17. CHAPTER 17
CILLIAN
The door shut behind him.
I stood in the middle of the room, chest heaving. Sheets twisted. Moon’s scent everywhere, on my skin, in my mouth, flooding my lungs. Cock still hard against my thigh. Back burning where his nails had torn me open.
Fuck.
It was more than sex. He hated being vulnerable, but he trusted me. Tonight the mask slammed back on the second he came. I thought he’d at least stay the night.
I shoved a hand through my hair.
The Korean textbook sat open on the desk. My messy handwriting. Phonetic notes. That fucking penguin judging me for how far gone I already was.
The phone was already in my hand.
You back?
Deleted.
Tell me when you’re back.
Sent.
No answer.
Did I hurt you?
Deleted.
Keep running, prince. I’m not done with you.
I paced like a caged animal, fingers flexing, nails biting into my palms. I wanted to chase him down those corridors. Drag him back by the throat.
Walking away from him physically hurt. I slammed my fist into the wall. Knuckles screamed. Pain flared hot up my arm. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
I stepped under scalding water until it ran cold. Blood. Sweat. All of it circling the drain. Forehead against the tiles. Why wear my ring if he wanted nothing to do with me? I scrubbed harder. Nails dug into my own skin until it bled. It didn’t help.
I stepped out. Water dripped down my chest. Caught my reflection, red scratches down my shoulders and back, bite marks on my neck, one on my collarbone still dark and fresh.
I touched it. Moon’s mouth. The way he bit down hard when he came the second time.
My cock twitched again. Look what you did to me, prince. The smirk felt hollow. “It was just sex.” Yet he’d gotten jealous over Clare, begged me to fuck him, and now he was crawling back to Zara.
That shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.
I dressed in fresh clothes. Black shirt. Dark jeans. Clean skin. The room still smelled like him. Couldn’t stay. I’d end up going after him. My hand closed around the door handle. Metal groaned under my grip.
Fuck, I wanted to call Misha. I forced myself to let go. The violence in my chest didn’t fade. It grew sharper. Hungrier. Meaner.
The common room reeked of spilled whiskey, wet stone, and stale smoke. Low stone arches. Scarred tables pushed against the walls. Fall break had cleared out most of the Court. The ones left were loud, feral, looking for blood.
I sat in the back corner, jaw tight, body still buzzing from Moon. I downed the rest of my whiskey and signaled for another. Aleksei sat down beside me, eyes sharp.
“You should be careful.”
“With the whiskey?” I asked evenly.
“With my brother.” Aleksei leaned in. “You’re putting Misha between you, Aster, and Carrick. That’s a stupid fucking place to put him, Ashbourne.”
I flashed a lazy, half-drunk smile. “Misha offered.”
Aleksei’s jaw flexed. “Misha would put a bullet in a king for less. Grandfather’s been watching him like a hawk. One more misstep…” He let the threat hang.
I paused, glass halfway to my mouth. “What the fuck happened?”
Aleksei stared at me, unblinking. “You don’t even know. He’s your best friend, Cillian, and you drag him into every reckless fucking thing you do without knowing he’s already skating on thin ice with the old man. Wake the fuck up.”
I set the glass down hard. Chest tighter. “I didn’t—”
“No. You didn’t.” Aleksei became pure Bratva ice.
“Because right now all you see is Moon. Everything else is noise. Stop using my brother as a pawn in your little game. I’m not stupid.
You have no intention of using that Writ.
You’ll burn through our Favors, earn yourself a Blood Mark by the end of year one, and still hand Aster the advantage on a silver platter. ”
I rolled my neck, staring at my split knuckles.
Aleksei stood. The chair scraped loud against the stone. “Be careful, Cillian. For once in your life.”
He walked away without looking back. I stayed. Glass in hand. Still no fucking message from Moon.
I stood up too fast. Room tilted. For one stupid second I thought about storming Aster Court. Stop. Don’t. I slapped my cheeks hard, trying to knock some sense back into my skull. Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me.
I grabbed my glass and crossed the common room. Igor smirked when I dropped into the chair across from him.
“You look like you want to hit something.”
“I do.” I tipped back the last of the whiskey. “Where the fuck is Declan? I need to punch his face in.”
Igor’s smirk vanished. His eyes narrowed. “Declan’s around. But I’m not his fucking bitch, Cillian. Go find him yourself if you want to swing on him.”
I stared at him.
Igor leaned in. “You and Declan keep costing us Favor. Board flipped again. Aster’s climbing because of you and Moon. Whitlock’s behind it.”
Fuck.
Whatever.
Maybe Igor would hit hard enough to make me feel something. I stood and jerked my chin toward the door.
“Yeah. Take it out on me.”
Ten minutes later I was in the middle of the ring. Shirt off. Knuckles freshly wrapped. Igor across from me.
First punch landed clean. Impact sang up my arm. Pain. Something I could understand. Every strike had that fucking prince behind it. Months of pushing me away, only to beg me not to stop. And then the bastard still walked out.
I ducked a heavy swing and drove my fist into his ribs. He grunted but didn’t go down. We traded blows. Blood filled my mouth from a split lip. Knuckles burned. None of it touched the raw ache in my chest.
I climbed out of the ring later. Chest heaving. Blood on my teeth. Phone burning a hole in my pocket. Still no reply.
I pulled it out anyway.
Answer me.
He wouldn’t tonight. But he would eventually. And when he did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to let him leave again.