Chapter 14 Ciar
Ciar
The announcement still echoes in my ears as we step out into the damp air, the group of students milling around like clueless sheep.
Sorcha’s right beside me, her posture tense, eyes scanning the treeline beyond the campus lawns.
The shift in the atmosphere is thick with unspoken threats, and my instincts scream that this isn’t just some last-minute training drill.
Smythe’s pulling strings, or someone’s pulling his, and we’re about to walk straight into whatever trap they’ve set.
“Stay close,” I mutter to her, my hand brushing her elbow, not quite grabbing but ready to yank her out of harm’s way.
She nods, fierce and unblinking, but I see the flicker of doubt in her gaze.
We’ve bound her to us with blood, but that doesn’t make her invincible.
If anything, it paints a bigger target on her back.
The coach blows his whistle, herding us towards the path that snakes into the woods.
Cillian flanks her other side, Axl a step behind, all of us moving as one unit.
The rain-slicked ground squelches under my running shoes, and I flex my fingers, itching for a fight.
If Liam or Cian or anyone else is waiting in those shadows, they’ll regret it.
I’ve got kill counts tattooed on my skin for a reason, and adding more for her sake would be a fucking pleasure.
We hit the trail, the students spreading out, but we keep tight, Sorcha’s breath coming steady beside me as we jog.
Trees close in, branches dripping, the air heavy with the scent of wet earth and pine.
My senses sharpen with every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush sets my nerves on edge.
She’s no damsel, but she’s mine, ours, and the thought of someone snatching her away ignites a rage that burns hot in my chest.
Up ahead, the path narrows, forcing us to single file.
I take point, muscles coiled, ready to explode.
Sorcha’s right behind me, her presence a constant pull, like gravity.
If this is a setup, they’ll come at us soon.
When they do, I’ll be the first to draw blood; their face will be met with my fist. The path twists ahead, forcing us deeper into the woods where the light barely filters through the canopy, turning everything dim and shadowed.
I push forward, my breath steady, every sense on high alert for the slightest wrong movement.
Sorcha’s footsteps match mine right behind, light but determined, and I feel her presence like a live wire humming at my back.
A branch snaps off to the left. It’s not a runner’s misstep. It’s too deliberate. My gut twists with certainty. I slow just enough to let Sorcha draw level, my hand grazing her arm in warning. “Eyes open,” I murmur.
She nods, her jaw set, that fire in her eyes sparking brighter despite the tension radiating off her.
We round a bend, the trail opening into a small clearing ringed by thick trees.
Four figures in dark hoods step out from the underbrush like they’ve been waiting.
Hired muscle, by the look of them. Broad-shouldered and armed with knives glinting in the muted light.
One sneers, cracking his knuckles, while another levels a stare right at Sorcha. “Gannon. You’re coming with us.”
“Like fuck she is.” I don’t hesitate. I lunge at the closest one, my fist connecting with his jaw in a satisfying crunch that sends him staggering back.
Blood sprays from his split lip, and he swings wide, but I duck under it, driving my shoulder into his gut.
He folds with a wheeze, and I follow up with an elbow to his temple, dropping him hard into the mud.
Chaos has erupted around me. Cillian’s already on another, his movements precise and brutal, a knife flashing in his hand as he disarms the bastard with a swift slash.
Axl laughs as he tackles a third, twisting the guy’s arm until something snaps audibly.
Sorcha kicks low at the last one’s knee, buckling him before she stomps down on his wrist, forcing him to drop his blade.
The one I downed groans, trying to rise, but I plant my foot on his chest, grinding down until he gasps for air. “Who sent you?” I demand, promising more pain if he doesn’t talk. He spits blood but says nothing, eyes defiant. Fine. I press harder, feeling ribs creak under my weight.
Sorcha’s at my side now, breathing hard but steady, her hand wrapping around my arm. “Ciar, we need to move. More could be coming.”
She’s right, but the rage boils in me, hot and unrelenting.
These pricks thought they could take her from us, right under our noses.
I lean down, grabbing the front of his shirt and hauling him up until our faces are inches apart.
“Tell whoever owns you that Sorcha Gannon belongs to the Cerberus Order now. Come for her again, and I’ll carve my name into your fucking corpse as a warning for any idiots too thick to get the message the first time. ”
I shove him back into the dirt, where he curls up wheezing, and turn to check on the others.
Cillian’s guy is out cold, Axl’s is nursing a broken arm, and Sorcha’s mark is groaning on the ground, clutching his knee.
No fatalities—not yet—but the message is clear.
We don’t linger; I nod to the group, and we bolt back along the path, leaving the clearing behind.
Sorcha keeps pace with me, her expression a mix of adrenaline and fury. “That was too easy,” she pants as we break out of the woods, the campus lawns stretching ahead. “Smythe set this up?”
“Probably,” I grunt, scanning for any pursuit. None yet, but my blood’s still pumping, ready for more. “Doesn’t matter. They failed, and now everyone knows trying to touch you means war.”
She grabs my hand mid-stride, squeezing hard, her touch grounding me amid the chaos. We don’t stop until we’re back on campus and crossing the finish line. Smythe is there, glaring at us, but he turns on his heel and stalks back inside.
“Definitely a set-up,” I say.
“We should’ve killed them,” Cillian says.
“Next time,” I say. “They get one chance to tell everyone else to stand down. If they don’t, then they get what they deserve.
” I scan the finish line again, Smythe’s retreating back vanishing into the building like the coward he is, but my blood’s still roaring in my ears from the fight.
Sorcha’s hand slips from mine as we slow to a walk, her chest heaving, those ice-blue eyes sharp and scanning for the next threat.
Damn, she looks alive like this—flushed, fierce, every bit the warrior queen we’re turning her into.
“You good?” I ask, my voice low, possessive, as I pull her closer, my arm wrapping around her waist like I can shield her from the whole fucking world.
She nods, but there’s an edge to her smile, adrenaline still crackling. “I’m okay, but does anyone else get the feeling those guys weren’t really trying?”
“Yeah,” Cillian says and falls in step on her other side as we head back to the changing rooms. “They were the warm-up. They were testing us.”
“Testing?” Sorcha asks with a frown. “Like our moves?”
“Something like that,” I say. “Next time we are jumped, we have to do the opposite of what they think we’ll do. Keep them on their toes.”
“Oh, fun,” she mutters. “And what would that be?”
“Killing them all on sight,” Axl says. “It’s the only lesson worth teaching.”
“Facts,” I agree.
The words hang in the air, a final, brutal truth.
We reach the changing rooms, a temporary truce zone in a war that’s just getting started.
I drop Sorcha off at the women’s entrance, my hand lingering on her arm a second too long.
“Don’t take long,” I order, “or I’m coming in there no matter what Matron Ironpants says. ”
She snorts at the name and nods. “Wait out here?”
The question is exactly what I want to hear. She’s learning not to be on her own, not to rely on only herself. “Always,” I say, cupping her face. “Go.”
She disappears inside, and I lean against the cold stone wall, the fight replaying in my head.
Axl pulls out his phone, his thumb swiping across the screen.
“The odds for tonight are getting interesting,” he remarks, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
“They’re betting on how long she’ll last against the first challenger. ”
“They can bet on how many pieces I leave him in,” I growl.
“And who is this hero?” Cillian asks.
Axl looks up and draws in a deep breath. “Annastasia O’Shea.”