13. Night of Many Changes #7
I hesitate in the dark, the instinct to follow battling against the voice that tells me to just let it go. But the way he leads her—so possessive, so sure—churns my stomach.
Every instinct screams at me to stop, to turn back, but my feet move of their own accord, quickening with every step.
Then—I see them.
And the ground rips from beneath me.
Marcus has her pinned against the sidewall of the farmhouse, his hands firm on her waist, fingers pressing in a claiming way.
His stance is possessive, assured, as if he knows she belongs beneath his touch.
He leans in slightly, his head tilting, his gaze sweeping over her face—not searching, not questioning, but savouring.
His thumb strokes the fabric at her hip, a deliberate motion, his confidence unwavering as he lifts a hand to brush a stray lock of hair from her cheek. His touch lingers, his fingers trailing down her jaw, grazing her skin as if testing her silence, as if waiting for even the slightest resistance.
It never comes.
When his lips meet hers, she doesn’t push him away. She doesn’t struggle. She lets him claim her.
The jealousy that has simmered all evening erupts, white-hot and all-consuming. The sight of her in Marcus’ arms feels like a betrayal I have no right to claim.
Last night, it had been me above her. Me pressing her into the earth, her laughter breathless as I pinned her wrists playfully.
It had been nothing, just a teasing match between us—until it wasn’t.
Until she stilled beneath me, her chest rising and falling against mine, and I swore I saw something in her gaze that mirrored my own hunger .
I had almost convinced myself she wanted me, too. Almost lost control and claimed her mouth, desperate to know how she’d taste, how she’d feel bared beneath me.
And now, knowing exactly how good she felt pressed against me, how her breath had trailed over my neck like a brand, has the inferno inside me raging to unimaginable heights. Wanting her and not having her is a living nightmare—one I fear I will never wake from.
With a muttered curse, I storm out of sight, each step echoing the pulse of anger and hurt surging through me. The cool night air does nothing to temper the fire burning in my chest. I rake a hand through my hair, fingers trembling with grievance. I’ll never erase the image from my mind.
It feels like a punch to the gut, one that leaves me staggering toward something to help ease this heartache.
What did I expect?
She is with Marcus. She chose Marcus. And here I am, like a fool, burning with jealousy over someone that was never mine to begin with.
Triona
As Marcus kisses me, I pull my head back as his lips find my neck. My voice is gentle but steady. “Marcus, wait. Someone might see.” It isn’t angry or forceful, but there is a clear hesitance in my tone.
He lets out a low, seductive chuckle, leaning closer, brushing the hair back from my face. “Sorry, my love. I got carried away. You just have this way of making everything else disappear,” he murmurs, his breath warm on my skin, voice soft yet insistent, as if trying to will away my hesitation .
I feel a warmth rise in me at his words, but the thought of prying eyes lingers. “It’s not that I don’t…” I trail off, biting my lip. “It’s just—this isn’t the right time.”
Marcus nods and steps back with a small, understanding smile. “You need not explain,” he whispers, his eyes remaining on mine.
Before the moment can stretch further, a voice calls out, breaking the tension. “There ya are!”
Saoirse’s voice rings out, her tone brisk but tinged with relief. Her sharp gaze moves between Marcus and me as she steps closer.
He hesitates for a moment, confusion and disappointment clouding his features. His gaze passes between us, searching for a sign that this isn’t over. The warmth that had enveloped us dissipates, leaving an awkward chill in its wake.
He nods toward Saoirse before looking back at me, his grin softening into something almost tender. “I shall see you tomorrow, Triona.”
Saoirse doesn’t wait, slipping an arm through mine and pulling me away with a purpose. “Come on, ya promised me a drink, and I’m collectin’ on it.”
I manage a tight smile before Saoirse tugs me away, my pulse still racing.
Once we’re out of earshot, Saoirse releases me and turns, arms crossed, her expression as pointed as a blade. “I saw him take ya back there,” she says, her voice lowering. “And so did Finn.”
My stomach twists at the mention of Finn, a sharp pang cutting through the haze of the evening.
Tension is coiled tight beneath my skin—and now, the thought of his disappointment feels like a blow to my stomach.
“I wasn’t—nothing happened,” I mutter, the words tasting hollow, defensive. Too fast. Too guilty.
Saoirse exhales through her nose, shaking her head. “Ah, love, I know ya. And ya know I love ya, but after tonight…”
“I know,” I reply quickly, cutting her off. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
She scoffs, her voice tight. “Ya weren’t. Yer mind’s muddled by drink, and he should’ve known better.”
“He didn’t—” I start, but she cuts me off with a look.
“Don’t.” Her voice is firm, but not unkind. “Don’t make excuses for him.”
Saoirse watches me for a beat longer, then exhales again—this time softer, letting the tension go with it. Her tone shifts, light but still laced with care .
“Come on now,” she says, nudging my arm. “One more dance before we both fall into bed, aye? Let’s not waste the music.”
I huff a quiet laugh, more breath than joy.
There’s something about Marcus—a pull I can’t explain. It feels as if two forces are tearing at my soul. One whispers to lean in, the other screams at me to run. My thoughts churn, a storm I can’t quiet, my body caught in its turbulent centre.
Finn wouldn’t have noticed. Wouldn’t have seen the tension in my shoulders or the way my breath caught at the thought of my family’s disdain.
Wouldn’t have felt the guilt coiled tight in my chest, or the way Marcus’s nearness leaves me teetering on the edge of something I don’t fully understand.
We step back into the glow of the bonfire. The lively music and cheerful clamour of the ceilidh wraps around me like a lifeline. I cling to Saoirse’s arm—her presence grounding me, even as my thoughts drift back to the chaos still brewing inside me.