Chapter 36 Ciar
Ciar
The weight of the cross is nothing. A solid, dense lump under my arm, but manageable. It’s the weight of what just happened that feels heavy. I feel no fucking remorse. He touched her. He put a blade to her throat. He deserved to die choking on his own teeth.
Sorcha trudges ahead of me. She’s exhausted, her wet clothes clinging to her, but she doesn’t complain.
She just keeps moving. That fire in her is banked low, but it’s still there.
I can see it in the set of her shoulders, in the way she doesn’t look back.
We re-enter the passage with the puzzle-box chamber.
Sorcha doesn’t falter, doesn’t complain about the enclosed space this time.
The fight, the kill, it’s settled something in her.
Or maybe she’s just too fucking tired to feel anything else.
My gaze is drawn to her wet jeans clinging to her arse, the sway of her hips as she navigates the tight corners, and I feel a familiar possessive pull.
She’s mine. Ours. Ahearne learned that lesson the hard way.
His son will too, if he’s stupid enough to come looking for revenge.
We pass through the chamber with the pillar Axl sank into the floor, then into the next corridor.
The silence is heavy, broken only by the squelch of our wet clothes and the drip of water somewhere in the darkness.
Cillian leads, his movements silent and predatory.
Axl brings up the rear. We’re a unit, a fucking wall around her, and no one is getting through.
Finally, we reach the bottom of the last set of stairs, the ones leading back up into the chapel. Cillian holds up a hand, and we stop. He cocks his head, listening. I shift the cross under my arm, my other hand going to my blade. Up there, the real world waits. The taskforce. The consequences.
I meet Sorcha’s eyes in the gloom. They’re wide, but there’s no fear. Just exhaustion and a grim fucking resolve.
Cillian is still for a long moment, then gives a short, sharp nod. All clear. He moves up the steps, silent as death, and I push Sorcha gently ahead of me. She doesn’t resist, just climbs, her movements stiff but steady. I follow, the cross a solid weight against my ribs, Axl right behind me.
We emerge into the chapel’s gloom, the air tasting clean after the stale dampness of below. We move the altar stone back into place, seamless, as if we were never there. It’s a fucking ghost story, except for the blood on our clothes and the gold under my arm.
It’s dark out now, not surprisingly. This day has been too long. It feels wrong, being in here like this. Soaked to the bone, carrying stolen history, and fresh from a kill. I glance at Sorcha. Her face is pale, smudged with dirt, but her eyes are clear. She’s not breaking. Not my girl.
“The side door,” Axl whispers, already moving towards it. “Leads out to the graveyard.”
“Less chance of being seen,” Cillian agrees, falling into step.
I move to Sorcha’s side, my shoulder brushing hers. “Stay with me.”
She looks up at me, a flicker of something in her eyes—not fear, but acknowledgement. “Where else would I go?”
Good answer. Because there is nowhere else.
She’s ours now. This cross is ours, and anyone who tries to take either from us will end up just like James Ahearne.
A bloody memory on a stone floor. We slip out into the graveyard.
Gravestones stand like silent, hunched figures in the dark, watching us pass.
I keep the cross tucked tight, its weight a solid, grounding presence.
The weight of Ahearne’s life is lighter. He’s nothing. A problem solved.
Sorcha shivers beside me, and I move closer, my body shielding hers from the wind that whips across the open ground. She doesn’t pull away. She just keeps walking, her eyes fixed on the horizon. No one speaks. There’s nothing to say that our actions haven’t already screamed.
We clear the graveyard and edge around the campus, sticking to the shadows. There is no one out here that shouldn’t be. Students wander around, heading back to their houses after dinner, but no taskforce… that we can see.
The townhouse is a dark shape against the sky. A sanctuary. For now. As Axl opens the door, I pull Sorcha back, my eyes scanning the doorway. This is far from over. We have the prize, but now we have to hold it, and holding it means killing anyone who comes for it.
You don’t need to be a genius to know that they will come. Whoever they is, remains to be seen, but any and all are now deemed a threat.
The door closes behind me, and I place the cross on the hall table.
“You got a hidey-hole for that?” Sorcha asks Axl.
Axl smirks, hefting the heavy artefact like it’s a fucking baguette.
“Of course I do, sunshine. This place is full of secrets.” He disappears down the hallway, and I turn my attention back to Sorcha.
She’s shivering, her teeth chattering, but she’s watching me, her eyes dark and unreadable.
The sight of her, so strong yet so fucking vulnerable, makes something clench deep in my chest.
“Shower,” I command softly.
Cillian is already moving through the house, checking locks, his blade still in his hand. He’s a fucking shadow, always on guard.
I grip Sorcha’s elbow, ignoring her token protest, and steer her up the stairs. She’s too tired to fight me, her body pliant under my touch. I don’t let go until we’re in her bathroom. Turning on the shower, I step back and strip her off before getting naked myself.
Grasping her hand, I help her in and before she can protest, I have her pressed up against the tiles, kissing her as if it’s our last day on earth.
Her lips are cold, but they yield under mine, and I plunder her mouth, a claiming that’s as brutal as it is necessary.
She grips my semi-hard cock and tugs gently.
It springs to life under her touch, hard within seconds as I groan into her mouth.
Dropping my hands to her waist, I lift her up.
She wraps her legs around me, pressing her pussy against my tip.
Without breaking our kiss for even a second, she guides my cock inside her, sheathing me with her wet heat.
I fuck her, erasing everything but me. The water streams over us, but her heat is a fire that consumes me.
My hands grip her arse, lifting her higher, driving myself deeper with each thrust. This isn’t gentle.
It’s a fucking brand. A statement. I’m washing the day off her, the fear, the memory of Ahearne’s blade at her throat. I’m replacing it all with me.
Her head falls back against the tiles, her throat exposed, a silent offering. She moans my name, a broken, desperate sound that fuels the brutal rhythm of my hips. Her nails dig into my neck, scoring my skin, and I welcome the pain. It’s real. It’s now.
Her orgasm hits her like a lightning strike, her pussy clenching around my cock, milking me.
I can’t hold back and dump my cum inside her, my cock jerking wildly as I give her everything I’ve got.
I don’t pull out. I hold her there, pinned to the wall, my cock still buried deep, my forehead pressed against hers.
She’s safe. She’s mine, and I’ll kill anyone who ever fucking forgets it.