Chapter 11 Nightingale
NIGHTINGALE
No matter how many times I turned over or punched the pillow, I wasn’t able to sleep.
Eventually, I threw the covers off and put a jumper on over my tank top, planning to visit the library and get some work done.
As I headed downstairs, I thought about how quiet the castle was now that the rest of the team had left. I even assumed that other than me, and probably Tag, everyone else was asleep.
As soon as I reached the alcove near the library entrance, I heard a footstep, then my name.
“Leila.”
I spun around when Tag emerged from the shadows.
The smell of whiskey hit me first—sharp and peaty, clinging to him like he’d bathed in it rather than just drunk it.
His movements were too measured, deliberate in the way of someone trying very hard not to appear drunk, and his eyes struggled to focus on my face.
“What are you doing out here?” His words weren’t slurred, but the edges were soft.
“Going to the library. What are you doing?”
He moved closer, cutting off my path to the library entrance. “Making sure you’re all right.”
“Don’t,” I whispered, taking a step away.
His hand caught my wrist when he reached for me before I could skirt around him. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About him.”
“Him?”
“Vanguard.” The name came out rough, almost accusatory, like I’d done something wrong by sitting next to the man at dinner. “The way he looked at you. The way you smiled at him.”
I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep me where I was. “Tag, let go.”
“You can’t.” His other hand found my waist, and he pressed me against the cold stone wall, trapping me in the alcove. “Not with him.”
“Please—”
“You’re mine.” His face was close enough to feel his hot breath against my skin. “You’ve always been mine.”
The words I’d longed to hear before we left Dunravin were unwanted now.
“I know I said we couldn’t.” His fingers splayed on my hip. “I know I told you we didn’t have a future. But you can’t just…not Vanguard.”
He leaned in to kiss me, and I so wanted to close that last inch between us and pretend he hadn’t shattered me into pieces I was still trying to gather up.
But I couldn’t do that to myself again.
I shoved against his chest, creating space between us. He stumbled back a step.
“Tag, you’ve had too much to drink.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“You are.” My voice cracked despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “You said everything ended when we left Dunravin. Those were your words.”
“I was wrong—”
“You were clear.” Tears threatened, but I refused to let them fall.
“Leila—”
“I’m going to bed.” I ducked under his arm, putting the width of the alcove between us before he could reach for me again. “We’ll talk tomorrow. When you’re sober.”
“Wait—”
“No. Not like this. Not when you’re inebriated and saying things you’ll regret the moment the sun comes up.”
His face crumpled, and in the dim light filtering through from the main hall, I could see past the Earl of Glenshadow, past the deadly operative, straight through to the boy who’d watched his parents destroy each other and vowed never to repeat their mistakes.
But I couldn’t save him from himself, not when he wouldn’t even try to save us.
“Good night, Tag.”
I left him standing in the shadows and made myself walk back through the castle at a normal pace, refusing to run even though every instinct screamed at me to put distance between us.
My feet carried me up the stairs and down the hallway to my room, moving on autopilot while my mind replayed every word, every touch, every moment I should have handled differently.
My hands trembled as I unlocked my door, worse as I locked it behind me once I was inside.
The tears came then—silent and hot, streaming down my face as I leaned against the door for support.
He’d said I was his. After spending three days at Dunravin, showing me what that could mean, then telling me it meant nothing.
I pressed my eyes with the heels of my palms, trying to stem the flow, trying to breathe through the ache expanding in my chest.
Tomorrow, I’d have to pretend my heart wasn’t breaking. I’d have to be Nightingale the operative again.
I pushed off the door and removed the jumper I’d pulled on earlier, glancing at the locked door I guessed separated our rooms as I walked over to the bed. It was a stark reminder of the walls between us, of the locks he’d installed to keep me out and keep himself safe.
I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up, but sleep still wouldn’t come. Not with the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Not with the memory of his hands on my waist and his body pressed against mine.
I gasped and sat up, clutching the covers to my chest when the connecting door opened.
Tag stood in the doorway, swaying on his feet. There was a desperate look in his eyes. Or maybe it was shame.
“Tag, what are you doing?”
“I’m sorry.” He stepped farther into the room. “I just…I needed to…”
“You need to leave.”
