Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
SIOBHAN
S iobhan stared at the ceiling, the moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains, casting silver patterns across the elegant bedroom Daragh had placed her in. The bed was too soft, the sheets too luxurious, the entire damn room too comfortable for what was essentially a cage—a gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless.
Twenty-four hours.
She clenched her fists against the silk sheets, frustration and something far darker coiling beneath her skin. Daragh thought he could contain her, dictate the terms of her existence, control her. He had another thought coming.
Siobhan had no intention of waiting for the clock to run out. Rolling silently out of bed, she let her feet touch the thick rug before stepping onto the cool wooden floor. She had already put on loose black pants and a fitted tank top—clothes meant for movement. She had no weapons, but that didn’t matter. She was a weapon.
She padded to the door, twisting the knob with slow precision. Unlocked. Of course, it was. Daragh wanted her to know she had access to the house. He wasn’t keeping her locked up like a prisoner. He was daring her to try something.
Fine. She’d accept the challenge.
Murphy stood outside her door and straightened the moment she stepped into the hallway. He wasn’t one of the O’Neill heavyweights, but he was alert, trained, and watching her closely.
She tilted her head, offering him the most innocuous smile she could manage. “I’d like to explore. Stretch my legs.”
Murphy—Daragh’s loyal little watchdog—didn’t react beyond a small nod. “You’re free to do that, Miss Harrington. But I’m under orders to accompany you.”
She hummed. “Of course.”
She moved past him, walking at a leisurely pace, pretending to admire the grand, old-world charm of the O’Neill estate. If she didn’t know better, she might have called it beautiful. The high ceilings, the heavy wood furniture, the soft flicker of sconces illuminating the hallways—it all spoke of wealth, tradition, and power.
But Siobhan wasn’t here to admire the décor. She was testing the strength of the cage.
Murphy trailed behind her, keeping a respectable distance but never straying too far. She resisted the urge to bristle under his scrutiny. She had spent years learning how to move unseen, to become invisible when necessary, but tonight, she was under a microscope.
She made her way downstairs, past the drawing room, past the library, past the study where a fire still crackled in the hearth. Every time she turned a corner, she counted guards, noted the locations of security cameras, memorized the positioning of exits.
Every path she took ended the same way: blocked.
There were no blind spots. No unguarded exits. No security lapses. The O’Neills had made damn sure of that. Siobhan ground her teeth, keeping her expression carefully neutral.
She wasn’t just trapped. They’d caged her in a fortress designed to keep things out—but even more so, to keep things in.
This wasn’t just about protection. This was about ownership. Daragh’s words echoed in her mind.
You belong to me—no terms, no excuses—for as long as we both shall live.’
Her pulse spiked with anger—or perhaps it was something else. Something she wasn’t ready to name. She reached the grand staircase and turned to Murphy with a serene expression. “Does Daragh always keep his women under such heavy guard?”
Murphy’s expression didn’t flicker. “Wouldn’t know, Miss. He’s never brought a woman here. But you’re not just any woman, are you?”
Her nails dug into her palms. No. She wasn’t. And that was the problem.
She sighed, tilting her head toward the shadowed corridor leading to the back of the house. “And if I wanted some fresh air?”
Murphy gave her a patient look, but she caught the warning underneath it. “I’d be happy to accompany you to the terrace.”
Right. Because guards also protected the terrace.
Siobhan let out a soft laugh, nodding. “That’s thoughtful of you.”
She turned on her heel and headed back upstairs, her mind already whirring with calculations. Daragh hadn’t underestimated her. That meant she had underestimated him. Damn it.
She stepped back into her room, closing the door behind her. The lock clicked softly, but she knew it was only symbolic. They weren’t worried about her trying to leave. Because they both knew she couldn’t. She let out a slow breath, staring at her reflection in the massive antique mirror across from the bed. Green eyes stared back, filled with something wild and caged.
Twenty-four hours.
A slow, sharp smile curved her lips. They thought they had her trapped. They thought she had no options. They thought she would accept her fate without a fight.
They were dead wrong.
The scent of coffee curled through the air, rich and tempting. Siobhan sat at the long wooden dining table, her fingers curled around the delicate porcelain mug, willing herself to focus on the heat of the liquid rather than the man standing at the head of the room.
Daragh.
