Epilogue
EPILOGUE
DARAGH
S ix Months Later
Daragh stood in the shadows of the gallery, watching Siobhan move through the space, her presence commanding despite the soft elegance of her movements. The months since Sebastian Wolfe’s death had been filled with change, with quiet battles and victories neither of them had dared to imagine before. Siobhan had found her footing in his world, had embraced a life for herself that survival alone did not dictate.
She had reopened her gallery, stepping back into the world of art with the same determination she had shown in battle. And Daragh had ensured, without question, that no one would ever threaten what she had built again.
He let his gaze trail over her, taking in the way the deep emerald dress hugged her figure, her hair swept up in an elaborate updo that made the claiming bite on the nape bare. It was accented by the iron and diamond collar he’d had adapted, so she could take it on and off at will. It amused him she wore it more often than not. She belonged here. She belonged to him.
Finn leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he took in the scene. “Never thought I’d see the day Daragh O’Neill stood guard at an art exhibit.”
Daragh shot him a look, unimpressed. “I don’t stand guard. I keep the vermin out.”
Finn chuckled. “Aye, sure. And that doesn’t explain why you haven’t taken your eyes off her since we walked in?”
Daragh ignored him, focusing instead on Siobhan as she spoke to a group of collectors. She was graceful, poised—nothing like the woman who had once been hunted through the streets of Dublin. She had built this from nothing, reclaimed something that had been stolen from her.
And he had been there every step of the way, ensuring no one could take it from her again.
Murphy approached, keeping his voice low. “Security is tight. No uninvited guests. No threats.”
Daragh nodded once, but it didn’t ease the instinctual readiness coiled inside him. This was Siobhan’s night. But his job—his purpose—was to protect her, whether or not she needed it.
“Good,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving her.
She turned then, as if sensing him, her gaze locking onto his from across the room. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips, something warm and soft settling in his chest.
Finn cleared his throat. “You keep looking at her like that, you’re going to ruin the whole ‘cold, unshakable bastard’ thing you’ve got going.”
Daragh didn’t bother responding. Finn was an irritating bastard, but he wasn’t wrong.
The thing was, Daragh didn’t care.
Siobhan had survived hell and come out the other side stronger, sharper. She had chosen this life—not because she had no other options, but because she wanted it. She wanted him.
And that? That was enough.
By the time the gallery began to empty, the tension in Daragh’s muscles had eased. He stood near the entrance, watching as Siobhan bid farewell to the last of her guests.
She turned to him once the doors were locked, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve been brooding all night.”
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his fingers brushing against her wrist. “I don’t brood.”
She let out a quiet laugh, warmth flickering in her gaze. “Of course not.”
Daragh traced his thumb along the inside of her palm, watching as her breath hitched, the way her body instinctively leaned into his. His mate. “You did good tonight, kitten.”
Her lips parted slightly, her fingers curling around his. “It’s not over, is it?”
Daragh’s jaw clenched. He knew what she meant. MI5 had retreated, but that didn’t mean they had forgotten. The underworld had quieted since Sebastian’s death, but the O’Neills were always at war with someone.
“No,” he admitted. “But it’s our fight now.”
Siobhan searched his gaze, something soft but unyielding in her expression. “Then we fight, and we win.”
His chest tightened. She wasn’t running. Not this time.
His fingers curled at the base of her skull, tilting her head back as he murmured, “You are mine.”
She shivered, her pulse pounding against his thumb. “And you’re mine.”
A growl rumbled in his chest, need coiling tight in his gut. He didn’t waste time. He kissed her hard, claiming her all over again, his dominance wrapping around her like a second skin.
Siobhan gasped into his mouth, her hands tangling in his shirt as she pulled him closer. “Take me home.”
Daragh’s grip tightened. “Say it again.”
She met his gaze, unflinching. “Take me home, Daragh.”
A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips.
Because she had already given him everything he needed. Siobhan had never needed a cage, never needed chains to keep her in place. She had simply needed a choice. And she had chosen him.
