Chapter 12 Cillian
Cillian
The clock seems to creep towards lunch time.
I sit in the back of the lecture hall, my boot tapping an impatient rhythm against the worn stone floor, staring at the clock like it’s my personal enemy.
The professor drones on about corporate tax evasion, his voice a monotonous buzz that does nothing to drown out the storm raging in my head.
Sorcha’s face keeps flashing in my mind—those ice-blue eyes, fierce and unyielding, the way she looked at us this morning, admitting she loves us.
It hits me like a gut punch every time I replay it.
Love. From a girl who’s clawed her way through hell and comes out swinging.
Now, in less than an hour, we’re binding her to us, to our names, to our families in blood right under everyone’s noses.
Ciar catches my eye and grunts, low and knowing. “You good?”
I nod, but my jaw clenches tight. “Just ready to get this done. Make her safe.” But the truth is, I’m itching for a fight.
If anyone so much as twitches wrong during the binding, I’ll snap their fucking neck.
Liam, Cian, some random prick with ideas above his station—doesn’t matter.
Sorcha’s ours, and today’s the day we carve that into the world’s throat.
The lecture finally wraps, and we shove our way out into the crowded hallway, bodies pressing in from all sides.
I scan the faces automatically, hunting for threats.
A few students glance our way and quickly avert their eyes—smart.
The air smells like damp stone and cheap coffee, the usual campus rot, but today it feels charged, like the whole place knows something’s coming even if they don’t.
We meet up with Axl and Sorcha outside, blending into the flow of students heading for lunch.
She looks steady, her red hair tied back, black clothes clinging to her.
But I catch the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitch like she’s gripping an invisible blade.
I fall into step beside her, my hand brushing hers—subtle, but enough to say I’m here.
“Any word on watchers?” I mutter to Axl, keeping my voice low.
He shakes his head, eyes scanning ahead. “Nothing obvious. Rumours are swirling about the Pit reopening tonight, though. That should keep the focus split.”
Good. Distraction’s our friend. We push through the crowds, the grey sky overhead spitting a light drizzle that slicks the stone paths.
The open space is filling up fast—students clustering around benches, laughing, shoving food into their faces like nothing’s about to shatter their little world.
There’s a clear spot in the centre, near the old fountain that’s been dry over the autumn.
Sorcha stops, turning to us with that fiery glint in her eyes. “Here?”
I nod, my pulse kicking up a notch. “Here. Let’s do it, quickly and without ceremony.”
Axl pulls the Karambit from his jacket, the curved blade catching the weak light. No one’s paying attention yet, but they will. We move in close, forming a loose circle around her. I take her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine, and squeeze once—hard, possessive.
“You ready?” I ask, my voice dropping low, just for her.
She meets my gaze, no hesitation. “Born ready.”
That’s my girl. Axl guides the blade to her palm, pressing the edge against her skin.
The cut is quick—a sharp line that wells with blood.
She doesn’t flinch, just watches as crimson beads form and drip.
Axl slices his palm and presses his hand over hers for a few seconds.
Then he hands the knife to Ciar. He takes the blade, his hand steady as he drags it across his palm without a flicker of pain.
Blood wells up immediately, dark and thick, and he clasps Sorcha’s hand in his, their fingers interlocking in a grip that’s more vow than handshake.
I watch the red smear between them, the way her eyes lock onto his—fierce, unyielding, like she’s daring the world to try and tear them apart.
A few heads turn our way now, students pausing mid-bite, their chatter dying down as the first whispers ripple through the crowd.
Ciar steps back and passes the Karambit to me.
I meet Sorcha’s gaze, seeing the fire in those ice-blue eyes, the same fire that’s burned its way into my soul since the day she walked into our world.
This isn’t just blood—it’s everything. Every kill, every scar, every dark corner of who I am, binding to her.
I slice deep, the sting sharp but welcome, blood pooling fast. I press my palm to hers, feeling the wet heat mix, our pulses syncing in that single point of contact.
“Blood of my blood,” I murmur, the words rough and low.
“You’re mine, Sorcha. Ours. No one touches you now. ”
She doesn’t wince, doesn’t pull away. Instead, she squeezes back, her voice steady as steel.
“Blood of my blood. I’m all of yours, and you’re mine.
We stand together, or we burn it all down.
” Her words hit me like a blade to the gut, twisting deep.
Fuck, I love this woman. The crowd’s murmuring grows louder, phones out, eyes widening as more people catch on to what’s happening.
A few gasps, some shocked laughs, but no one moves to stop us. Not yet.
I hold her hand a second longer, letting the blood seal the promise, before releasing her.
We close ranks around her, forming a human wall against the gathering stares.
The quad’s alive now, buzzing with tension, but I feel the shift—the power tipping in our favour.
Sorcha stands taller, her chin up, blood dripping from her fist like she’s already won the war.
Cian will hear about this soon enough. The air in the quad thickens.
“It’s done,” she says, her voice cutting through the growing noise, firm and unyielding. Pride surges through me. She’s owning it, turning the spectacle into her own declaration of power.
I feel the weight of eyes on us, the shift in the air as rumours start to ignite. By the end of the day, every family with a stake in this game will know that Sorcha Gannon isn’t some lone prize to be claimed. She’s part of us now, bound by blood, unbreakable.
A voice rises from the edge of the crowd—some prick I don’t recognise, sounding more curious than confrontational. “What the fuck is this? Some kind of ritual shit?”
“None of your business,” I growl back, stepping forward just enough to make him flinch. The aggression rolls off me, hot and instinctive, and he backs off quickly, muttering something to his mates. Let them spread the word. Let them fear what we’ve just forged.
Sorcha turns to me, her ice-blue eyes gleaming with that fire I crave. “Think that’s enough of a show?” she asks, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips despite the blood still trickling down her fingers.
“More than enough,” I reply. “But if anyone didn’t get the message, we’ll drive it home tonight in the Pit.”
She nods, flexing her hand. “Damn right. I need to hit something after this.”
Ciar chuckles, low and rough. “That’s my girl. Hungry? Or straight to planning how we crush skulls later?”
“Food first,” she says, casual as ever, like we didn’t just rewrite the rules in front of a hundred witnesses. But I see the slight tremor in her stance, the adrenaline crash starting to hit. She’s tough, but even she needs fuel to keep burning.
We move as a unit, pushing through the gawking crowd towards the dining hall. Bodies part for us, no one blocks our path. It has spread like wildfire, just as we planned. Cian will get wind of this soon, probably already has eyes here feeding him intel.
After quick stops to clean up, inside the dining hall, the noise level drops as we grab trays and load up with sandwiches. Sorcha piles on extra. We claim a table in the corner. A few students glance our way, but most keep their distance. Smart.
“You think Liam’s watching?” Sorcha asks quietly, biting into an apple with a crisp snap.
“If he is, we’re about to be in serious shit. No one is going to take this lying down.”
“Now you fucking say that,” Sorcha hisses.
Axl smiles. “Would you have gone through with it otherwise?”
She grimaces, knowing he’s right.
We fall silent as we eat, each of us in our own thoughts about what the next step will be.