He hadn’t spoken since she’d entered the kitchen, hadn’t acknowledged her beyond the slow, assessing glance that had brushed over her skin like a caress before he returned to his conversation with a man stationed outside.
She should have been relieved. She should have been grateful for the moment of peace, the illusion of control. Instead, irritation burned through her veins because he wasn’t paying attention to her.
What the hell was wrong with her?
Siobhan gritted her teeth and took another sip of coffee, forcing herself to listen to the conversation happening across the room.
“…Nothing suspicious overnight,” the guard—Murphy, again—was saying. “Perimeter’s secure, and the patrols didn’t pick up anything unusual.”
Daragh nodded once, absently rolling his shoulders, the muscles shifting beneath the crisp white button-down he had thrown on without bothering to button all the way. The column of his throat was bare, a hint of dark ink peeking from beneath the fabric where the first few buttons lay undone.
Her eyes lingered longer than they should have. Daragh turned suddenly, and she knew he’d caught her looking.
His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, locked with hers, a tangible heat radiating between them, a silent echo of their previous night's encounter.
“You’re up early,” he finally said, his voice smooth and unreadable.
Siobhan lifted her chin. “I could say the same about you.”
A slow, calculated pause.
Then, she heard Daragh say, “I got little sleep.” There was something deliberate about the way he said it, something that made her stomach clench. “I kept thinking about a certain little runaway.”
Last night had left her too wired, too aware of the collar still locked around her throat, too wound up from knowing that she had tested every escape route and failed.
“And why is that?” she murmured, lifting the mug to her lips.
Daragh didn’t look away. Didn’t blink.
“Because you’re beautiful and defiant and I look forward to taming you,” he said, the amusement in his voice doing things to her she wasn’t ready to examine too closely.
Siobhan’s fingers tightened around the mug. “I was just exploring.”
His gaze dropped to her throat, lingering there for a beat before traveling up the line of her jaw to meet her glare.
“You were casing the house,” he corrected.
She swallowed hard. Of course, he knew. Of course, he’d been watching her.
She set the mug down carefully, meeting his gaze head-on. “Wouldn’t you, if you were in my position?”
Something dark and satisfied flickered across his expression.
“I would’ve tested the locks,” he agreed, his voice low, lazy with certainty. “Would’ve mapped the exits, noted the guard rotations, checked for vulnerabilities…” He tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting. “But you didn’t find any, did you?”
Siobhan clenched her jaw. “Not yet.”
Daragh let out a quiet chuckle, something low and knowing, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She hated that she liked the sound. Hated that her panther stirred in response, a restless heat unfurling low in her belly.
He took a slow sip of his own coffee, his fingers wrapped around the heavy ceramic mug, completely at ease—completely in control—and it made her blood boil.
“You always this quiet in the mornings?” she asked, needing to push back, needing to break the thick charged silence between them before it swallowed her whole.
Daragh shrugged one broad shoulder. “Depends on the company.”
She rolled her eyes. “Charming.”
A slow, wicked glint entered his gaze. “I can be.”
Siobhan refused to acknowledge the way her pulse jumped, the way her body tightened at the suggestion in his tone. Instead, she pushed back her chair and stood, needing distance, needing air.
Daragh watched her every movement, his gaze tracking her like prey, and it made her want to snarl, want to run, want to fight—because it felt like he was toying with her. He didn’t see her as a threat. He saw her as his to claim, his to control, his to keep.
Siobhan took a slow breath, controlling the flicker of rage licking at the edges of her restraint.
She turned toward the door. “I’m going outside.”
Murphy shifted from his post, about to follow.
But before he could move, Daragh’s voice cut through the room, low and absolute.
“No.”
Siobhan froze. She turned back, arching an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Daragh didn’t repeat himself. He simply lifted his coffee to his lips, took a long, slow sip, and met her glare with one of his own—lazy, amused, and entirely unbothered.
“You don’t go outside unless I say so,” he said, matter-of-fact, as if they were discussing the weather, as if her freedom was his to grant or deny on a whim.
Something inside her snapped.
She planted her hands on the table, leaning in. “And what exactly do you think I’m going to do, Daragh?”
His eyes darkened. “Run.”
Siobhan held his gaze. “Maybe I just want fresh air.”
Daragh set his mug down with a slow, deliberate movement, then pushed to his feet. Every inch of him radiated dominance, certainty, control. He stepped around the table, closing the space between them in two easy strides.
