Chapter 11 Sorcha
Sorcha
Iwake up sore and satisfied, my body filled with aches and pleasures I’ve never experienced before.
Every muscle protests as I shift in the bed, and there’s a delicious soreness between my thighs and in places I didn’t even know could feel this way.
The rain is still battering against the window, the dark night sky signifying I’ve been out for ages.
I’m alone in Ciar’s bed, wrapped in his scent—something dark and masculine that makes my stomach flip. I sit up slowly, wincing at the protest from my abs. I fucking love it.
I swing my legs out of bed, testing my weight.
Everything holds, even if it screams about it.
The heating is going full blast, warming the room to a pleasant temperature as I climb naked out of the bed.
I glance around the room for my clothes, wet as they are, but the guys have cleaned up after me.
I open Ciar’s wardrobe instead, pulling out one of his massive hoodies.
It swamps me, falling practically to my knees, the sleeves dangling past my fingertips.
I roll them up and breathe in the scent of him embedded in the fabric.
My stomach growls, loud and demanding. There was a time not so long ago when I could ignore the hunger pangs. Now, I’ve been spoiled and I need food.
I make my way down the stairs, my bare feet silent on the carpet.
The aches in my body are a constant reminder of what we did, of how thoroughly they claimed me.
Part of me wants to be embarrassed about it, about how easily I surrendered to them, how much I fucking loved every second.
But I can’t bring myself to feel shame. Not when it felt so right.
Voices are coming from the kitchen. I push through the door to find all three of them sitting around the newly repaired kitchen, plates of food in front of them. They look up as I enter, and the heat in their eyes makes my skin prickle.
“Hungry?” Axl asks.
I nod as he pushes the pizza box further down the table. “Still hot.”
“Did the delivery guy wake you?” Ciar asks, sounding like he’ll tear the poor sod a new one if he did.
I shake my head. “Nah. Didn’t hear a thing.”
I sit and grab a slice, fold it in half, and take a massive bite. The cheese is still gooey, the pepperoni is greasy and perfect. I moan around the mouthful, and Cillian’s eyes darken.
“Good?” he asks, his voice rough.
I nod, swallowing. “Fucking amazing. What time is it?”
“Just gone eleven,” Axl says, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve been out for hours.”
“Feels like it,” I say, taking another bite. I slept through the entire afternoon and into the night. I grab another slice, demolishing it in record time before I wipe my hands and mouth on a napkin and sit back with Ciar’s beer, taking a long gulp.
“Better?” Cillian asks.
I nod. “Much. I might head back to bed if there’s nothing else going on. I’ve been living on three hours for years. Now that I get a bit of comfort, I’m going soft.” I smile, but the truth of the matter is, three hours was a lot. It’s all catching up with me now.
“Go,” Ciar says, taking his beer back. “We’ve got you.”
I nod and slink back off, heading upstairs and bypassing Ciar’s room for mine. I close the door in the dark and crawl into bed, still dressed in Ciar’s hoodie and curl up under the soft, warm duvet, feeling as content as I’ve ever been.
I sleep like the dead, no dreams, no nightmares. Just a deep, black void of exhaustion finally catching up with me. When I wake, grey morning light is filtering through the curtains, and my body feels marginally less like I’ve been hit by a truck.
I stretch, wincing at the pull in my muscles, and check my phone on the bedside table. 8:47 AM. Shit. I’ve slept for nearly ten hours. That’s more consecutive sleep than I’ve had in... I can’t even remember.
I drag myself out of bed, still wearing Ciar’s hoodie, and cross over to the bathroom.
Brushing my teeth and showering helps wake me up.
I wash quickly and efficiently, my mind already turning to today.
Lunchtime. The blood binding. The clock that Cian set is ticking down, but we will be ready when he comes back.
If he even does. He will hear about the blood binding, the ways of the ancients, way before he sets foot back on Axl’s driveway.
I dry off and pull on black jeans and a simple black tee from my wardrobe. Why mess with perfection?
As I’m twisting my hair into a messy bun, there is a soft knock at the door. “Come in,” I call.
The door opens, and Cillian steps in, a mug of tea in his hand. “Thought you might need this,” he says, offering me the mug.
I take it gratefully, wrapping my hands around the warmth. “Thanks.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” I admit, taking a sip. “But good. Really good. I’m too nervous to train this morning. Can we do it later?”
He nods. “Figured you’d say that. Coming for something to eat?”
I nod, knowing it wasn’t really a question. I’d be dragged down kicking and screaming regardless. I follow him downstairs, the mug warming my hands as I navigate the stairs carefully.
“Morning, sunshine,” Axl says without turning around as we enter the kitchen. “Hope you like French toast.”
“I like anything that’s edible,” I say, sitting down.
Axl plates up the French toast and slides it in front of me with a flourish. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I dig in. It’s perfect. Everything they do for me is fucking perfect, and I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For them to realise I’m not worth all this effort.
“Stop,” Ciar says, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
I look up, fork halfway to my mouth. “Stop what?”
“Whatever spiral you’re going down in that head of yours.” His blue eyes pin me in place. “I can see it on your face.”
“Not spiralling, just thinking. Revelling, almost, in the fact that I’m here and not in my dingy flat.
That I have you guys and I’m not alone. Again, that I have you guys and I don’t have to be dragged back to England to live with my brother as my fucking keeper!
What is this? The fucking Middle Ages?” I grip my fork and swallow. “Sorry.”
Ciar snorts. “Don’t ever apologise for not wanting to be chattel, Red. We live in a civilised society, regardless of what the old rules say.”
“Civilised enough to form a blood bond,” I grunt.
