Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
SIOBHAN
T he morning sun painted the bedroom in soft, gilded light, filtering through the heavy curtains in slanted rays. Siobhan stirred, her body aching in ways she had never imagined—every muscle sated, every inch of her marked by Daragh’s possession. The scent of him clung to her skin, a reminder of everything that had happened the night before. The sheets beneath her felt too warm, too confining, and yet she didn’t move right away.
She was wrapped in his arms.
Daragh’s grip was firm even in sleep, his muscular arm draped over her waist, locking her against him. His bare chest pressed against her back, the steady rise and fall of his breathing the only thing that remained peaceful between them. The possessiveness in his embrace was unmistakable. Even unconscious, he refused to let her go.
Her throat tightened as the memories flooded back—his mouth at her neck, his hands claiming every part of her, the primal way he had taken her, broken her apart, and put her back together as his. She could still feel the burn of his bite at her nape, the bond seared into her very soul.
A shudder ran through her, equal parts rage and something far more dangerous.
I let this happen.
No. It was more than that, she had wanted it. That was the worst part. There had been no coercion, no force beyond the sheer, undeniable chemistry that had ignited between them from the moment she had first laid eyes on him. And last night, he had destroyed whatever illusions she’d had about escaping him—not just physically, but in every way that mattered.
Siobhan pressed her lips together, forcing her breathing steady. She needed space. Distance. Carefully, she shifted beneath his arm, trying to ease herself free without waking him. But the instant she moved, Daragh’s grip tightened like a steel vice, yanking her flush against him.
Siobhan let out a sharp breath as his stubble rasped against her bare shoulder.
"Where do you think you're going, kitten?" His voice was thick with sleep, low and husky in her ear. The sound sent a shiver down her spine, infuriatingly intimate.
"Let me up," she muttered, her hands pushing against the arm locked around her waist.
Daragh didn’t move. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, directly over the bite he’d left the night before. His tongue flicked against the mark, sending heat pooling low in her belly.
"You belong here," he murmured against her skin. "With me."
Siobhan gritted her teeth. "That wasn't part of the deal."
Daragh chuckled, the vibration rumbling through her. "Oh? Which part did you think you could negotiate, kitten? The marriage? The claiming? The fact that your body is still aching from the way I fucked you into submission last night?"
Her cheeks burned. She hated how easily he could reduce her to this—how he could say things that made her breath catch and her thighs clench even as she wanted to claw his face off.
She twisted in his grip, facing him. His eyes were open now, dark and unreadable, watching her with a quiet intensity that sent something skittering through her chest.
"I never agreed to be yours, Daragh. Not like this."
His expression didn’t change, but she saw the flicker of something dangerous in his gaze. Amusement? Maybe. Possession? Definitely.
"You agreed the moment you let me inside you," he said simply. "And the moment I bit you, it became permanent. There’s no undoing it now, kitten. You know that."
Siobhan’s nails bit into her palms. Of course she knew. No matter what happened, no matter how far she ran, that bond would never break—it might weaken with distance, but she would never be free of it or him. She would always feel him. Want him. And if she was honest, that terrified her more than anything else.
“I thought we might maintain separate bedrooms.”
“Think again,” he purred. “You will sleep at my side every night for the rest of your life—naked and available to me.”
"You’re a monster," she said, her voice taut.
Daragh studied her for a long moment, then shrugged, rolling onto his back. He let his arm fall away, granting her the freedom she had fought for. But the way he watched her as she sat up, as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and planted her feet on the floor, told her exactly how much space he was allowing her.
Siobhan pushed her hair back from her face, taking a steadying breath. Her body still hummed with the aftershocks of the night before, pleasure and exhaustion warring beneath her skin. She needed to get dressed, to put distance between them before she did something reckless like crawl back into that bed.
She stood, searching for her clothes, but before she could take a step, Daragh’s voice stopped her cold.
"You can’t run, you know. You’ll never even make it out of the house, and if you do, you’ll be wearing the collar I had made for you."
Siobhan stiffened.
She turned slowly, her fingers curling into fists. "I'm just getting dressed."
Daragh sat up, resting his forearms on his knees, watching her with the patience of a predator who had already snared his prey. "You think you can pull away from me now? After everything?"
Her throat was dry. "I think I need to breathe."
A lazy, knowing grin curved his lips, and something about it made her stomach twist.