Siobhan stood her ground, even when he stopped just shy of touching her, his presence looming, pressing, suffocating.
Daragh reached out, trailing the edge of his knuckles along the line of the iron collar still locked around her throat. Her breath hitched, fury warring with something hotter, something she wasn’t ready to name.
“You want fresh air?” he murmured, his voice dangerously soft.
Siobhan refused to react, refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his touch sent a shudder down her spine. Instead, she lifted her chin, meeting his challenge. “Yes.”
Daragh studied her for a long moment, his gaze dropping to her lips before sliding back up. Then he let his hand fall away.
“Fine.”
Siobhan blinked. That was it? Just fine?
But before she could savor the victory, Daragh leaned in, his breath brushing her ear, his voice a dark, silken threat. “But don’t mistake my generosity for weakness, kitten,” he murmured. “You’re still mine.”
Siobhan’s heart slammed against her ribs, her body betraying her in the worst possible way. She hated him. And even worse—some traitorous, primal part of her knew she was lying.
The estate was vast, its walls thick and fortified, its security tighter than a prison. Every attempt she’d made to slip through its defenses had failed. As the golden morning sun cast long shadows across the sprawling grounds, painting the dew-kissed grass in shimmering light, she knew this was her last chance to escape.
Siobhan moved carefully, her body pressed into the shadows of the back corridor. In the control room, personnel monitored the security feeds, but the guards rotated every fifteen minutes, creating a slim opening. She knew the risks. She didn’t care.
With her panther locked away beneath the iron collar, she only had her human skill set—deception, speed, and silence. She moved with precision, slipping past the first checkpoint, her pulse steady, her ears straining for any sign of movement.
The outer hallway stretched before her, leading to the servant’s entrance—her way out. If she made it past the next corridor, she’d reach the lower levels and disappear into the city before Daragh even knew she was missing. But the moment she stepped past the last doorway, everything changed. A solid wall of muscle blocked her exit, cutting off the dim light.
Siobhan’s stomach plummeted. Daragh. His scent wrapped around her before she even lifted her gaze—smoke, leather, whiskey, and the crisp bite of cold air. Her pulse slammed against her ribs. She barely had time to react before he moved. He didn’t grab her, didn’t drag her back like she expected.
He backed her against the nearest wall with deliberate, measured force, his broad frame caging her in, one palm pressing against the stone beside her head, the other tipping her chin until she had no choice but to meet his eyes.
The stormy blue depths locked on her, burning with something she couldn’t name. Her breath stuttered.
Daragh’s jaw ticked once. “How many times, kitten?”
His voice was too smooth, too controlled—which meant he was furious.
Siobhan swallowed. “How many times what?”
His lips curved, but there was nothing soft in it—nothing forgiving. “How many times were you planning to try before you accepted there’s no getting out?” His fingers flexed against her chin, his thumb sweeping over her pulse, feeling it race beneath her skin.
She lifted her chin defiantly. “If you expect me to just lie down and accept this, you don’t know me at all.”
Daragh’s eyes darkened, his body pressing just a fraction closer. “I know exactly who you are,” he murmured. “I just don’t think you want to admit what we both know you want.”
Siobhan hated the way her body reacted to his proximity, the way the heat of him sent a slow coil of unwanted pleasure through her veins. She didn’t want to want him. Did she?
“You’re full of shit,” she snapped.
Daragh chuckled. The sound was low, knowing, and entirely too confident. “Am I?” He shifted slightly, his thigh pressing between hers, his breath a whisper against her cheek. “Tell me, kitten—if I’m so full of shit, why are you still here?”
Siobhan refused to answer. She couldn’t. Because he was right. She hadn’t run. She could have fought harder. Could have made him kill her before she ever accepted this fate, but she hadn’t. Deep down, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Daragh exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience visibly fraying. Then he glanced at his watch. He met her gaze again, the finality in his stare sending a pulse of something hot and electric through her. “Time is ticking away.”
She turned and ran up the stairs to her room, locking the door with a sharp click before pressing her back against the cool wood. Siobhan had no doubt that if Daragh didn’t have a key, he could bloody well kick the door in. Her breath came fast, chest rising and falling in ragged pulls as she fought to steady herself.
Her knees felt weak, her body throbbing with residual heat and frustration. Damn him. Damn Daragh O’Neill for backing her into a corner—physically, emotionally, in every possible way.
