Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
MAEVE
T he café buzzed with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clang of a coffee cup against a saucer. Maeve sat across from Rebecca Wilkins, a fellow artist, her hands wrapped around the comforting warmth of her tea. Rebecca, animated as usual, emphatically gestured as she recounted a story from her latest gallery exhibit. Her excitement was infectious, but Maeve’s mind wandered, her senses on high alert in a way that had become second nature since she’d entered Rory’s world.
The faint scent of roasted coffee mingled with something sharper, more metallic, and Maeve’s cougar instincts stirred uneasily. She glanced toward the door, her gaze lingering on a man who had just walked in. His clothes were nondescript, his cap pulled low, but there was something about his stance, the tension in his shoulders, that set her on edge.
“Maeve?” Rebecca’s voice pulled her back. “Are you even listening?”
“Sorry,” Maeve said, forcing a smile. “I’m a little distracted.”
Rebecca gave her a knowing look. “By what? Your new boyfriend, Rory McMahon?”
Maeve stiffened at the mention of his name. “He’s not my—” she began, but the words caught in her throat as the door opened again, and two more men entered. They were like the first—ordinary enough at a glance, but their eyes were sharp, scanning the room like predators.
Every nerve in Maeve’s body screamed danger.
She placed her tea down carefully; her gaze flicking toward the exits. The café was small; the windows offering a clear view of the street, but the door was the only viable way out. Her cougar instincts sharpened, her muscles coiling as adrenaline surged through her veins.
“Rebecca,” Maeve said, keeping her voice low and calm. “I need you to listen to me carefully.”
Rebecca frowned, confusion flashing across her face. “What are you talking about?”
“Something’s wrong,” Maeve said, her eyes darting back to the men. One of them had positioned himself near the counter while the other two loitered by the door. They weren’t here for coffee.
Before Rebecca could respond, the first man moved. He pulled a gun from beneath his jacket, the metallic glint catching the light as he barked a command.
“Everyone down! Now!”
Screams erupted, chairs scraping against the floor as customers dove for cover. Maeve grabbed Rebecca’s arm, pulling her down behind the table as pandemonium erupted around them. Her heart pounded in her chest, the roar of her instincts almost deafening as she tried to think.
The men moved quickly, their commands sharp and practiced. They weren’t amateurs. One of them grabbed the barista, shoving her toward the counter as he demanded access to the till. Another swept the room, his gaze locking onto Maeve for a split second before moving on.
Maeve’s cougar surged, the primal need to protect overriding her fear. She scanned their movements, cataloging every detail—the way they held their weapons, the positioning of their bodies. They weren’t just here for money. This was about something else.
The third man was moving closer, his gaze narrowing as he noticed Maeve and Rebecca huddled behind the table. He said something to his partner, his voice low and sharp, and Maeve knew they were out of time.
“Stay down,” she whispered to Rebecca, her voice firm.
Rebecca’s eyes were wide with terror, but she nodded, curling into herself as Maeve rose slowly, her hands raised. The man’s attention snapped to her, his gun leveling in her direction.
“Don’t move!” he barked.
Maeve didn’t flinch. She met his gaze, her cougar instincts thrumming just beneath the surface. Her muscles tensed, ready to spring, as she took a small step forward.
“You don’t need to do this,” she said, her voice calm but laced with steel. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’s not here.”
The man sneered, his grip on the gun tightening. “Shut up.”
Maeve didn’t move. Her eyes flicked to the counter, where the barista’s shaking hands struggled to open the register. Something else held the attention of the other two men. She only had one chance.
When the man shifted his stance, his weight shifting slightly to his back foot, Maeve moved. She rushed towards him, her body a blur of motion. She grabbed his wrist, twisting sharply as the gun discharged, the deafening crack echoing through the café. Pain shot through her shoulder as she wrenched the weapon from his grasp, using his momentum to drive him to the floor.
The commotion drew the attention of the other men, their shouts blending with the screams of the terrified patrons. Maeve didn’t wait. She grabbed Rebecca’s arm, pulling her toward the counter as cover.
“Stay down!” Maeve yelled, shoving Rebecca behind the counter as another shot rang out, splintering the wood above their heads.
The adrenaline coursing through her veins made time seem to slow, every second stretching as she assessed the situation. The men were closing in, their movements coordinated. Maeve’s shoulder throbbed, but she pushed the pain aside, her focus narrowing on survival.
