ear, and I froze, my pulse racing.
“Grand,” I said, my voice higher than usual. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Just grand.”
Ty dropped to a crouch behind me.
I froze, my grip tightening on the edge of the counter. I felt his breath ghost over the backs of my thighs, warm and deliberate. My knees threatened to buckle.
“You’ve made a mess, hummingbird,” he murmured, his tone low, almost teasing.
He dabbed at the red streaks on the floor and the counter, his shoulder brushing against the backs of my legs, his movements slow, precise—calculated.
I sucked in a shaky breath, trying to keep my focus anywhere but on him. On the heat of his body so close to mine.
On the way he nudged my legs apart as he reached between them to supposedly mop up another spot of sauce.
The air felt charged, thick with something unspoken. My hands trembled where they gripped the counter, my breath coming in short, uneven bursts.
Finally, Ty straightened, the paper towels streaked red in his hand. He tossed them into the trash and turned back to me, his expression calm, as though nothing had happened.
“All cleaned up,” he said smoothly, his gaze steady on mine .
I nodded, unable to trust my voice, and turned back to the stove, my cheeks burning as I snatched another spoon.
But even as I tried to focus on stirring the sauce, my legs still tingled where he’d touched them, and my heart wouldn’t stop racing.
I hated the way I wanted him even when I didn’t want to want him.
My mind screamed at me, reminding me of Ciaran, of the love we shared, of the promises I’d made.
But my body… my body was caught in Ty’s orbit, pulled toward him against my will.
This was dangerous. Ty was dangerous. And yet I couldn’t bring myself to walk away.
My heart raced, my resolve weakening with every second spent in his presence.
You’re with Ciaran, I reminded myself again, clinging to the thought like a lifeline. You love Ciaran.
“Relax,” Ty said, his fingers massaging my shoulders, his tone laced with amusement. “You’re acting like I bite.”
“You don’t?” I shot back, trying to sound casual, trying to play off the heat coursing through me.
“Only if you ask nicely,” he replied in my ear, his smirk audible in his voice.
“I’m with Ciaran!” I snapped and stepped aside so his hands slid off me.
His gaze never wavered, his dark, penetrating eyes assessing me in that maddening way that made me want to shove him away or pull him closer.
“For now,” he said simply, his tone cool, but the words landed like a challenge.
I bristled, the steam from the stove dampening my already overheated neck. “It’s always a game with you, isn’t it?”
His expression didn’t soften, his lips didn’t quirk into that cocky grin. Instead, his voice was low, steady. “I like winning.”
I shook my head, my resolve crumbling under his intensity. “You can’t win if I don’t play.”
He stepped closer, his body an inferno against mine. The stove’s warmth paled in comparison to the fire licking through me as his breath fanned my cheeks.
“Don’t forget, Ava,” he whispered, his voice dangerous. “We were children together. I know you love to play.”
I slid out of his reach and walked to the other side of the kitchen, rummaging around in a drawer for something to do.
But as we continued to cook, Ty moved around me, adding the bucatini to the boiling salted water, adding fresh herbs to the sauce, grating aged parmesan into a small bowl. His body kept brushing against mine, his scent—musk and sandalwood—filling my nose until he was all that I could smell.
I tried to tell myself that I was just imagining his nearness, just imagining that his casual touches were just accidents.
Ty leaned closer again, stretching for a wooden spoon near me. This time, there was no mistaking the hardness of his cock pressing into my lower back.
Heat flushed through me, and I snapped.
“Stop it,” I hissed, crossing my arms as I turned to face him .
“Stop what?” he asked, feigning innocence, his calm expression betrayed by the glint of mischief in his eyes.
Asshole . He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Stop… that .” I waved a hand vaguely in his direction, trying to encompass the infuriating combination of his dark smile, his wandering hands, and how inappropriately close his half-naked body was— goddamn , what a body.
His smirk deepened, sharp enough to cut.
“Well, if I’m going to be blamed for something,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “I might as well make it count.”
Before I could respond, he closed the space between us and crushed his lips to mine.
His hands gripped the back of my neck, firm but not painful, while his mouth was the opposite—soft, warm, intoxicating.
My resolve crumbled before I could stop it, my body betraying me as I melted into him.
Just for a moment.
Then reality slammed back into me.
I shoved him hard, staggering him back just enough to dart for the nearest weapon—a wooden spoon. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
I pointed it at him like a sword, glaring. “Do that again, and I swear I’ll shove you off the balcony.”
For a moment, I thought the threat might actually land.
To my surprise, Ty didn’t step closer. Instead, he turned and walked to the open balcony door, letting the soft evening breeze tousle his hair.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, spoon still raised.
He leaned out, glancing down.
“Checking to see how far I’d fall.” He pulled his head back inside. His strides were fast, deliberate, as he closed the distance between us again. “I’d probably die. But…”
Before I could react, he snatched the wooden spoon from my grip and tossed it across the room. “Worth it.”
His hands seized my head, fingers tangling in my hair as his lips crashed into mine again.
This kiss wasn’t soft—it was demanding, insistent, full of heat and illicit need.
His tongue pushed into my mouth, and his hands anchored me, pulling me closer as though he couldn’t stand the idea of space between us.
His determination, his cold fury, it shattered my resolve, all my thoughts.
And this time, fighting him felt like the furthest thing from my mind.
The front door handle jangled, breaking the spell. Ty whipped his head around, his predatory focus shifting to the noise.
I slipped away from him, breaking free and rubbing my mouth with the back of my hand just as the door swung open and Ciaran stepped in.