Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
SIOBHAN
S iobhan sat in the passenger seat of the sleek black SUV, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The iron collar still sat heavy around her throat, the weight of it a constant reminder of how thoroughly trapped she was.
She glared at Daragh O’Neill from the corner of her eye. He looked perfectly at ease, his large hands steady on the wheel, his body relaxed in the way of a man who knew he had already won.
The drive had been silent, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. Every attempt she had made to pry open the collar had been useless, the iron dampening her ability to call on the panther beneath her skin, but that hadn’t stopped her from trying.
She had considered throwing herself out of the moving vehicle, but that was a bit melodramatic and probably would only inflict injuries on her, do nothing to him, and result with her in the same position from which she started. She knew better.
Daragh was faster than he looked, and she knew he would catch her before she got far. If it weren’t for the iron collar, she might have a chance in her shifted form, but as a human she had no chance at all.
So she waited. It was a strategy she had learned long ago. Let them think you’re beaten. Let them believe you’re out of options. Then strike when they least expect it.
The SUV took a turn down a private road, winding through thick trees until the heavy gates of an estate loomed ahead. The iron arch bore the unmistakable insignia of the O’Neill family—the symbol of panthers standing over a Celtic knot, a reminder that once you entered their domain, you belonged to them.
Her stomach twisted. This wasn’t just any hideout. This was one of their fortresses, a place where outsiders didn’t leave unless the O’Neill allowed it.
Daragh rolled down his window, pressing his thumb to a biometric scanner mounted to the security post. The gate groaned as it slid open, and they drove inside, the estate revealing itself in the moonlight.
The main house was a sprawling, stone structure with a modern touch, but Siobhan wasn’t interested in admiring architecture. She was calculating escape routes, assessing the number of guards she could see, and filing away any weaknesses.
Daragh parked near the entrance, then turned toward her, his expression unreadable. “Let’s go.”
Siobhan didn’t move. His gaze sharpened, amusement flickering across his features before disappearing behind that damn frustrating mask of control.
“You can walk inside, kitten and I’ll show you to a guest room. Or I can carry you inside to install you in mine.” His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, a dark promise beneath the words. “I know which I’d prefer—you too I suspect.”
Siobhan unclenched her jaw and shoved the door open before he could make good on the threat.
The moment her boots hit the gravel, the cool night air wrapped around her. The scents of rain-soaked earth, heather and wildflowers combined with the faint tang of the sea filled her nose, grounding her for a fraction of a second.
She followed Daragh up the steps, her body humming with awareness of the man beside her. He moved with predatory ease, a calculated grace that reminded her of the very thing she had been trying to run from all these years.
The O’Neills were not good men. And Daragh? He was their fixer. That, in her mind, made him the worst of them all.
Inside, the house was quiet but not empty. She could sense the presence of others—guards stationed near exits, silent figures watching from the shadows. Every instinct told her she was being herded into a fortress so strong it made the Tower of London look like a run-down hotel.
Daragh led her through a set of double doors into what looked like an office. A fire crackled in the enormous stone fireplace, casting flickering light over the massive desk and shelves lined with books and weapons alike.
He gestured toward the chair across from the desk. “Sit.”
Siobhan stayed standing.
Daragh sighed, but there was something too controlled about it, like he expected her to fight him at every turn. He sat on the edge of the desk, his long legs stretched out as he studied her.
“You have three options,” he said, his voice cool, almost bored.
Siobhan’s hands curled into fists.
“First option,” he continued. “MI5 finds you. They were at your storage unit so we already know they’re aware you’re alive and are looking for you. Maybe they’ll put you in a cage, study you like some kind of lab rat. Maybe they’ll decide you’re too dangerous to keep alive.”
Her gut twisted, but she refused to react.
“Second option,” he went on, tilting his head slightly. “Sebastian Wolfe gets to you first. He also knows you’re alive.”
The ice in her veins was immediate. Daragh didn’t miss it.
“He’s spent years searching for you, kitten,” he murmured, voice deceptively soft. “You think he wants you dead?” His lips quirked, the closest thing to amusement she had seen from him yet. “No, sweetheart. He wants you alive.”
