34. Deargán
DEARGáN
The patients dragged their heels as they left group, the scrape of chair legs and their hushed whispers grating on my nerves.
I allowed it. I needed the extra seconds to steady my breathing. To let the heat drain from my body.
I gripped my hands in fists at my sides to steady myself. My nails bit into my palms but I welcomed the sting.
Christ. The press of her trembling thighs, the uneven rise of her chest and the way her nipples pressed accusingly through the cotton. The slow, dangerous thinning of my own control. Each detail resurfaced no matter how deliberately I fought against it.
Fuck. If I had not capped the pen…
The last of the patients left. And we were finally alone.
I watched her without letting any emotion bleed through my face. If I gave her even a fraction of softness, she would take it.
And I would let her.
Her face was still flushed from the brink I had pushed her to. But she glared back at me with fire in her eyes.
That fire was Liath.
She was still fighting me. Still reacting to me.
That part of her was still alive inside her, even if she now answered to Rua.
A part of me took satisfaction in that.
“How dare you speak to Dervla like that,” she hissed. “You humiliated her. In front of everyone.”
“I told the truth.”
“You weaponized the truth.”
I moved closer. Not enough to touch. Enough to shift the air between us.
“The truth cuts,” I said. “You don’t blame the blade for being sharp.” My voice stayed calm, but my jaw tightened in spite of myself.
Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t like that she defended me.”
“That is not what this is about.”
“What is it about, then?”
“You don’t go to Dervla. You don’t go to anyone else.” I could hear the possessiveness in my words the moment they left my mouth, and still, I couldn’t stop myself. “If you’re destabilized, you come to me. If you’re confused, you come to me. If you feel anything, you come to me.”
She let out a short breath. “You sound like a jealous lover.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You are.”
Her disdain hit like a thumb pressed to a bruise.
My gaze hardened. “You’re projecting your attachment.”
She laughed. “No, Doctor, you’re denying yours.”
I tilted my head. “I’m not the one who almost lost control.”
Color rose in her face. Humiliation flickered there, quick and hot, her mouth pressing thin.
“You will return to me.” The word me slipped out before I could catch it. “To therapy,” I corrected myself.
She stepped forward, a challenge. “And if I don’t?”
“Don’t test me.”
I matched her step, closing the distance until I could feel the heat coming off her skin.
“I am the only reason you still have any autonomy inside these walls,” I said, the admission slipping out with a quiet, lethal weight. “Do not mistake my restraint for weakness.”
Her throat bobbed. Her glare dropped once to my mouth, as if she wanted to bite me. “Will you do something to me, then… like you did to O’Shea?”
“O’Shea resigned,” I said, the lie automatic.
Even as my mind flashed to the feel of the scalpel in my hand and the smell of antiseptic. To the wet plop against the metal tray. To O’Shea’s panicked screams collapsing into silence.
I did not regret it.
“Did he?” She stepped even closer. Too close. Her voice went low, almost seductive. “If you want me to go back to therapy, Deargán, I need to trust you.”
I wanted her trust.
I wanted her to choose me.
I buried the thought immediately.
“So for once…” she continued, “tell me the truth.”
We stared at each other as I calculated the cost of telling her. The cost of not.
Footsteps passed in the corridor. Too loud. Too close. My gaze flicked toward the open door, reminding me we were not alone.
“Not here.” I took a small step back, just far enough to be professional, just far enough to keep my hands where they could not betray me.
“You want my cooperation?” she said, her voice taking on an edge. “I want to go outside these walls.”
“The RMS will not approve an excursion.”
“Somewhere that belongs to me… Lasair Manor.”
“No.”
The word came out too fast. Too sharp.
I could not allow her there.
Not yet.
“That location would not be therapeutically appropriate,” I corrected myself before she could notice the slip.
Her features tightened, her arms crossing over her chest. “Why not?”
I did not answer. I could not answer without lying. And she would see right through it.
“Ravenwood College,” I said abruptly. “A familiar yet controlled environment.”
In my mind, I saw empty halls, long stone corridors, echoing stairwells that swallowed sound.
No interruptions.
No witnesses.
“Ravenwood,” she repeated slowly as if testing the word on her mouth.
I nodded, deciding this was actually a useful idea. I could assess how much of the programming had taken hold. “It is suitable for evaluating your identity integration, Rua.”
I called her Rua deliberately, watched for the flicker, watched for the fracture.
There was none.
She studied me. “I thought you said the RMS wouldn’t approve—”
“I will ensure this. And you’ll return to therapy.”
She nodded slowly. “Fine. But only after.”
I paused, registering the warning twinge before filing it away as irrelevant.
“Agreed,” I said, unable to squash the feeling like I’d just made another mistake.