And then she heard it—the low rumble of engines outside. Tires screeched as black SUVs skidded to a halt in front of the café. The door burst open, and Rory stepped inside—his presence a force of nature.
Rory’s expression was ice cold, his dark eyes scanning the scene with lethal precision. He moved with the kind of calm control that spoke of experience, his voice cutting through the noise as he barked orders to the men who followed him.
“Secure the exits. Take them alive if you can.”
His men fanned out, their movements efficient as they subdued the attackers. Rory crossed the room in long strides, his gaze locking onto Maeve as she knelt behind the counter, her chest heaving.
“Maeve,” he said, his voice steady but sharp with concern.
She looked up at him, her breath catching at the sight of him. The surrounding chaos seemed to fade as he crouched in front of her, his hands brushing her shoulders gently as he checked her for injuries.
“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice trembled.
Rory’s jaw tightened, his fingers lingering on her arm. “You’re bleeding.”
Maeve glanced at her shoulder, noticing the crimson staining her sleeve for the first time. The pain was a dull throb now, overshadowed by the adrenaline still coursing through her.
“It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “Rebecca…”
“She’s safe,” Rory said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “My men have her.”
The calm in his voice steadied her, but it also reminded her of the stark reality she was now a part of. This was Rory’s world—a world where violence erupted without warning, where danger was always just a step behind.
As they dragged the last of the attackers from the café, Rory helped her to her feet, his hand firm and reassuring on her back. Maeve’s legs felt unsteady, but she forced herself to stand tall, to meet his gaze.
“You shouldn’t have been here alone,” he said, his voice low but laced with anger.
Maeve bristled, her pride flaring despite the circumstances. “I wasn’t alone.”
“Rebecca doesn’t count,” Rory said, his eyes flashing with frustration. “You’re a target now, Maeve. This is what they’ll do to get to me.”
The truth of his words hit her like a blow, and for the first time, she truly understood what being in Rory’s life meant. It wasn’t just about him—it was about everything that came with him. The power, the danger, the darkness.
As they stepped outside into the cool air, Maeve felt a shiver run through her. As the commotion subsided, Rory kept a hand on her back for support.
But even as the quiet surrounded them, one thought echoed in her mind.
How much more could she endure before Rory’s world consumed her entirely?
The letter felt heavier in Maeve’s hand than the paper should have allowed, its edges worn from her constant folding and unfolding. She had carried it with her since the day it arrived, its words a silent shadow that lingered no matter how hard she tried to ignore them.
Maeve sat on the couch in Rory’s penthouse, the sounds of the city below muted by the thick glass windows. The day's attack was over, but its turmoil lingered in her thoughts. A dull ache pulsed in her shoulder, the makeshift bandage a stark reminder of her near-death experience. Rebecca was safe, but the memory of the gunmen and the sound of gunfire echoed in her head.
Taking a deep breath, Maeve unfolded the letter again, her hands trembling as her mother’s elegant handwriting came into focus.
My Dearest Maeve,
I hope this letter finds you safe. I’ve spent countless nights wondering where you are, if you’re happy, if you’re free. But your father... he hasn’t stopped searching. He’s grown more desperate, and more dangerous. He speaks of family honor, of reclaiming what belongs to him. And by that, he means you.
Maeve’s breath caught, her throat tightening as she read the words she’d been trying to avoid. She pressed her hand to her chest, as if that could steady the storm raging inside her.
You’ve always been stronger than he could ever understand, but I need you to know how far he’s willing to go. He’s made alliances—dangerous ones—with people who can find anyone, anywhere. I fear for you, Maeve. Please, be careful. Trust no one.
The last line twisted like a knife in her chest:
If you see Alexander, tell him to choose his own path. Don’t let him follow your father into the darkness.
Maeve folded the letter slowly, her hands numb as her mind raced. Her father’s reach extended farther than she’d feared, and the thought of Alexander being drawn deeper into his world made her stomach churn. She wanted to believe she’d escaped, that she’d built a life far enough away from her father’s influence, but the attack at the café and this letter had shattered that illusion.
Her gaze drifted to the door that led to Rory’s study. He was in there now, dealing with the aftermath of the ambush, speaking in low, clipped tones to his men. He’d been furious when he found her at the café, but it wasn’t the kind of anger that frightened her. It was the kind that spoke of protection, of resolve.