Siobhan swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Daragh let the words sink in before continuing.
“Or we have the third option, which is my personal favorite,” he said, his voice turning smooth, deliberate.
Siobhan’s jaw locked. “And what, exactly, is that?”
“Does it really matter? You’ve made your feelings pretty clear on the first two…”
“Yes, but as far as I know the third might be worse.”
He straightened, pushing off the desk with the unbothered arrogance of a man who already knew the answer.
“True enough. So here’s the last and best—you stay under my protection. The O’Neills make sure neither MI5 nor Sebastian ever touch you.”
Her head snapped up, and she searched his face.
“But there is one, non-negotiable condition.”
“Which is?”
His voice lowered, the next words deliberate, absolute. “You belong to me—no terms, no excuses—for as long as we both shall live.”
Siobhan’s breath caught. She stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. She shook her own and stared again. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“If it makes you feel better to think I’m proposing…” he shrugged.
“Not very romantic Daragh.”
“If you want romantic, it may take a day or so, but you will agree in principle.”
“Agreements made under duress are not legally binding.”
“Perhaps, but then I’ve never much concerned myself with legality.”
The room seemed smaller; the walls pressing in, the fire flickering too bright, too warm. Daragh’s gaze pinned her in place, the heat between them suffocating.
She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms, needing the sharp bite of pain to ground her. “So that’s it? If I agree, you think you own me?”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
“You want to live?” he asked, his voice dark, unwavering. “Then yes.”
Siobhan hated him. Hated that he had backed her into a corner. Hated that he was right. She had nowhere else to go. Her freedom was an illusion—had probably always been an illusion—an idea she had clung to for too long, pretending she was still in control. Daragh had shattered that illusion with a few well-placed truths.
She sucked in a slow breath, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “And if I refuse?”
His expression didn’t change. “You could walk out that door.”
Her heart skipped.
“But you won’t get far,” he added, voice smooth, confident. “MI5 will have eyes on this place soon. Maybe they’ll take you. Maybe Sebastian will get to you first.”
Siobhan’s throat tightened. Daragh pushed away from the desk, stepping closer, his presence like a storm rolling in, dark and inevitable.
“Or,” he said again, the word sliding over her skin like silk-covered steel. “You stay. And I keep you safe.”
She wanted to fight him. Wanted to scream, to tell him to go to hell. But instead, she stood there, her entire world closing in, knowing the truth—she had no other choice—and Daragh knew it.
Siobhan’s breath felt tight in her chest as she stared at Daragh, the firelight casting shadows over his sharp, unreadable features. The words he had spoken still echoed in her head, ringing with the weight of finality.
‘You stay under my protection. The O’Neills make sure neither MI5 nor Sebastian ever touch you.’ But she would belong to him—now and forever. She didn’t like the way something dark surged through her veins. She tried to tell herself that it was fear, but she knew better. It was arousal.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, her body vibrating with defiance, but beneath that was something else—something darker, more primal, something that made her instincts stir in a way that terrified her.
She lifted her chin, refusing to let him see how deeply his words unsettled her. “And if I say no?”
Daragh didn’t hesitate. “Then you take your chances with the people hunting you.” His voice was cool, effortless, as if this entire conversation was nothing more than a formality.
Siobhan clenched her fists. Bastard. He knew damn well she couldn’t do that. She didn’t let her anger get the best of her. She had negotiated with dangerous men before, and while Daragh O’Neill was a special kind of lethal, he was still a man. And men could be played.
Squaring her shoulders, she pushed past the riot of emotions in her chest and leveled him with a cool, calculated gaze. “You don’t need to own me to protect me.”
Daragh’s blue eyes flashed with something dangerous, something that sent a shiver through her.
“That’s where you’re wrong, kitten.”
Siobhan’s pulse skipped, but she refused to break eye contact. “I can pay you.”
A deep, low chuckle rolled from his chest, like she had just told the most amusing joke in the world.
