Chapter 36 Cillian
Cillian
Ibreathe out.
I wanted to believe that Sorcha knew what she was doing, but Camille gave a good show.
Enough to convince me that she was out for blood.
But Sorcha was right. Camille gave her the win.
It was a brutal, bloody gift, but a gift, nonetheless.
The crowd is a wave of bodies and noise, breaking apart and starting to disperse, their hunger for violence sated.
When I reach her, Sorcha is swaying on her feet, adrenaline the only thing holding her up. I put a hand on her back, steadying her. She leans into the touch, a silent admission of her exhaustion.
“Get her up,” Sorcha says, her voice a raw rasp. She nods towards Camille, who stirs and groans on the ground. “The loser walks away. That was the deal.”
Axl raises an eyebrow. “You sure about this?”
“A deal is a deal,” Sorcha grits out. “And a queen keeps her word.”
Axl and I haul Camille up. Her jaw is already swelling, a grotesque purple bloom against her pale skin. She groans, a wet, guttural sound, but she doesn’t fight us as we get her to her feet. She’s steady enough, her eyes, though glazed with pain, are sharp and lucid as they find Sorcha’s.
Ciar doesn’t move. He’s a fucking statue of fury, his entire focus on Sorcha, cataloguing every cut and bruise. He hates this. Hates her pain. But he understands the necessity of it. We all do.
“You won,” Camille says, her voice steadier than it should be. She knew the punch was coming and braced for it. I’m not entirely convinced it knocked her out, but I won’t mention that to Sorcha. Let her have her victory lap. “The kingdom is yours, fair and square.”
“Now walk away,” Sorcha says lightly.
Camille gives a single, sharp nod. She turns without a backward glance and limps towards the steps.
Sorcha is bloody and bruised, the undisputed champion of this fucking madhouse.
She kept her word. She established her rule not just with violence, but with honour.
A dangerous game, but it’s the only one she knows how to play.
Now it’s our turn. Time to patch her up, knowing it won’t be the last time.
I scoop her up, fireman style, and sling her over my shoulder.
She laughs and squirms as her bruises protest, but she doesn’t actively try to get down.
Her body is a light weight on my shoulder, but I feel every tremor of pain that runs through her with each step I take up the stone stairs.
The lingering students stare at their new queen, bloody and battered but victorious, carried from the battlefield by her enforcer.
It’s a fucking power move, even if it’s born from necessity.
“You’re enjoying this a little too much,” she mutters, her voice muffled against the back of my tee.
“Just doing my job,” I say, my voice a low rumble.
Axl falls into step beside me. “You cut that a little fine, sunshine.”
“All part of my plan,” she says.
Ciar says nothing as he walks on my other side. He’s already calculating a thousand ways to prevent her from ever getting this hurt again. A fucking lost cause. She’s a magnet for trouble.
When we emerge into the cool evening air, she lets out a long, shuddering breath.
I feel the tension drain out of her, the adrenaline finally giving way to exhaustion.
Her body slumps a little more heavily against me.
She’s ours. Ours to break, ours to bleed for, and ours to put back together again.
Every fucking time. I adjust her weight and move quickly towards the house. Time to fix what’s broken.
Inside the bungalow, I set her down on the edge of the sofa. The first aid kit is where I left it, under the sink. I retrieve it, the click of the plastic latches loud in the tense silence.
“This is the last fucking time,” Ciar says, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
Sorcha looks at him, a cut on her cheek bleeding sluggishly. “No,” she says. “It’s not.”
Axl chuckles. “She has a point. She attracts this shit like a corpse attracts flies.”
I ignore them both, kneeling in front of her.
I pull out an antiseptic wipe, my movements steady.
Her skin is cold under my touch. She flinches as the wipe stings the cut on her cheek, but she doesn’t pull away.
Her eyes are locked on mine, a silent trust that settles the fear of losing her deep in my chest.
I clean the blood from her face, from her split lip, from the scrapes on her knuckles. She’s a fucking mess. A beautiful, bloody mess who just proved to an entire college of future criminals that she’s the one in charge.
My fingers probe the skin around her ribs, where Camille’s first kick landed. A dark, ugly bruise is already blooming there. Sorcha sucks in a sharp breath, but she doesn’t pull away.
“Broken?” she asks.
“Just bruised.”
Ciar kneels beside me, his hand coming to rest on her uninjured thigh, a gesture of ownership. “Next time, I’ll kill her before she gets close enough to touch you.”
“There won’t be a next time,” Sorcha says, her gaze flickering between us. “She’s gone. This is what she wanted. She gave me numerous openings that I am too untrained to see. She could’ve killed me if she wanted to. She didn’t.”
I finish cleaning her up. My work is done.
For now. I lean back on my heels, taking her in.
She’s a fucking warrior, bruised and bleeding but unbroken.
She leans forward, wincing, and presses her lips to mine, a bruising kiss.
Her mouth is a raw, brutal claim against mine.
It tastes of her blood, of victory, of fucking iron will.
I don’t gentle the kiss. I meet it with the same force, my hand sliding from her back to cup the back of her head, holding her steady.
This is what she needs. Not comfort. A fucking anchor.
She breaks away, a sharp hiss of pain escaping her as her split lip protests. “That hundred grand, Rhodes,” she rasps, her eyes finding Axl. “Pay up.”
“How about I hang onto it to pay your new friend?”
“Sounds good,” she says, breathing out slowly. Her gaze moves to Ciar. “It’s over.”
“For now,” he bites out.
She pushes herself to her feet, a slow, deliberate movement that I know costs her.
Every muscle in my body tenses, ready to catch her if she falls.
She doesn’t. She stands there, bruised and bleeding, the fucking champion of this madness.
“Now,” she says, her voice gaining strength, “we sleep and then we find a new place to live.”
“We can do that,” I say, getting to my feet. I would give her the entire world right now if she asked for it.
She brushes my hand off her and hobbles towards the bedroom. We let her go, knowing she needs this time to decompress on her own and to wrap her head around her mortality. She will come back fighting, stronger than ever, and it’s my job to hone her into a lethal weapon ready to take on the world.