13. CHAPTER 13
CILLIAN
Answer me.
I know you’re reading these. I can see you leaving me on read.
Did they stitch you? Are you in pain?
Tell me where you are. Now.
I will find out who did this. I will carve their fucking heart out and deliver it to your door.
Answer your phone or I’ll come find you myself.
Three days. No answer. My fist slammed the bag. Chain snapped overhead. Sweat burned my eyes. Three days destroying everything that wasn’t him. He’d buried himself in Aster like the walls existed to keep me out.
They did.
Fucking annoying.
The Ivory bout went to absolute shit. Moon fenced Vesper.
The bout ended the second Vesper’s blade cut his collarbone.
Someone altered Marceau’s blade. Details shifted with every lying fuck, but the blood stayed bright across his collarbone.
Every head in the hall snapped toward Thorn before the blood even stopped running.
Of course they blamed us.
Fair. Usually. Not this fucking time.
Ironically, Thorn got rewarded with Favor.
Because nobody saw it coming. And everyone believes it was me.
Moon walked to the nurse’s wing with Zara King.
It fucking burned. She didn’t even love him.
I never got to tell him I hadn’t touched the blade.
He told me to stay away. Optics, sure, but it felt real.
He shut me out.
Two runners took my cash and came back with jack shit. I’ll remember their faces for later. Three Vesper boys lied to my guys. One of Declan’s friends stopped smiling the second my hand crushed his throat against a locker. Still no name.
Fine.
Ten more minutes and fingers started coming off.
Misha dragged me out before I put one of Vesper’s assholes through a window.
I slammed the Thorn locker room door. Hinges screamed.
Conversation stopped. Three Thorn boys looked over from the benches.
One still had tape clenched between his teeth.
Another had his shirt half off. A third froze with a glove in his hand.
“What?” I snapped.
They looked away. That settled it.
Misha sat on the far bench, elbows on his knees, already watching me like he knew this was about to become his problem. Aleksei came out of the showers in a towel, hair wet, expression blank.
“Who the fuck altered Marceau’s blade?” I asked.
Misha’s brows lifted. “Hello to you too.”
“Answer.”
Misha looked at Aleksei. He was too fucking calm. Too composed for someone standing this close to a man who wanted to put his fist through a wall. He met my eyes, the corner of his mouth curving just slightly.
“Easy, Cillian. Glare harder and you’ll break another locker.”
My hand curled into a fist.
“Probably Declan’s crew,” Misha said.
“Probably?” I snapped.
“Cil.”
“Pick a better fucking word.”
Aleksei’s voice cut through. “You need to calm down.”
I laughed, sharp and ugly. “Do I?”
“Yes,” Aleksei said, eyes steady. “Because if you keep making it this obvious, I won’t have to hand the Writ to Declan. You’ll hand him the perfect excuse yourself.”
I faced him. Slowly. Misha moved between us. I didn’t look at him.
“Moon is mine.” Not Declan’s. Not Thorn’s. Not a fucking target for their games. They were all too fucking late.
Aleksei’s jaw tightened.
“Use him again,” I said quietly, “and things will get very unpleasant for you.”
Misha’s hand slammed into my chest. “Enough.”
“No.” My eyes stayed locked on Aleksei. “Tell Declan every word.”
Aleksei held my stare for one long second, then his mouth curved.
“You just told the whole fucking room.”
Misha rubbed a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ.”
“I’m going to see him.”
“Bad idea.”
“Wasn’t asking.”
“Aster thinks Thorn cut him. You are Thorn, Cil.”
“I didn’t touch the blade.”
“Doesn’t matter. You go near him looking like that, they’ll see the Writ before they see you.”
“Move.”
“Think for one fucking second before you go rabid dog in Aster territory.”
“I am thinking.”
“No. You’re angry, horny, and—”
His gaze dropped to my hand. The ring box sat heavy between my fingers, impossible to hide. Keira had gotten back to me after the flower disaster. I wasn’t sure how he’d take it now, but I’d wanted to surprise him right after the match. Prove I fucking meant it.
Fuck.
Misha stared.
“Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”
“None of your business.”
“You bought him something.”
Aleksei closed his eyes.
Misha’s mouth opened. Closed.
“What is it?”
“A ring.”
“Of course it’s a ring,” Misha said. “People call me unstable, and then I spend five minutes with the fucking Irish.”
Aleksei opened his eyes. “You bought Aster’s Patronage candidate a ring while holding a Blood Writ on him.”
“It’s proof,” I said.
Misha stared at me. “Proof of what? That you’ve completely lost your mind?”
I stepped away, facing the door.
Misha grabbed my sleeve, grip tight. “Cil, this is a bad fucking idea.”
I barely stopped. “Declan’s boys touch him again, they’re dead.”