“You think I need your money?” Daragh’s voice was pure arrogance, but it wasn’t the typical male bravado she was used to dealing with. This was something deeper, more primal, like he was indulging her, letting her pretend she had any control over this situation.
Siobhan forced herself to stay calm, to think instead of react. “There has to be another deal we can make. One that doesn’t involve me being some kind of…”
She stopped herself before she could say mate or possession.
Daragh, however, didn’t need her to finish. He took a single step forward, the air between them shifting, growing thick with something dangerous.
“There is no other deal,” he murmured.
His voice sent a slow, unwanted heat through her, and her panther stirred beneath her skin, sharp, restless, hungry. Siobhan swallowed, forcing it back down.
Not now. Not here.
She had trained herself to keep control, to never let the beast inside her override her logic. But right now, logic was slipping through her fingers like sand. Daragh was too close, his presence too big, too consuming, and her traitorous body recognized him as something else entirely.
Not a threat, a challenge.
She hated the way her panther responded to him, the way her instincts screamed at her to turn her back on him, to expose the nape of her neck, to submit—a biological reaction she had spent her whole life fighting against.
Siobhan lifted her chin. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
Daragh didn’t flinch, didn’t react. He simply watched her with those impossible blue eyes, his presence pressing against her like a vice.
“You will,” he said. “One way or another.”
A rush of heat and fury exploded in her chest. Siobhan moved without thinking, lunging at him fast, deadly, aiming for the knife holstered at his hip. She almost got it. But Daragh had been waiting for her to strike.
He caught her wrist before she could wrap her fingers around the hilt, spinning so that she was now bent over the end of the desk, Daragh pressing against her, allowing her to feel the length and strength of his erection.
Her pulse spiked, her body caught between fury and something far more dangerous. Daragh’s grip tightened, his body a solid wall against hers, his dominance bleeding into every inch of the space between them. Siobhan tried to ignore the sharp ache blooming deep inside her—the one that made her want to yowl in response to his dominance. She hated the way her body betrayed her.
Daragh tilted his head slightly, his voice a low growl of amusement. “That the best you’ve got, kitten?”
Her breath hitched, and she hated herself for it. “I hate you,” she snapped, struggling against his grip.
Daragh’s lips curved—not into a smile, never that, but something sharper, something full of wicked certainty. “No, you don’t.”
Her body betrayed her all over again, the heat between them shifting from fury to something far, far worse. Arousal. The kind that burned, the kind that made her panther pace, confused and restless.
Daragh must have sensed it, because his grip loosened just slightly, his breath brushing against the shell of her ear. “You feel it, don’t you?” His voice was a low rasp, nothing more than a whisper of heat against her skin.
Siobhan wanted to tell him no. Wanted to say she felt nothing, but although she thought of herself as a consummate liar, she was finding it difficult to lie to him. Daragh O’Neill was too damn perceptive. She clenched her jaw, refusing to answer, refusing to give him that power.
Daragh’s grip tightened again, his presence overwhelming, his body pressed against hers in a way that made it impossible to ignore just how strong he was, just how easily he could take what he wanted, but he didn’t. No, he wanted her to choose to submit.
Instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping dangerously low as he caressed her backside. “Keep fighting it, kitten. Makes no difference to me. One way or another, you will be mine.”
“So I never really had a choice at all…”
“None whatsoever.”
Siobhan swallowed the frustration, fury, and something far more dangerous burning in her chest. Every inch of her skin was hyperaware of the man standing too damn close, his breath warm against her ear, his voice still lingering in the space between them like a challenge she couldn’t ignore.
‘You feel it, don’t you?’
She hated he was right. Her panther, the one she had spent years controlling, taming, forcing into submission, wasn’t just stirring—it was pacing, restless and agitated, drawn to him in ways that made no sense.
He was the enemy. She should be thinking of ways to kill him, to free herself from this impossible trap he had laid for her. Instead, her body was betraying her in the worst way. Her nipples were becoming taut and her pussy had made its presence known.
