35. Liath
LIATH
Seated in the passenger seat of Deargán’s car, the cuff around my wrist chaining me to the dashboard was warm from the drive.
His car was a relic from another life, old leather and polished wood, a classic with bucket seats that forced me too close to him, his thigh almost brushing mine every time he shifted gears.
My heart hammered. But I kept my breathing steady as I studied the town around Magdalene, sliding past the windows in dim streaks, Blackwood’s sparse lights blinking through hedgerows.
Outside the asylum walls, the roads narrowed into winding country lanes, dusk turning the trees into sharp silhouettes that leaned over the tarmac.
There were barely any buildings, just the imposing tops of grand estates and manors rising beyond stone walls, chimneys and gables cutting against the sky.
No people.
No help.
We rolled through the towering gates of Ravenwood College, and the ornate ironwork flashed in my mind like a superimposed double. Familiarity hit so hard it made my stomach drop.
I tightened my grip on myself.
I’m not Rua.
I’ve never been here.
Deargán pulled up in front of an imposing gothic building, and the feeling of recognition rose again anyway, thick and unnerving. I could almost smell the damp stone and moss even before the car doors were opened.
The campus was deserted.
There wasn’t a single human in sight, the college still on summer break, buildings dark, windows like blank eyes. The quiet adding its own kind of threat.
There was no one around to help me.
I was on my own.
Deargán killed the engine and got out without a word.
He came around to my side and opened the passenger door, and the night air slipped in, sharp and clean, raising gooseflesh along my arms. He leaned in, close enough that his cologne mixed with the dampness outside.
He took his time with the key as he unlocked the cuff from the dash, the click echoing inside the car, his fingers brushing my skin.
“Freedom,” he murmured, “is contextual.”
Instead of unlocking the cuff off me, he snapped the free end around his own wrist, chaining me to him with a clean metallic sound.
Fury flared hot in my chest. And I was forced to bite it back.
No chance at escape now. Not unless I got that key.
His gaze lifted to mine, calm as sin.
“You’re never escaping me.”
He tugged me out of the car and slammed the door shut behind me.
The chain between us jerked tight as he tested it once, twice, like he was checking the strength of a leash. Tight enough that I had to step closer.
Bastard.
I bit my tongue, no choice but to follow as he tugged me into the building.
Our footsteps echoed down the corridor the moment we crossed the threshold, sound bouncing off stone, the air inside colder, the kind of chill that settled into bones.
Students’ photos lined the walls, awards in glass cases, smiling faces frozen and bright beneath warm wall sconces.
Deargán lifted our joined wrists slightly.
“If anyone saw us like this,” he said quietly, “whose story do you think they’d believe?”
My jaw clenched.
He was taunting me. Reminding me that he held the authority.
Even if anyone was here, if I tried to call for help, he could make me sound mad in under five minutes.
I hated that he was right.
The farther we walked through the empty campus, the more it seemed like the walls pressed in from all sides. A labyrinth of corridors stretched long and arched, passing by vast assembly halls with vaulted ceilings and wood paneled classrooms that smelled faintly of polish and chalk.
Echoes multiplied until it felt like we weren’t alone, our footsteps carrying through cavernous spaces before being swallowed by carved oak and polished stone.
Memory flashes sparked behind my eyes, sharp and disorienting, like my mind was trying to overlay a map onto a place I’d never stepped foot in.
His gaze burned into my profile.
The tension built quietly between my ribs and my throat, a hum of dread and heat that didn’t belong together.
He stopped us in front of a darkened iron locker, its paint long since chipped to reveal rust beneath, vents cut into its door like narrow slits and a heavy brass tumbler dulled by decades of use.
My stomach tightened, my hand reaching for it instinctively. I had no idea what the numbers were, but my fingers spun the tumbler anyway, smooth and practiced, muscle memory overriding my sanity.
The lock clicked open.
I gasped.
“I didn’t mean to,” I whispered.
Deargán’s eyes tracked my face like he was reading a chart.
“You remember,” he said. “Good.”
A shape shifted at the far end of the corridor.
Lorcan stood half in shadow, eyes locked on mine. Something in his gaze seemed to pull at me, beckoning without moving his mouth.