“That’s different,” Axl says. “The pagan ways are…” He waves his hand about.
“Different?” I prompt.
He gives me the finger with a smile. “Quite.”
I finish my French toast and drain the last of my tea, setting the mug down with a decisive clink.
The nervous energy is building in my chest, a tight coil that’s equal parts anticipation and dread.
In a few hours, I’ll be standing in front of the entire campus, slicing open my palm and binding myself to these three dangerous men with blood and ancient words.
“What happens if someone tries to stop it?” I ask, voicing the concern that’s been niggling at the back of my mind. “What if Liam shows with backup, or worse, what if Cian decides to make an appearance early?”
“Then we deal with it,” Cillian says, his voice flat and final. “But no one’s stopping this, Sorcha. Not Liam, not Cian, not anyone. We aren’t going to give them a chance to. No one knows we’re doing it, so we meet in the quad at lunchtime and get started. Simple.”
I nod. “Okay, good. Nice and simple. Are there any specific words?”
“Nope, just wing it,” Ciar says.
“Wing it. Right. I think we might need to reopen the Pit tonight. I think I’m going to want to blow off some steam.”
“I can think of a more pleasant way,” Axl says.
“With my fists, my feet and my blade. If you’re volunteering, good luck to you.”
“God, I love you,” Ciar says with a slow smile, reaching over to grip my fingers. “I know it’s fucking crazy, but I can’t imagine my life without you in it now, Sorcha Gannon.”
I freeze. The words hang in the air between us, raw and terrifying and more real than anything I’ve ever heard. Love. He said love. My mouth opens, closes. No sound comes out. I’m a fucking mess of emotions I don’t know how to process.
“You don’t have to say it back,” Ciar continues, his thumb stroking over my knuckles. “I just needed you to know. Before we do this. Before we make it permanent.”
I stare at him, this mammoth of a man. He’s a killer, a monster by most standards. But he’s my monster, and the realisation crashes over me like a wave. I love him too. I love all three of them. These violent, possessive, dangerous men who’ve somehow become my entire world.
It is crazy, but I don’t give a fuck.
“I love you too,” I whisper, the words feeling strange and new on my tongue. “All of you. I’m fucking terrified to say it, but I do.”
Axl smiles. “Good. Because we’re not letting you go, sunshine. Ever.”
Cillian just nods, his expression fierce and proud.
The moment stretches, heavy with meaning, before Ciar breaks it with a wolfish grin. “Right then. Let’s go to class and act like everything is normal for a few hours before shit hits the fan.”
“I’ll spread word that there is a fight on tonight. Winner takes all,” Axl says, already pulling out his phone.
I nod and get up, making my way back upstairs for my bag, my hands shaking.
I need a minute to process what just happened.
Love. I’ve never loved anyone. Not even my mum.
She certainly didn’t love me, so this is unfamiliar.
But it’s right. I know it’s right. They would do anything for me, and I would die for them. If that’s not love, then what is?
I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder, taking a deep breath to steady myself before I head back downstairs, where the guys are waiting.
Ciar’s already by the door, his massive frame blocking most of the light.
Axl is checking his phone, presumably spreading word about tonight’s fight.
Cillian is just watching me with those intense blue eyes that see too much.
“Ready?” Ciar asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice. We file out into the grey morning, the rain from yesterday replaced by a damp mist that clings to everything.
The walk to campus is quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
My mind keeps circling back to what’s coming.
The blood binding. The spectacle. The declaration of war.
Axl and I head off in one direction to our lecture on organised crime structures, and Ciar and Cillian drift off to their lectures.
The lecture hall is half-empty, typical for a morning class after a rainy night. Students are scattered about, most looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. Axl and I take seats near the back, and I pull out my notebook more out of habit than any real intention to pay attention.
Professor Keating drones on about territorial disputes and succession planning, his monotone voice washing over me like white noise. My leg bounces under the desk, restless energy I can’t quite contain. Axl notices, his hand landing on my knee to still the movement.
“Relax,” he murmurs, leaning close enough that his breath tickles my ear. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”
“I can’t help it,” I whisper back. My mind keeps racing ahead, running through every possible scenario. What if someone challenges us? What if the binding doesn’t work the way we think it will? What if Cian shows up early and tries to drag me away before we can finish?
The lecture finally ends, and we file out into the hallway, heading to our next lecture in silence.
“Are your parents going to be pissed?” I blurt out before we’ve taken five steps.
Axl glances at me, his green eyes unreadable for a moment.
“Pissed?” He considers the word, rolling it around like he’s tasting wine.
“My father will probably find it amusing. He appreciates bold moves, and this is nothing if not bold. My mother won’t care as long as I don’t embarrass the family name in the process. ”
“And a blood binding in front of the entire student body doesn’t count as embarrassing?”
He laughs, a low, rich sound that draws a few curious glances from passing students.
“Sunshine, my family built their fortune on spectacle and fear. This is exactly the kind of theatre they appreciate. Besides, once they understand the strategic advantage of having a Gannon aligned with us, they’ll be thrilled. ”
Strategic advantage. Right. Because that’s all I am to his parents—a chess piece in their endless game of power and influence.
“My father will probably send a bottle of whiskey and his congratulations,” Axl continues, holding open the door to our next lecture hall. “Your brother, on the other hand...”
“Yeah, Cian’s going to lose his shit,” I mutter, sliding into a seat. “But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? Show him I’m not some helpless little sister who needs protecting.”
“Exactly.” Axl settles beside me, close enough that our thighs touch. The contact is grounding, a reminder that I’m not doing this alone.