Chapter 14
The city wasn’t safe, not for her, not for any of us.
But especially not for her. Which was why I had ten of my best men waiting when the SUV pulled up in front of the high-end shopping district.
They were already in position, scattered through the sidewalks and alleys, each one disguised well enough to blend into the crowd but armed to the teeth.
Troy, Jericho, and Ivan flanked Sorcha the moment her feet hit the pavement. They didn’t need instructions as she was theirs as much as mine to protect, but my eyes still cut over each of them, sharp as blades.
“Stay close, I don’t want any distractions,” I said, my voice low but absolute.
Sorcha’s lips parted, the beginnings of a retort flashing in her eyes, but she swallowed it down, turning her gaze toward the glass storefronts and gleaming mannequins instead.
She wanted this. Needed it. A taste of normal.
And God help me, I wanted to give it to her.
But all I could see were the shadows. The risks.
The thousand ways the world could sink its claws into her.
Inside the boutique, the lights gleamed soft gold, the air perfumed with something floral and expensive. A woman greeted us first, but soon a man appeared, tall, sharply dressed, his smile too bright, too smooth. His eyes lingered on Sorcha for a fraction too long, and my jaw ticked.
He ushered us toward a row of dresses, speaking in a lilting tone that grated against my nerves.
Sorcha drifted through the racks, her fingers brushing silks and velvets, her face softening in a way I hadn’t seen in weeks.
She slipped into the changing room with two armfuls, the attendant offering to assist, but I cut him down with a single look.
When she emerged, wearing a black gown that clung to her body like it had been sewn onto her skin, my chest constricted. She was flawless. Mine. Every man in this shop should have been blind to her.
But the attendant wasn’t. “Stunning,” he said, stepping forward, his eyes raking over her body in a way that made my blood heat. “See how it draws the eye here…”
His hand moved. His palm pressed lightly against her waist, gesturing at the cut of the dress.
That was it.
A snarl ripped out of me as I closed the distance, faster than his eyes could follow. My hand clamped around his throat, lifting him clean off the floor. His shoes scraped against the wall as I drove him back, pinning him there.
“You dare,” I hissed, my fangs flashing, “put your hands on her?” My grip tightened, the tendons in my arm flexing. “She’s not for you. She’ll never be for you. She’s mine.”
The man gagged, his hands clawing at my wrist. His pulse thundered under my fingers, weak and frantic.
“Lucien!”
Her voice cut through the haze, sharp and desperate. Small hands tugged at my arm, her body pressed against mine, her eyes blazing. “Stop. Please. You’ll kill him.”
Good, I almost said.
But then her fingers slid against my skin, grounding me. Her scent filled me, drowning out everything else, and I forced myself to release him. He crumpled to the floor, gasping, his eyes wide with terror.
“Get out,” I snarled at him, my voice vibrating with rage. “If I ever see you look at her again, you won’t walk away next time.”
He scrambled out of sight, leaving us in silence.
Sorcha turned on me, her chest rising and falling, her eyes bright with fury. “What the hell was that? He was just doing his job!”
I towered over her, my breath ragged, my chest still heaving with restraint. “His job doesn’t include putting his hands on what’s mine.”
Her lips parted, her hands balling into fists. “I’m not an object. I’m not a possession for you to growl over every time someone breathes near me!”
“You are not an object,” I bit back, my voice low, raw, vibrating with something deeper than fury.
My hand gripped her chin, tilting her face up so she couldn’t look away.
“You’re my mate. My woman. And I will never…
” my voice fractured into a growl, the sound scraping up from my chest like fire through steel, “do you hear me? Never allow another man to touch you. Not here. Not anywhere.”
The air between us charged, crackling with the kind of violence that didn’t need fists to wound. My eyes locked on hers, unblinking, every word hammering against her chest as hard as the thundering pulse beneath her skin.
Her lips parted, but whatever argument she’d had ready faltered, burned out by the sheer weight of my vow. I wasn’t asking. I wasn’t negotiating. This wasn’t jealousy it was law, bone-deep and absolute.
I softened only enough to press my forehead to hers, my breath ragged, still laced with rage. “You don’t understand yet. You are mine. That doesn’t mean chains or cages. It means protection. It means no one else’s hands on you, no one else’s eyes burning into what belongs to me.”