She forced herself to breathe as she pushed up from the desk. Daragh stepped back, allowing her to face him. He scented the air and smiled. God she hated him. She tried desperately to shove down the primal instincts trying to take over. That wasn’t her. She didn’t submit to anyone. Siobhan squared her shoulders, shoving her hands against his chest with enough force to create space between them. Daragh only let her move him because he chose to.
That alone made her want to rip his throat out. She lifted her chin, keeping her expression carefully blank. “I need time.”
Daragh arched an eyebrow, his gaze sharp, assessing. She could almost hear the amusement in his silence, the way he was cataloging every reaction she was trying so hard to hide.
Then he nodded once. “You have twenty-four hours.”
Her belly sank and then wallowed in a pool of desire. Twenty-four hours to decide if she was going to bind herself to him and his world. Twenty-four hours to figure out if she could live with the consequences of refusing. Twenty-four hours to figure out if she could find another way out.
Siobhan forced herself to stay composed, even as her heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped thing.
“You expect me to agree to this insanity in a day?” she demanded.
Daragh’s lips curled slightly, his amusement clear despite the sharp edge in his voice. “I expect you to understand the reality of your situation.”
He stepped closer, his body a wall of heat and dominance, suffocating in the worst way.
“If you run,” he continued, his voice dropping to something dangerous, something certain, “I will come for you, and when I catch you, I will attach a leash to your collar and lead you back here. I will have everyone at the estate waiting to watch me parade you up to our room. I will claim you with that iron collar around your neck, your lovely ass sporting a set of welts from my belt, and your belly already full of my cum.”
Siobhan’s pulse spiked, but she held his gaze.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, the words coming out smoother than she felt.
Daragh’s blue eyes burned into hers, unreadable and infuriatingly steady.
“You should be.”
She forced a bitter laugh, crossing her arms over her chest as if that could protect her from whatever the hell this was between them. “If I wanted to leave, I’d already be gone.”
Daragh tilted his head, his gaze unnervingly patient. “And yet, you’re still here. Perhaps you’re far more interested in my forcing your submission. If so, kitten, just say the word. I’ll have you naked and on your knees, with your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock so quickly it’ll make your head spin. When I’m almost ready to come, I’ll put you back over that desk and will fuck you so hard that your yowl will be heard for miles when I claim you.”
Siobhan gritted her teeth, hating him so much in that moment mostly because he was right. Every instinct, every primitive urge wanted a show of his dominance and strength. She needed him to force the issue so she could tell herself she’d never wanted it even though she knew she did. And the worst part of it was, he knew it as well.
Her throat felt tight, her panther clawing at the edges of her control, trying to understand the inexplicable pull toward the very man who had trapped her.
Daragh took another step forward, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that she was acutely aware of how damn big he was, how easily he could overpower her if he wanted to.
His voice was low, lethal. “You have until tomorrow night to decide your fate.”
She forced herself to meet his gaze, ignoring the strange shiver that ran through her at his words.
“Or what?” she asked.
Daragh’s gaze darkened. “Or I decide for you.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t flinch. She couldn’t afford to. Not in front of him. Not when he was already watching her too closely, seeing too much.
Daragh turned, heading toward the door like he had already dismissed her from his thoughts.
Siobhan hated the way her body burned with frustration, the way her instincts screamed at her to chase after him or run in the opposite direction, but neither was an option. Instead, she stood there, feeling the weight of his words settle around her like a cage she hadn’t even realized she had stepped into.
He opened the door. “Murphy,” he shouted.
A young man perhaps in his early twenties with red hair and freckles presented himself. “Daragh.”
“Take Siobhan up to the guest room closest to mine. Post a guard outside her door and one below her balcony. Tell the roving patrols to keep a sharp eye out. Tell Mrs. Carson there will be one more resident at the estate… at least for the foreseeable future.”
“Miss?” Murphy said, gesturing toward the grand staircase.
Siobhan followed, but almost turned into a quivering bowl of gelatin as she passed Daragh and he gave her backside another caress. One that Murphy did not miss and one, she was sure, would be the subject of gossip come morning.
Twenty-four hours. She followed Murphy up the stairs. Twenty-four hours and her fate would be decided one way or another.