Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
DARAGH
D aragh had fought killers. He’d fought trained mercenaries, cartel hitmen, men with nothing left to lose. But none of them fought like Siobhan Harrington.
The second he had her pinned, she exploded, twisting like a wild thing, using the unpredictability of instinct over form, ferocity over precision. She wasn’t trying to get away—she was trying to take him down, and she almost succeeded.
Her knee shot up—fast, vicious, aimed for his balls. He blocked it with a twist of his hip, but she used the deflection to push off the wall, her leg hooking around his in an attempt to bring him down with her.
Clever. Damn clever.
Daragh countered with brute force, wrenching her leg free and shoving her back against the brick, using his weight to keep her still, planting himself so that she straddled him with her legs.
“I was planning to get between your legs, kitten, but I had something far more intimate in mind.”
She growled. He chuckled.
She didn’t stop. Her nails raked against his forearm as she tried to pry herself loose, her breathing sharp, her body nothing but pure, desperate energy.
Daragh let out a low, guttural sound of approval. She was fast. Brutal. And she fought like someone who didn’t expect to lose.
“Keep going, kitten,” he taunted, his grip tightening when she tried to twist out of his hold. “I’ve got all night.”
Siobhan let out a snarl of frustration, using her knee again, this time aiming for the one place that would put him down permanently, but he had expected that. Daragh barely dodged in time, turning so the blow glanced off his thigh instead of crushing something vital.
His patience snapped. Before she could launch another strike, he used his greater size and sheer strength, capturing both of her wrists in one hand and slamming them above her head against the warehouse wall.
She gasped, her eyes going wide, but there was no fear—only fury. But there was something else—something hot, electric, and completely unexpected. Daragh felt it the moment her body pressed against his.
The way her chest heaved, her breath unsteady, lips parted, pupils blown wide not just from the fight but from something deeper. Her hips shifted, her skin heated, and for one reckless second, he almost leaned in.
Damn it.
Daragh clenched his jaw, forcing himself to ignore the sudden pull, the ridiculous urge to taste the fight still lingering on her lips.
He wasn’t here for this. But now, standing this close, feeling the way her body vibrated beneath him, he couldn’t unsee what had just happened. He had pinned plenty of people in his time—men twice his size, enemies he had broken, people who had begged for mercy.
Siobhan? She wasn’t begging; she was daring him. Challenging him. And damn it, but some dark part of him liked it. He took a slow, measured breath, reigning in the heat licking at the edges of his control.
“This isn’t going to work,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something dangerously soft.
Siobhan’s breath hitched, but her glare didn’t waver. “Then let me go.”
Daragh let out a low chuckle, shifting just enough so she could feel the solid press of him against her.
“You think I’m stupid?” His fingers flexed around her wrists. “You’ve already tried running, fighting… what’s next?”
Siobhan’s chest rose and fell too fast, her lips parting, the fight in her warring with something else entirely. “You don’t know me,” she whispered.
Daragh tilted his head, studying her, his grip still unrelenting.
“Then give me a reason to.”
Her pupils dilated, her throat worked as she swallowed, and for one heartbeat, she wasn’t fighting anymore. And neither was he.
Damn it all to hell. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was supposed to be a job. She was supposed to be just another problem to fix, another loose end to tie up.
But now? Now, he had a much bigger problem.
He wanted her. And not just in a fuck hard and fast before leaving her behind kind of way. No. This was the kind of forever way, and worse yet? She wanted him, too.
Daragh had controlled himself for years. His life wasn’t one of indulgence or chaos—not anymore. He took what he needed, when he needed it, and nothing more. He didn’t get attached, didn’t crave things he couldn’t have. But this woman—this feral, defiant, utterly captivating woman—was testing the limits of that control.
Every inch of his body hummed with the wrong kind of awareness, his instincts pulling toward something primal, something dark. The part of him that had always been logical, always in control, was screaming at him to let go.
Take her. Make her submit. Claim what was his. Fated mate.
Daragh nearly recoiled at the word. He didn’t believe in it. Didn’t want to believe in it. And yet, standing here, holding her like this, feeling her shaking beneath him with rage and something deeper, he knew.
His grip on her wrists tightened slightly before he forced himself to relax.
It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. Siobhan was a problem to fix, nothing more.
His body didn’t seem to agree. Neither did his instincts.
Her breath hitched, her pulse hammering against the delicate skin of her throat, her green eyes bright with challenge. She wasn’t afraid of him. That, more than anything, made his blood run hotter. She didn’t fear him. She fought him, and a part of him liked it.
He should end this. Now. He needed to make her understand how this was going to play out, make it clear she had no other choice but to come with him, whether or not she liked it.
Instead, he lingered. Siobhan’s pupils dilated, her chest rising and falling too quickly, her lips parting just enough for him to wonder what she would taste like. A warning growl rumbled in his chest. He forced his breathing even, pushed the thoughts away.
This wasn’t about desire. This wasn’t about fate. This was a job.
But Siobhan had other plans. Her body tensed beneath him, something fluctuating in the surrounding air. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
She wasn’t just fighting anymore. She was starting to shift. Daragh had expected it—anticipated the moment she’d stop playing by human rules, and he was ready for it.
The moment the swirling mist coiled at her feet, the air crackling with the unnatural electricity of her transition, Daragh moved.
From his coat pocket, he pulled the collar of iron and snapped it around her throat. Siobhan let out a choked gasp, her body seizing as the mist vanished, her half-formed transition snapping back into human form with violent finality.