Her breath hitched, her lashes fluttering as though she wanted to fight me, wanted to push back but the bond betrayed her, tethering her pulse to mine, her trembling body pressed too close to deny the heat between us.
My voice dropped to a rough whisper, possessive and almost reverent all at once. “The day you walked into my life, Sorcha, was the day every other man in this world lost their right to even think about you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making damn sure you know it.”
The ride home was silent, heavy, her arms crossed, her body turned slightly away even though I could feel the bond thrumming between us. Fury and desire tangled in my chest, burning hotter with every mile.
By the time we were inside the mansion, I snapped.
I hauled her against me, her back colliding with the wall, my mouth crushing hers in a kiss that was all teeth and fire. She shoved at me, then gripped me, pulling me closer even as her anger sparked against mine.
Clothes fell away fast, rough, careless. My hands roamed her body with possessive urgency, leaving no part untouched. The sex was fierce, almost brutal, her nails scoring my skin, my thrusts punishing, claiming. Every cry that tore from her throat was another brand, another vow that she was mine.
But when it broke, when the fire gave way to the trembling aftershocks, I gathered her close. My lips softened against her temple, my hands smoothing over the bruises I’d left. I laid her down on the bed like she was made of glass, covering her body with mine, but gentler now.
“I will never let you go,” I whispered against her skin, my voice a low vow. “Never.”
Her arms curled around me, her breath warm against my neck, and for the first time since we’d stepped into that boutique, the storm inside me eased. She drifted off in my arms, her lashes fanning against her cheeks, the soft rhythm of her breathing lulling me into stillness.
When her body finally went limp with sleep, I pressed a kiss to her hair, then carefully slid out of the bed. Pulling on a shirt, I left the room, the predator in me wide awake though my mate rested in peace.
The halls were quiet, heavy with the silence of night. Outside, I found Jericho leaning against one of the stone columns near the drive, a cigarette unlit between his fingers. He straightened when he saw me.
“She’s asleep?” he asked.
I nodded. “For now. Tell me about the girl. The woman’s daughter.”
He exhaled, finally lighting the cigarette, the ember glowing in the dark. “I reached out and passed a message, but nothing too obvious. She knows her mother’s alive, that she’s safe. The kid sounded shaken, but… relieved.”
Relief twisted into something sharper in my chest. “Good. Keep it quiet, Jericho. No names, no details. She needs reassurance, not a target painted on her back.”
His eyes flicked to me, sharp and knowing. “You’re already thinking further.”
I looked out into the darkness, my jaw tightening. “Arrange a meeting with our contact. The one feeding us scraps about the Irish. I want more than scraps this time. How they’re taking the women. Who’s involved. I want every name.”
Jericho frowned. “You don’t trust him.”
“I don’t trust anyone touched by demons,” I said flatly. “And that stench is all over this. If the Irish and demons are working together, then our contact either doesn’t realize he’s compromised, or he does. Either way, I’ll know by the time I’m done with him.”
Jericho gave a single nod, flicking ash to the ground. “I’ll set it up.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. When I pulled it free, Draugr’s name glowed on the screen, a missed call waiting. I called him back immediately.
He answered in a growl, no preamble. “I’ve got one. Keller. He’s the one arranging the pick-ups for the Irish. He’s been funnelling women into warehouses like the one we hit.”
The name hit like iron. “Where?”
“One of our safehouses, I have got him contained for now.”
My grip tightened around the phone. “Tomorrow night. I’m coming with you. We’ll bleed him until we know every single detail. Every name, every coin trail, every filthy hand in this.”
Draugr’s voice was calm, steady. “Good. He’ll break fast, or he’ll die slow.”
I ended the call, sliding the phone back into my pocket, my mind already laying out the map of Keller’s destruction.
Inside, the house was still quiet when I returned. I stripped down and slid back into bed, Sorcha instinctively shifting toward me in her sleep, her small hand curling against my chest like she knew I was there.
I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight against me, and pressed a kiss into her hair. My fury could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, she needed this, needed me.
And God help the bastards who had touched her world.