Was he real? Or just another hallucination?
Lorcan drew his thumb across his neck, his smile turning cruel.
My breath caught, my body tilting toward him instinctively despite his clear threat.
The chain yanked hard. Deargán snapped me back so fast I bumped into his chest and stumbled, the air knocked out of me on impact.
I righted myself, breath ragged, and looked back again.
Lorcan was gone.
If he were ever there in the first place.
For a second, the anger fell away and left behind something raw and exposed.
Then the fury surged back in to cover it.
I twisted against the chain, pulling hard enough that it bit into both our wrists.
“Why are you doing this?” The words came out rough. “What the hell do you want with me?”
The question cracked open more than I meant it to. And I wasn’t sure what I was asking.
“I just want you…” He paused.
I gulped back a gasp.
He continued. “…integrated. Cohesive. Better.”
My temper flared hotter, something low and humiliating tightening in my chest.
Why wasn’t Liath enough for him? Why did he need me to become Rua?
“Liar,” I yelled in his face, smacking his chest. “You keep lying to me.”
“Calm yourself,” he bit out as if my emotions were annoying him. “Or this will be your last taste of freedom.”
I let out a frustrated huff and dropped my fist. “You promised me you’d tell me about O’Shea.”
He didn’t even flinch at the name. He just looked at me, steady and unreadable.
Seconds passed. Long enough for my pulse to start pounding in my ears. Long enough for him to decide exactly how much to give me.
“O’Shea is no longer in a position to bother you.”
Ice ran down my spine. “You hurt him.”
“He will not interfere with you again.”
My stomach lurched and I yanked at the cuff out of sheer instinct. “Oh my God, you killed him, you sick bastard.”
Deargán’s expression tightened as he yanked me closer by the chain, reeling me in inch by inch until my front hit his firm chest and there was nowhere left to move.
“I will not have another man touch you,” he said.
The words should have repulsed me completely.
They didn’t.
Confusion tangled with rage and a heat that spread through my lower belly. My lungs pulled shallow, my periphery blurring the edges of him, of the lockers, of everything except the place where his body pinned mine.
No. He had rejected me at the lake, had turned away like he wanted to punish me for wanting him, and now he was standing here claiming me like I was property.
“Why?” My voice cracked at the edge. “Why do you act that way if you don’t want me?”
He stared at me, his brows pressing together. “You think I don’t want you?”
His thumb slid over the inside of my wrist.
My pulse stumbled.
He searched my face like he was trying to decide whether to ruin me or save himself.
His jaw flexed.
“God help me,” he muttered.
He crushed his lips onto mine, hard and possessive. Like he had something to prove, his tongue pressing between my lips, demanding entrance.
My body responded with ruthless betrayal, heat pooling low, my knees going weak even as my spine arched toward him.
The smell of his musk and spice wrapped tight around my head, thick and male and inescapable, his cello scent-song vibrating through me.
I kissed him back.
His mouth was rough, claiming, teeth catching my lower lip in a warning scrape before his tongue slid in, slow and soft, coaxing and claiming in the same breath. His arm, cuffed to mine, slid around my back, trapping my arm behind me and anchoring me to him, crushing me against his body.
My free hand grabbed at his coat, pulling him closer, a fingertip curling around the lip of his pocket.
His pocket.
The key.
Escape.
My mind cleared, even as my body stayed locked in the kiss. I traced the seam of his pocket with my fingertip. Did I dare?
I remembered the kidnapping, the drugging, my missing month, the tattoo, my chopped off hair… and my resolve turned to steel.
I made a move like I was grabbing him closer, then slid my fingers in.
My fingertips brushed cold metal before I pinched it between my fingers, a sharp little triumph sparking in my chest. I had him. He was just a man blinded by want.
His hand clamped around my wrist like a vise, and the triumph turned to ice.
Shite. He hadn’t been blinded at all.
He ripped his mouth from mine.
For one fractured second, something in his expression cracked, almost wounded.
Then it sealed over, his fury poured into the space between us.
His grip tightened. “I hope your grasp for freedom was worth it.”
I wrenched against him. “Let me go.”
Deargán leaned in, a flare of mania in his eyes, his mouth hovering close enough that his breath hit my lips.
“Never.”