43. Deargán
DEARGáN
At the bottom of the stairs, I yanked Liath into the tunnels, my grip tight around her arm.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
My plan had precision. Control. Years of work layered carefully into place.
And she had blown it open in less than ten minutes.
Dim light threaded from ancient wall lamps that I’d turned on along the passage.
Some flickered. Some refused to wake at all, leaving black pockets of shadow between them.
The ceiling arched low overhead, rough stone dripping with cold, stagnant water where roots had broken through the stone in places.
Each of our footsteps echoed too loud, the sound swallowed by the oppressive dark, the air icy and damp against my skin.
“You called me Liath,” she said, glaring up at me as I pulled her along. “You knew my name the whole time.”
I didn’t answer.
Her laugh came out sharp and bitter. “The whole Rua thing was bullshite.”
Her eyes burned into me, searching my face for even a scrap of truth.
She wouldn’t find it. I’d buried that too deep.
“Fight me all you want,” I said, tightening my hold without slowing. “You’re still coming with me.”
“No,” she said, struggling against me. “We have to go back.”
“Go back. Are you mad?” I snapped. “You triggered the alarm.”
“What about Dervla?”
The name struck deeper than it should have.
It distracted me long enough for her to lunge. She twisted free of my grip for half a second, knocking my balance off. “Don’t pretend you’re the fucking hero. You sent her to that ward.”
Her fury should’ve pissed me off.
Instead, it fed something else. Something I was barely containing. Something hungry. Something dark and possessive.
“Did you help them hurt her?” she demanded as I grabbed her wrist again and hauled her alongside me.
I grit my teeth and kept my focus on the tunnel ahead.
“Answer me!” she yelled.
“I had no choice.” I tightened my hold on her wrist again. “Now come on.”
I had told myself it was war. That there had to be casualties. It was unfortunate that Dervla was one.
But the truth bled through me now, hot and unforgiving. I had orchestrated the order to admit her into the Special Ward. I knew exactly what I was throwing her into.
Shame coiled in my chest, thick as smoke, choking every breath.
And still I dragged Liath forward, because it was too late to stop.
Too late to be good.
She hit my arm with her fist over and over, her voice cracking. “Why? Why save me and leave her?”
Something inside me finally snapped.
I slammed her up against the cold wall and pinned her there with my body. My palm wrapped around her throat, not hard enough to cut off her air, but firm enough to make my point.
Her pulse hammered against my thumb.
“I was never supposed to care,” I breathed, the confession burning as it slipped out. “You were never supposed to matter. But you make me feel things I buried years ago. And now I’m—”
Now I’m about to ruin everything for you.
I should’ve stepped back.
I should’ve let her hate me.
Instead, I damned us both.
I kissed her, my tongue pushing past her lips as every nerve in my body screamed for her even though I had no right.
My hand slid from her throat to the back of her neck, anchoring her to me. My other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer.
She melted against me, her soft lips parting, her tongue dancing with mine.
Fire exploded across my cheek.
The crack of her palm echoed off the stone walls as my head jerked sideways from the force of it. The sting came sharp and immediate, grounding as I stumbled back a step.
For a beat I just stood there, breathing through the white-hot pulse burning beneath my skin, the taste of her still on my lips.
She hadn’t chosen me.
Never me.
I shoved down the sting and reminded myself she didn’t need to choose me.
She just needed to choose the plan.
“You lied to me,” she said, shaking out her hand, her voice trembling. “You broke me. And you still think I want anything to do with you?”
“For fuck’s sake.” My voice came out low and rough. “I’m on your side.”
Liath snorted. “Fuck off you are.”
“Think,” I said. “Do you really think you would’ve gotten into the Special Ward if I hadn’t helped?”
She glared at me and crossed her arms. “You didn’t help me do anything.”
I exhaled slowly. “I gave you the key—”
“I stole it.”
“I let you.”
Her breath caught as the brutal reality slammed into her. She hadn’t outsmarted me at all. I had orchestrated her rebellion just as easily as I had orchestrated her submission.
For the first time since we’d entered the tunnel, she stopped fighting me, her arms falling limp at her sides.
I took this opportunity to grab her arm again and pull her forward.
Instantly, her bite was back. “Why not just tell me?”
“Because you needed to see it,” I said, bitterness leaking into my voice. “You needed to learn it. Not from me. From them.”
I could feel her glare boring into the side of my head. “You’re not telling me everything.”
Pride flared in my chest even as irritation tangled beneath it.
Christ, she was sharp. Too sharp. She could see the gaps in the story I’d built around her.
“Why all this shite with Rua, then?” she pressed. “Why make me believe I was her? What are you hiding, Deargán?”
For half a second I nearly told her.
Then I shut the door on it.
The plan could still work. I would have to adapt it, but I could salvage it. I just needed a little more time.
Her foot slipped on the slick stone.
I caught her before she fell, my grip rougher than it needed to be.
“What even is this place?” she demanded.
“Old escape tunnels,” I said. “Built during the War of Independence before Blackwood Manor was turned into an asylum.”
She let out a small huff. “How the hell do you even know about them?”
My jaw tightened as memories pressed too close. “I know these grounds better than anyone alive.”
Every crack in the stone. Every hidden turn. Every place a man could disappear if he knew where to step.
This place had practically raised me.
“But—”
“Be quiet,” I hissed. “We’re near the exit.”
She froze, her head tilting toward the dark tunnel ahead. “What’s that? Is someone… singing?”
The sound reached me too, the distant muffle of a woman’s voice drifting through the stone, soft and haunting.
My stomach tightened. Shite. Not now.
“There’s no singing,” I said, hating my lie.
Liath opened her mouth like she might argue. Then she closed it again.
I reached the end of the tunnel and shoved the hidden panel above us open, warmer air spilling down into the shaft.
I climbed up first, hauling myself through the narrow opening. Then I turned and reached down for her.
For a moment she looked like she might bolt.
“This is the only way out,” I told her.
She peered back down the tunnel. Then she looked at me. Like she was deciding which of us she trusted less.
I withdrew my hand. “Suit yourself. Stay stuck down there if you like.”
“No, wait.” She lifted her hands.
I grabbed her wrists and hauled her up through the opening.
She stumbled when her feet hit the floor above.
I caught her automatically.
For a moment I just held her there, flush against me, the memory of the kiss flashing through my mind.
Then the slap.
I let her go and stepped back, clearing my throat.
She looked around the room slowly.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“My place.”
The abandoned carriage house that sat at the far edge of the Magdalene grounds.
Close enough to watch the asylum, while the rumors of ghosts and the visible structural damage of the top floor kept everyone away.
It was always colder than it needed to be, the cruel winds finding their way downstairs from the places where the roof and tower had collapsed.
I only occupied the few rooms that remained intact.
Pie’s voice slid through my head with the same unwelcome familiarity it always had.
This isn’t part of the plan, Bron.
I stiffened and prayed to God she didn’t actually show up.
I moved past Liath and pulled the curtain aside a fraction.
The asylum lights blazed across the grounds, the alarms still sounding from the distance.
“They’ll secure the whole asylum,” I muttered. “Do a head count. Shite.” I scrubbed a hand down my face. “I’ve got to take you back.”
A creak of floorboards behind me pulled my attention away from the window.
I turned.
Liath was heading toward my open bedroom door.
Panic surged me forward. She could not see that.
“Stop!”
I crossed the room in three strides and planted my hand on the doorframe, blocking her.
But it was too late.
She’d already seen it.
Her eyes grew wide as she stared past my arm to the damning evidence in that room.