“Can we pretend?” His words slurred together. “Everything from earlier. Outside. Can we just…forget it happened?”
“No. We can’t.”
“Leila. I’m sorry. Christ, I’m so sorry.” He took another step into the room, struggling to find the right words through the fog of alcohol. “I shouldn’t have… I had no right…”
I stayed where I was, wishing this was a bad dream.
“Seeing you with him—”
“I need sleep, and so do you.” I cut him off before he could finish that thought, before he could say more that we’d both regret. “Go,” I said again, softer this time because my anger was draining into exhaustion. “Tag, just go.”
He turned and walked back toward the door. “I’ll lock this.” His voice came out rough, scraping against the silence. “It won’t happen again,” he said moments before I heard it click from the opposite side.
Tears came again as I slid down until I was lying flat.
I stared up at the ceiling, crying for what we could have been if he’d been brave enough to try.
For loving someone who wouldn’t let himself love me back.
For three years of waiting and three nights of believing.
I cried until I had nothing left, until my eyes were swollen and my throat was raw.
Until exhaustion finally dragged me under into restless, dream-filled sleep.
The headache I woke with the next morning had nothing to do with alcohol.
I’d managed maybe two hours of sleep and spent the rest staring at the ceiling or jerking awake from dreams where Tag was in bed beside me. My eyes felt gritty and swollen, and no amount of cold water splashed on my face could hide the evidence of my tears.
I dressed in black cargo pants and a fitted long-sleeve shirt, and pulled my hair back into a tight bun that would stay out of my way underground. I glanced in the mirror and saw a woman who was exhausted, hollowed out, and barely holding herself together.
When I arrived downstairs, Archon was already in the library, with his head bent over his tablet. He looked up when I entered, and his eyes scrunched. No doubt he noticed the exhaustion I couldn’t hide, if not the pain.
“Good morning,” he said, watching as I crossed the room.
“Morning,” I responded as I chose coffee over tea and added more sugar than I normally would.
Tag appeared in the doorway moments later, and the sight of him sent an unwelcome jolt through my chest. He looked about as good as I felt—shadows under his eyes, jaw tight, moving like someone nursing a spectacular hangover. Our gazes met for half a second before we both looked away.
“Right.” Tag’s voice was rough as he made a cup of tea with unsteady hands. “Let’s go over the plan for today.”
I sat down next to Archon.
“We’ll start from the east,” Tag said, tracing a route with his finger. “Split up to cover more ground. The three of us searching separately will be more efficient than trying to move as a group.”
Archon nodded, making notes. “Contact checks every fifteen minutes?”
“Every ten,” I suggested. “The stone will interfere with signals in some sections. We need to know right away if someone loses their connection to the comms.”
Tag’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look at me. “Agreed. Ten-minute intervals.”
Helicopter rotors cut through the morning quiet, growing louder as the aircraft approached. We turned toward the windows, watching as it descended toward the lawn.
“Who in the hell is that?” Tag asked, pushing his chair from the table.
“I’ve just received a message from Typhon,” Archon said, studying his mobile. “He’s ordered a reassignment. I’m to head north with Prima while Vanguard takes my place here.”
Through the windows, I watched Vanguard emerge, ducking under the rotors as he jogged toward the castle. He was dressed for fieldwork—cargo pants, boots, and a jacket that probably concealed at least two weapons.
Douglas, whom I hadn’t seen since Tag introduced him when we first arrived, opened the front door.
“Morning, everyone. Hope I’m not too late for breakfast,” Vanguard said in his usual friendly tone.
“Why wasn’t I given prior notice of this change?” Tag snapped.
Vanguard’s eyes darted to Archon’s, then back to Tag. “I cannot say, sir.”
Tag stalked from the room, mobile in hand. What did he plan to do? Challenge the decision? In my opinion, it was the right one. Not that Vanguard was here necessarily, but that it would be better if Archon led the op near Dunravin.
“Good to be working together again, Nightingale,” Vanguard said once Tag was out of the room.
“Welcome to the team,” I said, wondering if I should follow Tag. But what would I say? If I defended Typhon’s decision, he’d likely think it was because I wanted Vanguard here.
“I should be on my way,” said Archon, looking at me, perhaps for guidance about whether or not to wait for Tag to return. When I didn’t say anything, he gathered his things and walked out.