Maeve stood, the letter still clutched in her hand, and crossed the room. She knocked softly, the sound almost tentative, before pushing the door open.
Rory was standing by the window, his phone in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. His shoulders were tense, his posture rigid as he ended the call and turned to face her. The sharp edge in his expression softened when he saw her, but the intensity in his eyes remained.
“Maeve,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You should be resting.”
“I can’t,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She held up the letter. “I need to talk to you.”
Rory set his glass down and closed the distance between them in a few long strides. He took the letter from her hand, his brows furrowing as he scanned the words. When he finished, he exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he looked back at her.
“He will not touch you,” Rory said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
Maeve shook her head, tears threatening to spill over. “It’s not just about me. It’s Alexander. My father... he’s pulling him in, and I don’t know how to stop it.”
Rory reached out, his hands resting on her shoulders, careful to avoid her bandaged wound. His touch was firm but grounding, and Maeve felt the first cracks in her composure.
“We’ll deal with Alexander,” Rory said. “And your father. But you need to trust me, Maeve. Let me handle this.”
Maeve’s chin trembled as she met his gaze. “I don’t know how to do this, Rory. How to survive in this world. It feels like every step I take, there’s another trap waiting for me.”
Rory’s hands slid down her arms, his touch steady and warm as he guided her closer. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You have me.”
The words hit her harder than she expected, the truth of them breaking through her defenses. She let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the front of his shirt as she rested her forehead against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, a rhythm she clung to.
“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice muffled.
“I know,” Rory said, his hand brushing over her hair. “But you’ll be okay, Maeve. I’ll make damn sure no one takes you from me.”
“And what would Con O’Neill say to that?”
Rory laughed. “Sorry. Con’s mate Katie once worked for Interpol and tried to bring him down. Instead, she ended up happily married to him. Con is the last man on earth who would stand between a man and his fated mate and would be the first in line to help him crush anything and anyone who threatened her.”
Maeve tilted her head back to look at him, her breath catching at the intensity in his gaze. There was something raw there, something unspoken that made her pulse quicken. Before she could second-guess herself, she leaned up, her lips brushing his.
Rory responded instantly, his arms tightening around her as he deepened the kiss. There was no hesitation, no restraint. His lips moved against hers with a passion that made her forget everything—the letter, the attack, the danger. All that mattered was him.
He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the couch as their kiss intensified. Maeve’s hands tangled in his hair, her body arching into his as she let herself get lost in him. Rory’s touch was both commanding and tender, his hands tracing the curves of her body as if he were memorizing her.
The world outside faded as Rory stripped off her clothes before removing his shirt. The previous turmoil gave way to the rising heat between them. Rory kissed her neck, igniting a trail of fire that sent shivers down her spine. Maeve clung to him, her breath coming in soft gasps as he explored every inch of her.
The intense heat building between them consumed Rory and Maeve as they explored each other's bodies. His lips left a trail of fire down her neck, sending shivers through her body. She held on to him tightly, gasping for breath as he continued to explore every inch of her.
When he finally pulled back and locked eyes with her, she felt like she was falling into his dark and emotion-filled gaze. For the first time, she truly understood him. He bent over the back of the couch, his body towering over hers. As he moved between her legs, his cock found its way inside her, filling her with pleasure like nothing else ever had.
He took control, thrusting hard and fast in a primal manner that showed how much he wanted to possess her completely. Maeve cried out his name as she arched her back, feeling his fangs pierce the nape of her neck in a deep and savage bite. This claiming bite not only changed her DNA, but also created a tether between them that would allow him to find her if she was ever in trouble.
He continued to move in and out of her, driving deeper each time and holding her hips in place when she tried to move. Her body trembled with pleasure as they both reached their climax together. Rory held onto her tightly as he continued to pump into her from behind until she couldn't take any more and succumbed to a third orgasm. Finally, he let himself go and released himself inside of her.
“You’re mine,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “No one’s ever taking you from me.”
Maeve’s heart clenched, the intensity of his words both terrifying and thrilling. She reached up, her fingers brushing his cheek as she whispered, “Then don’t let me go.”
As Rory’s lips claimed hers again, Maeve knew there was no turning back. She was bound to him now, her world forever entwined with his.