The blue hour stretched over the O’Neill estate, wrapping the cliffs and sea in a hushed, twilight embrace. The world was still, the only sounds the distant crash of waves and the whisper of the wind through the grass. It was a moment balanced between night and day, between shadow and light—a moment made for creatures like them.
Daragh stood at the edge of the estate’s cliffs, the scent of salt and damp earth filling his lungs. Beside him, Siobhan stood quiet and ready, anticipation radiating from every inch of her.
It had been weeks since they’d had a moment like this, where there was nothing but the open land and the primal need to run. Too long since they’d shed their human forms and embraced the part of themselves that existed outside of words, outside of war.
Siobhan met his gaze, her eyes gleaming with a feral glow in the dim light. “Race you to the shore?”
Daragh’s lips curved. “You never learn, do you, kitten?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped away, allowing the mist to gather around her, the swirling storm of color and energy enveloping her completely. He watched as the light flickered, the static hum of her magic filling the air, and then… she was gone.
In her place stood a sleek, midnight-black panther, her body coiled with barely restrained energy. She flicked her tail, stretching lithely, and then, without warning, she took off, her paws striking the damp earth as she bolted toward the cliffs’ edge.
Daragh let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. Reckless kitten.
Then he gave himself over to the shift. The mist rose around him, crackling with the familiar electricity of his transformation. It wrapped around him, swallowing his human form, replacing flesh with muscle, limbs with sleek, lethal grace. A heartbeat later, the mist cleared, and he was no longer a man.
He was a predator, and she was his willing prey .
Daragh leapt forward, the ground beneath his paws cool and damp, the wind rushing past him as he surged after Siobhan. She had a head start, but it wouldn’t last. She was fast, but he was faster.
She raced along the cliffs, her panther form a shadow against the deep blue of the early morning. He watched the way her body moved, powerful and fluid, her muscles rippling beneath her dark coat. She was magnificent—wild and free in a way that sent a deep, primal satisfaction through him.
The land sloped downward; the cliffs giving way to dunes and long stretches of beach. Siobhan reached the sand first, her paws kicking up soft clouds of it as she ran along the shore, the waves lapping at the edges of her path.
Daragh closed the distance between them, letting his body move purely on instinct. The rhythm of the run, the feel of the earth beneath him, the scent of the sea—all of it fed into something deeper than thought, something older than time.
Siobhan glanced back, her eyes flashing with mischief. Daragh growled low in his throat.
He pushed himself harder, muscles bunching and releasing as he launched forward, cutting the space between them in half, then again. Siobhan let out a soft chuff of amusement, twisting to the side at the last second, avoiding him just as he lunged.
His mate was a clever thing, but not clever enough.
Daragh shifted his weight at the last moment, anticipating her movement, and then he was on her, tackling her into the sand. They rolled together, a blur of fur and limbs, his larger form pinning hers effortlessly.
Siobhan chuffed beneath him, the sound undeniably amused. Daragh pressed his nose against her throat, inhaling the warm, familiar scent of her.
Siobhan wriggled beneath him before nipping his shoulder—a playful challenge, nothing more.
Daragh rumbled in response, releasing her just enough to let her move. She bounded away, her tail flicking as she padded toward the rocks at the far end of the beach, where the land jutted out toward the sea.
Daragh followed, his long strides unhurried now. The run had satisfied something deep inside him, but more than that, seeing her like this—unburdened, truly free—settled something inside him in a way nothing else ever could.
Siobhan climbed onto one of the larger rocks, her panther form stretching out atop it, the wind ruffling her sleek fur. Daragh joined her, pressing his side against hers as they lay together, the warmth of her body sinking into his own.
Above them, the sky began to change, the deep blues giving way to streaks of rose and gold. The first slivers of sunlight kissed the horizon, turning the waves into molten fire. Siobhan let out a low purr, her head resting lightly against his. Daragh turned, brushing his muzzle against hers.
He didn’t need words. Neither did she. Because this— this —was home.