“I’ll handle Declan,” Misha said quickly, voice urgent. “His boys won’t get near Moon again. I’ll get you a name. Just… don’t do this.”
I looked at both of them. Neither of them looked away. Best friend. Worst conscience.
“Fine.”
“Fine like you understand, or fine like I need to follow you with a shovel?”
“Bring the shovel.”
I opened the door.
“That wasn’t a joke,” he called after me.
“Then make sure I don’t need one.”
The heavy door of the Thorn locker room slammed shut behind me. I moved fast through the underground corridors, adrenaline still burning under my skin. By the time I reached the Aster side of the academy, my steps had slowed into sneaky mode.
Aster Court was quieter at this hour. I slipped through a side entrance no one ever guarded properly, then down the narrow service hall that led to their locker room. The door was unlocked, typical Aster arrogance.
I pushed it open just enough to step inside.
The Aster locker room smelled of Moon’s soap—something clean and expensive, cedar and a hint of citrus—and cold tile. Rows of dark wood lockers lined the walls under harsh overhead lights.
It was empty except for Moon. He stood at the mirrors in nothing but a towel.
Water slid down the smooth, slightly tanned lines of his back, daring me to follow it with my tongue.
No tattoos. Just clean, defined muscle that flexed subtly as he moved.
Wet hair pushed back from his face. His bare chest glistened under the harsh lights.
The white gauze across his collarbone was bleeding through again, bright red against his skin, too close to his throat.
My hand crushed the doorframe. Wood groaned. Three days of silence, and here he was, half-naked, furious, and still the only thing I could see.
Moon heard the door. His gaze cut to mine in the mirror. The towel lowered slowly from his hair. Those cold, furious eyes locked onto me.
“Get out.”
I shut the door behind me with a quiet click, the sound loud in the empty locker room.
Moon’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You have five seconds to explain how the fuck you got into Aster.”
I leaned against the door, arms loose at my sides, a slow smile pulling at my mouth. God, every version of him was my favorite.
“Missed you, Moonshine.”
His face went flat. Then he moved. Fast.
He slammed into me chest-first, driving me back against the door with wet skin and barely contained violence. His fist twisted my shirt. Fabric bit my throat. Heat poured off him, soap, blood, three days of pure rage. I smiled wider, unable to help it.
“Keep smiling,” he hissed. “I’ll fix it for you.”
My smile widened, dark. Fuck, I loved this side of him.
“You never fucking cease to impress me, Moonshine.” Thumb brushed his jaw. “Never know which version I’m getting. But I like the aggressive one.”
His fist tightened, knuckles white. “I know about the Writ.”
My body locked up. Moon saw it immediately. His lips curled in bitter pleasure.
“There it is,” he breathed, leaning in until his mouth hovered a breath from mine. “Finally something honest.”
Wood bit into my spine. His forearm stayed across my chest. Pulse jumped once under the gauze at his collarbone.
I didn’t look away.
Oh.
Fuck.
No.
For one dangerous second I couldn’t hide it. The guilt. The want. The fucked up thrill of him pinning me down and seeing straight through me.
Moon’s grip didn’t loosen.
He stared at me like he was waiting for another lie. I didn’t give him one. For once.
“Who told you?”
Moon’s laugh came out short and bitter. He shoved me harder against the door, pinning me there with his forearm across my chest. “That’s your fucking concern right now?”
“Moonsh—”
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t fucking call me that.”
My mouth shut. His chest heaved against mine. Damp skin soaked my shirt. Anger fractured in his eyes, still burning, edges cracking. His hand stayed flat on my chest. Not pushing me away anymore. Just holding on.
“Your friend Declan Carrick told me.” His voice shook once, barely. He killed it fast. “Didn’t know the two Irish heirs had so much in common.”
“He’s not my friend.”
“No?” Moon’s mouth twisted. “Just despicable in the same dialect, then.”
My teeth ground together. I wanted to break Declan’s face for this.
“Did he touch you?”
Moon’s eyes flashed, but the rage was fading, leaving only exhaustion and hurt behind. “Don’t.”
“Answer me.”
He shoved a finger into my chest. Hard. But there was less force behind it now.
“You don’t get to sound jealous.”
My hand flexed at my side.
“Moon—”
“No.” His voice cracked. The fight was draining out of him. “You have no right to stand here like some wounded boyfriend because another man put his hands on me.”
His finger dug into my chest. Weaker now.
“You put a Blood Writ on me. Now you want to ask if Declan touched me?”
He turned away. His shoulders stayed tight, but the fight had left his body.
All that remained was exhaustion and the quiet anger of someone who had let the wrong person in.
His hand gripped the edge of the sink until his knuckles went bone-white.
His spine stayed straight, but I could see the tremor running through his arms.