The heavy iron collar, a constant reminder of her captivity, encircled her throat. That no matter how much she fought, no matter how many times she tested the estate’s defenses, she wasn’t going anywhere.
She spent the day pacing her room and watching the clock, wondering if she was watching the last minutes of her freedom tick away forever. Repeatedly, she walked out onto the balcony only to see two men stationed immediately below her and roving patrols covering the grounds.
Her fingers curled into fists as she pushed off the door for the hundredth time, stalking to the window. The sky had darkened, the last traces of sunlight being swallowed by the encroaching night. Time was slipping away. The twenty-four-hour deadline he had given her was running out, and she was no closer to an answer than she had been the moment he’d given it.
Siobhan paced, her boots scuffing against the hardwood floor, her mind racing through every possibility, every potential escape. But she had nothing. No weapons, no allies, no plan.
She glanced at the bedside clock. Hours left.
The thought sent a sharp pang through her chest.
If she ran, he would catch her. If she fought, he would break her down until she surrendered. And if she stayed…
Her pulse spiked.
Siobhan growled under her breath, raking a hand through her hair. There had to be a way out of this. There always was. She just had to find it—before it was too late.
Time kept ticking away. Siobhan clenched her fists at her sides, her chest rising and falling too fast. Everything in her screamed to deny him, to fight—to claw and burn and destroy. But something deeper, something more dangerous, told her this was inevitable. That it had always been inevitable.
Finally as the appointed hour loomed, she unlocked the bedroom door only to find Murphy standing outside in the hallway.
“Do you even eat or sleep?” she asked.
“Yes, Miss. Thank you for your concern. Daragh asked that I escort you to the study.”
“You mean his office?”
“Yes, Miss.”
She bloody well knew where his office was so she pushed past Murphy and led the way to the study where Daragh awaited, looking calm and confident as he leaned against his desk. Siobhan’s lips parted, her throat tight. She licked them, running her tongue across their surface, barely noticing how Daragh’s gaze dropped to follow the movement.
Closing the double doors behind her, she slowly nodded. Daragh’s eyes flashed—something primal igniting in their depths. Siobhan let out a shaky breath, forcing herself to hold his stare.
“I suppose we should seal it with a kiss then,” she murmured.
Daragh’s lips curled into something dangerously amused. “Oh, kitten.” His hand suddenly fisted in her hair, tugging just enough to make her arch.
He leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear as his free hand unzipped his trousers, his voice nothing but gravel and command. “I had something more intimate in mind.”
Siobhan barely had time to process the words before he guided her down to her knees. Her breath hitched, her pulse pounding, as she stared up at him, her cheeks flushed with something hot and undeniable.
His thick, rigid length stood before her, hard and demanding, the head already slick with arousal.
A wicked thrill shot through her despite herself.
Daragh’s fingers tightened in her hair, his voice rough. “Open your mouth, kitten.”
Siobhan’s nails dug into his thighs, her chest heaving as she stared at him, her mind warring with her body. She should resist. She should fight. But instead—her lips parted. He guided himself forward, the thick heat of him brushing against her lips, and Siobhan felt her last shred of control snap.
Daragh let out a low growl of satisfaction. Her tongue flicked out, her breath ragged, and then she took him in. At first, she worked him slowly, her resistance evident in every hesitant movement, every shallow suck.
But Daragh wasn’t a man who allowed half-measures. His fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her deeper, making her take more of him until she had no choice but to relax and submit.
And God help her, but the moment she did, she loved it. Loved the way he groaned, the way his muscles tensed, the way he lost that iron control for just a moment as she hollowed her cheeks and took him fully. The power of it thrilled her.
She sucked harder, flicking her tongue over the sensitive underside, dragging her nails lightly along his thighs. Daragh let out a dark curse, his hips jerking slightly.
“Fuck, kitten,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, his body tight with restraint.
Siobhan’s blood sang, her panther purring in pleasure, her human side desperate to ignore the way she reveled in this submission. She swallowed him deeper, feeling the power shift, feeling his control break, just for her—and it made her drunk on the victory.
Daragh’s head tipped back, his fingers tightening, his breath coming fast and uneven, as he shoved himself to the back of her throat and emptied himself into her belly. Siobhan reveled in it. Because in this moment, he might own her, but she owned him too.