"That's the problem, kitten," he murmured, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. "You keep thinking you can separate yourself from this. From me."
Siobhan took a step back, but he was already in front of her, already closing the distance she had so desperately tried to put between them.
"You can't." His fingers trailed up her bare arm, slow, deliberate. "You won't."
Siobhan swallowed hard. Her pulse was hammering now, but she refused to back down. "Watch me."
Daragh’s grip caught her chin, tilting her face until their eyes locked.
"You still don’t get it, do you?" he said softly.
Siobhan’s breath stalled.
Daragh’s gaze dropped to her lips, then lower, to the mark he had left at her nape. His thumb brushed over it, and she felt the connection hum through her like an electric current.
"You’re mine now," he said, his voice dark and sure. "Running is no longer an option."
She clenched her jaw, her body betraying her as heat pulsed low in her belly. Daragh’s fingers tightened ever so slightly, his grip still gentle, but the promise behind it was absolute.
"You feel it too," he murmured, his lips hovering just over hers. "Does it claw at your belly the way it does at mine? Is the only relief you’ve been able to find when I buried myself in you and made you yowl? You can fight it, pretend all you want—but in the end, you will come back to me."
Siobhan trembled, but she refused to break eye contact. She refused to acknowledge the truth in his words. But deep down, she already knew. Because even now, when she had the chance to run, she wasn’t moving.
Daragh smiled, slow and dangerous. "Good girl," he murmured, brushing his lips over hers in the softest, most devastating kiss of all.
And just like that, she knew she had already lost.
Siobhan’s heart beat like a war drum in her chest as Daragh’s lips barely brushed over hers. The touch was light, almost teasing, but there was nothing gentle about the power behind it. His dominance wrapped around her like chains she couldn’t break.
Couldn’t or wouldn’t? She wanted to deny it. To shove him away, throw words like shackles and captivity in his face, but she wasn’t moving. She wasn’t pulling back. And the longer they stood there, the closer he pressed against her, the more her body betrayed her.
“Say it,” Daragh murmured, his breath warm against her skin. His fingers curled under her chin, holding her still, forcing her to meet his gaze.
Siobhan swallowed hard, her throat working against the admission that threatened to break free.
“You belong to me,” he continued, his voice velvet-wrapped steel. “Say it, kitten.”
Her nails bit into her palms. “I…”
Daragh didn’t wait.
In a single, fluid motion, he caught her by the waist and spun her back onto the bed. Before she could react, he was on top of her again, his body pressing her into the mattress, his hands spreading her thighs wide. The shift in control was seamless, like he had known all along she would fight, would push back—would need to be reminded who was in charge.
Heat pulsed low in her belly, liquid fire melting through her veins.
Siobhan hissed, arching against him, her body desperate for friction she refused to beg for.
Daragh dragged his knuckles up the inside of her thigh, so soft, so deliberate, the anticipation burning hotter than the touch itself. “You want me.” It wasn’t a question.
Siobhan clenched her jaw, shaking her head. “You’re a bastard.”
He chuckled darkly. “I think we established that last night.”
Then his fingers slipped lower, teasing, stroking, but never giving her what she needed. Her breath caught, her thighs trembling. She tried to twist away, but he pinned her down easily, spreading her wide as he hovered over her, his gaze dark and unrelenting.
“You don’t get to run from this,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along her jaw, his fingers never stopping their wicked torment. “Not when you were dripping for me last night. Not when you came screaming my name.”
Siobhan shuddered, fighting the pleasure threatening to undo her. “You’re insufferable.”
Daragh’s grip tightened on her hips. “I am, and you love it.”
Before she could deny it, his fingers curled inside her, pressing against that spot that made her vision go white. She gasped, her back bowing, but Daragh held her down, refusing to let her move away from the pleasure he was forcing upon her.
“Say it,” he demanded again, thrusting his fingers deeper.
Siobhan whimpered, her nails clawing at the sheets. “No.”
Daragh’s fingers traced the nape of her neck, right over his claiming mark. “Then I’ll just have to ruin you until you do.”
Her world shattered as his mouth descended, hot and ruthless against her most sensitive flesh. His tongue flicked, licked, devoured, and Siobhan’s protests died in a strangled moan.