Her knees nearly buckled from the force of it, her body fighting against the restriction. But Daragh was right there, catching her, holding her upright as she gasped for breath.
He let out a low, satisfied sound. “Nice try, kitten.”
Siobhan shook, her body still vibrating with the remnants of the aborted shift. She clawed at the metal collar with her fingers, but it remained locked.
“No,” she rasped, a wild, panicked sound. “Take it off.”
Daragh watched her struggle, his grip still firm on her arms, his voice impossibly calm. “I don’t think so. Have you ever wondered why it’s iron that prevents a shift? Why not diamonds or pearls? Both would look so much prettier around your neck.”
She snarled, a sound that would have been deadly in her panther form. Here, trapped in her human skin, it was desperate. Her fear was genuine.
He hated that he noticed it. Hated even more that some part of him wanted to soothe her, to ease the fear, even as he kept her bound.
“The more you fight, the worse it’ll feel,” he whispered.
Siobhan’s gaze snapped to his, pure hatred flashing in her eyes.
“You bastard,” she hissed, her voice shaking. “You…”
He leaned in, just enough to silence her next words, his voice a dark promise against her ear.
“You’re mine now, kitten. We both know it.”
She went still, and for the first time, Siobhan didn’t fight. She just breathed, too fast, too shallow, too shaken to hide it.
Daragh felt it, the undeniable change between them—something dangerous, something irreversible.
He hadn’t planned on this. Hadn’t planned on her, but it was too late now, because she wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he.
She had thought she could shift and run. She had thought she could shift and disappear. She had thought wrong.
Siobhan’s eyes burned with pure fury, her breath uneven, her fingers trembling against the unyielding metal locked around her neck. She hated this. Hated him. Hate would keep her focused. It would keep her fighting. And he wanted her fighting, just not against him. Not anymore.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t be prepared for this?” Daragh asked, his voice low, taunting. “MI5 might not know what you are, but the O’Neill has always known.”
“You’re not the O’Neill,” she snarled.
“No, I’m not, but I sit at his left hand and there are few who have more pull with him than me.”
Siobhan yanked at the collar again, frustration flickering across her face when it didn’t budge. “Take it off,” she growled.
Daragh chuckled. “No.”
Her jaw clenched, her breath coming hard. She twisted again, trying to break free of his grip, but he didn’t let her. Not yet.
She was magnificent, all power and defiance, but she had to learn. She wasn’t in control here. He was.
His voice dropped as he leaned in just enough to feel the warmth of her skin. “You didn’t actually believe we didn’t know what you are, did you?”
Siobhan went still. Just for a second. It was quick—so quick an ordinary man wouldn’t have caught it. But Daragh wasn’t ordinary.
For the first time, uncertainty flickered across her face.
A lesser man might have missed the way her body locked up, the subtle tightening of her fingers against the collar, the way her pupils flared before narrowing into something sharp and calculating.
Daragh felt it, the moment she realized she had underestimated them.
“You’re full of shit,” she said, her voice steady, though some doubt remained.
Daragh tipped his head, watching her. “Am I?”
She swallowed, her throat moving against the metal. She knew. And now she knew that he knew. The air between them crackled with something hot, something neither of them had expected.
Daragh could feel it in his blood, in the way his body responded against his will, in the way his dominance rose—an instinct as old as time, as undeniable as the pull of the moon.
She was his.
His fingers flexed around her wrist, the need to claim, to mark, to dominate pressing into his skull like a blade. He had never felt it like this before. Never this strong. Never this absolute.
The word pounded through him like a war drum, a call to something primal, something he had spent his entire life denying. Daragh inhaled slowly, reining it in. Forcing it back. This wasn’t the time.
He didn’t want a mate. He sure as hell didn’t want a fated mate. God, he’d laughed so hard at Con when he’d fallen for Katie. Even if Daragh did—Siobhan seemed even less inclined to accept the truth than he was. Hell, she’d rather burn the world down than admit she belonged to anyone.
So he did the one thing she wouldn’t expect. He turned her loose.
Siobhan stumbled back a step, her wrists now free, but the collar still locked around her throat. She didn’t run. Didn’t attack. She just stood there, her breath uneven, her entire body vibrating with too much emotion to name.
Daragh crossed his arms over his chest, watching her. “You’re coming with me.”
A sharp laugh escaped Siobhan’s lips, but it was forced and brittle. “Like hell I am.”
Daragh gave her a long, measured look. “You don’t have a choice.”
She lifted her chin. “There’s always a choice.”
Daragh shook his head. “Not this time.”
Something dark and dangerous flickered in her expression, a warning, a promise. But Daragh wasn’t worried. She would cooperate. Because she had no other option, and she knew it.
Daragh stepped closer, watching as she refused to back away, refused to look away, even though her body betrayed her.
Her pulse was hammering in her throat. Her breathing too fast. Her scent had changed, just slightly, enough for him to know she felt it too. The chemistry between them wasn’t one-sided.
But Daragh wasn’t about to act on it, at least not yet.
Instead, he leaned in, dropping his voice to something low and final.
“You’re mine now, kitten.”
Siobhan’s breath hitched, her pupils blowing wide, and for the first time, she didn’t have a response.
Daragh grinned, turning on his heel. He wouldn’t have to drag her out of here. She would follow—not because she wanted to, but because she knew she had nowhere else to go.