Her hips bucked, but he held her down, forcing her to take everything he gave her. She writhed, teetering on the edge, her thighs trembling, her body coiling tighter and tighter…
“Admit it, kitten,” Daragh rasped against her, his voice vibrating against her soaked skin. “Say you belong to me, or I’ll keep you like this all day.”
Siobhan bit her lip, her pride a flickering ember beneath the raging fire of her pleasure. “Damn you,” she breathed.
Daragh’s teeth sank lightly into her thigh in warning.
She snapped. “Fine,” she gasped, trembling. “I—I belong to you.”
The second the words left her lips, Daragh’s grip tightened, and he wrecked her. His tongue, his fingers, the brutal precision of his movements sent her spiraling over the edge, pleasure slamming into her so violently she sobbed through it. Her release tore through her like a storm, leaving her gasping, shattered, and entirely at his mercy.
Daragh growled in satisfaction, licking his lips as he finally—finally—relented. He pulled her boneless body into his arms, cradling her possessively. “Good girl,” he murmured against her temple.
Siobhan hated how much those words satisfied her.
She drifted in the afterglow, Daragh’s arms wrapped tightly around her, anchoring her against him. His heartbeat was a steady drum beneath her ear, his scent a mixture of musk, sex, and the lingering traces of whiskey from the night before.
And yet, beneath it all, there was still something else—something dangerous.
The quiet between them wasn’t just silence. It was waiting.
Daragh’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. Siobhan barely stirred as he reached for it, his grip on her never loosening as he answered.
“What?” His voice was calm, but she could feel the energy in his body shift—not the kind she wanted.
A pause. Then Con’s voice, clipped and deadly, filtered through the speaker. “It’s Sebastian.”
Siobhan’s gut twisted.
Daragh’s hand flexed against her hip. “What about him?”
Con sighed. “The bastard’s done waiting. He just put a hit out on you.”
Siobhan jerked upright, the lingering haze of pleasure vanishing. “What?”
Daragh stared at her with dark, furious eyes.
“She is no longer his top priority,” Con continued grimly. “He wants you dead.”
Daragh’s grip on the phone tightened, his jaw clenching. “Let the bastard come.”
Siobhan’s blood ran cold. Sebastian hadn’t just escalated the hunt… he had declared war.
The cold, brutal truth of Con’s words settled over the room like a suffocating fog. Sebastian Wolfe had put a hit out on Daragh. Not a warning. Not another failed attempt to steal her back. A kill order.
Siobhan stared at Daragh, searching for any sign of fear, any flicker of hesitation, but there was none. He was still, too still, the kind of stillness that preceded bloodshed. His fingers curled around the phone, his knuckles taut, but his voice was calm.
“Who took the contract?”
Con sighed. “Word is, Sebastian isn’t relying on just one crew. He put the bounty up for any merc or syndicate willing to collect.”
An icy dread seeped into her, causing her stomach to churn uncomfortably. That meant everyone would be coming. Every rogue gunman, every power-hungry assassin, every two-bit hitman looking to make a name for themselves.
She wondered if the O’Neills would be able to stop all of them. “I’ve called our people back. Even Killian is sending people from New York. Gavan, Joshua and Braden have all said they’d send men. In fact, it was Joshua who gave me the heads up.
Siobhan pressed a hand to her chest, forcing air into her lungs. She was used to being hunted, to being the one running, but Daragh—Daragh wasn’t a target. They shouldn’t have dragged him into this. But he had been. Because of her.
Daragh set the phone aside, his focus settling on her, his gaze unreadable. “I’ll get the men ready and the women and children to safety.”
Con hesitated. “Daragh, send them to the abbey and let me know if I need to make special allowances for your mate.”
“Siobhan stays with me…”
“Dar…”
“The others will be safer with you, but I won’t bring Sebastian’s level of violence to those at the abbey. Besides if he knows she’s here, he’ll fixate on the estate. She’ll be safer here than anywhere else on earth.”
A beat of silence, then Con muttered a curse before continuing. “You’re probably right. I don’t like it, but you probably are. Poor old Sebastian doesn’t have a clue as to the level of hurt he’s about to experience. Con said, “Take care of Siobhan,” then hung up before any more could be said.
Siobhan forced herself to sit up, ignoring the way her limbs ached from what Daragh had done to her just moments ago. “This is my fault.”
Daragh’s gaze snapped to hers, dark and fierce. “No, kitten. This is Sebastian’s fault.”
She shook her head, her mind racing. “He would never have come after you or challenged the O’Neill if you hadn’t taken me…”
“And if I hadn’t, you’d be dead.” His voice was steady, absolute. “Sebastian doesn’t tolerate disobedience. If he’d gotten you back, he would have punished you. Then he would have put you in the ground just to make sure no one else ever thought of defying him.”
She swallowed hard because she knew he was right.
Daragh reached out, his fingers brushing against the fresh bite on her neck, the place where he had claimed her. A deep, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest. “You’re mine, Siobhan. And no one takes what’s mine.”
The words shouldn’t have comforted her. They should have terrified her. Instead, heat unfurled in her chest, something dark and possessive curling around her like an embrace she couldn’t escape.
A knock sounded at the door.
Murphy stepped inside without waiting for permission, his face grim. “Daragh, Callum spoke with Con, the heads of the different cities are inbound, and our people are going to want to know what you want.”
Daragh gave a slow nod and Murphy left. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants from the dresser, Daragh pulled them on without bothering with a shirt, his body still humming with heat from what they had just done. “Stay here,” he ordered Siobhan, his tone brooking no argument.
She scoffed. “Not a chance.”
His jaw twitched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed a robe from the closet—a robe he must have bought for her. “Fine. Now would be a good time for you to learn to obey me without question. Downstairs, you stay close to me.”
Siobhan wrapped the robe around her and followed him downstairs.
The main hall was filled with O’Neills. Not just Murphy, but many of those she had seen since coming here. Con would be in the abbey fortress, while the other heads of the illegal businesses were headed to the estate.
At the center of them all was Callum Kavanaugh, Daragh’s friend and the man who ran the O’Neill’s business here in Dublin. He was also Isolde’s husband and mate.
His gray eyes flicked to Siobhan the second they entered. “You’ve caused quite the mess, Siobhan, although Isolde is glad to know you’re alive and well.”
“I don’t know that that’s how I’d classify my current state,” said Siobhan.
Daragh’s arm came around her waist, his grip firm. “Careful, Siobhan.”
Siobhan stiffened, but Daragh’s grip tightened, his dominance crackling in the air. “Say what you came to say, Callum.”
Callum exhaled sharply and leaned against the table, his gaze sharp. “Sebastian isn’t just looking to take you out. He’s trying to dismantle us.” He nodded toward the newest made man, Finn O’Neill—one of Con’s cousins. “Tell him.”
Finn rubbed the back of his neck. “Sebastian has been making quiet moves in the city. He’s putting pressure on our alliances, feeding information to our enemies. If he gets his way, he won’t have to put a bullet in your head—he’ll bleed us dry first.”
Daragh’s fingers flexed against Siobhan’s hip, but his voice remained steady. “Then we cut his legs out from under him before he can do any actual damage.”
Finn let out a humorless chuckle. “You really think it’s that simple?”
Daragh’s gaze turned to ice. “It is that simple. He wants me dead. He wants Siobhan back. Neither of those things are happening.”
Finn sighed and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I know what Con said, but if we stand with you, if we go to war for this woman, it might cost us everything.”
Siobhan felt the shift in the room. The doubt. The unspoken is she worth it? Before she could say a word, Daragh stepped forward, his voice quiet but lethal.
“I have never lost what is mine,” he said, his Irish lilt wrapping around every syllable like a vow. “I have never let anyone take anything from me. And I’m not starting now.”
Silence fell. Siobhan’s pulse thundered.
Surprisingly, Finn let out a long breath, then grinned. “Then we fight.”
Daragh turned to Callum. “Let’s start figuring out where to move our women, children and the elderly…”
“That last group won’t go quietly,” chuckled Callum.
“Maybe not, but they’ll go. Get our Dublin allies on the phone. Anyone who still owes me a favor. Anyone who wants to put Sebastian Wolfe in the ground.”
Callum nodded, already pulling out his phone.
Daragh’s gaze slid to Murphy. “Triple security. No one in or out without my approval. And Siobhan is not to be alone. If she isn’t with me, I want at least two men on her at all times.”
Murphy’s nod was sharp. “Aye.”
Daragh’s hold on Siobhan tightened, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “Stay close, kitten. Because when the dust settles, the only ones left standing will be us.”
Siobhan swallowed hard. War was coming.