32. Liath
LIATH
Istood at Rua’s bedroom window the next evening with one hand braced against the cold glass, staring past the black trees and the dark sheen of the lake to the distant spires of the asylum.
The sight of Magdalene in the distance made the room feel smaller, as if even here that place still had fingers in me.
I could not decide which was worse, being trapped in that ward or being trapped here with Lorcan under my skin.
My phone pinged.
It was Nuala, checking in on my fake illness, notes attached for the classes I’d missed, and her wishes that I feel better soon.
I stared at the screen longer than the message required, guilt moving low and mean through me. Nuala had offered kindness with both hands from the moment we met, and all I had done in return was lie to her face and let her keep caring anyway.
I couldn’t explain Lorcan to Nuala. I couldn’t even explain Lorcan to myself. And Nuala had enough of her own weight to carry, the scholarship, the part-time shifts, Bridgit.
Whatever this thing with Lorcan was, it stayed inside these walls.
I scrolled back up through the other messages from today.
There was a text from Finn, short and curt.
Finn: Nuala says you’re not feeling well. Feel better, hey?
There was a group chat with Rafe and Breezy, the least concerning thing being how the hell they’d gotten my number.
Rafe: oi what u do to our boy?
Breezy: yeah, Lorc’s been acting like a right prick all day.
Rafe: almost took coach’s head off at training.
Breezy: broke his fave hurling stick against a wall.
I’d read that twice. Lorcan Lasair, who never cracked in front of anyone, had spent an entire day breaking things at training because I had not answered my phone.
A mean little spark of satisfaction flared in me, and I crushed it at once.
Farther up the screen, my own message from last night sat there in its little bubble, sent to the number I’d been given for emergencies only.
Me: I want out.
And below it, his reply, time-stamped two minutes later like he’d been expecting my message.
Unknown: Dervla is counting on you.
The walls of Rua’s bedroom pressed half an inch closer and I made myself breathe through it, slow and deliberate, until my chest loosened enough to function.
There was no out. There had never been an out.
I deleted the messages the way I’d been instructed to, angry at myself because even after all this, I was still fucking doing what he told me to.
Then there was a string of texts from the contact that I’d relabeled.
The Bastard: Coffee.
The Bastard: Now.
The Bastard: And get me a breakfast roll too.
The Bastard: Where’s my coffee?
The Bastard: Where are you?
The Bastard: Gray…
The Bastard: Answer me.
The Bastard: Or else.
Then seven missed calls from him.
Each new message made the pressure knot tighter. By the time the missed calls stacked up beneath them, the phone no longer felt like a device in my hand so much as a leash jerking tight.
My phone pinged again.
The Bastard: My room. Now.
How dare he? How fucking dare he act like nothing happened? Like I was still a pawn on his chessboard he could move around with three words and a send. Like last night had been nothing. Like I was nothing.
Fuck him. Fuck this place.
I tossed my phone aside and yanked open the wardrobe, pulling out gym leggings, a sports top, jacket, and runners. I tugged them on, driven by the need to get out of this room before the walls closed in completely.
I needed out. Needed air. Freedom, even if it was only a lie and only for an hour.
I yanked the door open and nearly walked straight into the bastard.
Lorcan was already there, standing right in front of my door, as if I’d caught him deciding whether to knock or to just barge in.
His eyes moved over the running gear, then came back up to my face. “You weren’t at college.”
I bit down a retort and pushed past him.
“I’m talking to you.” He fell into pace beside me, close enough that his arm grazed my shoulder and his violin scent-song played in my head.
I didn’t break stride. I pulled my hair back as I walked, using my fingers to scrape it into a ponytail.
“Seven texts, Liath.”
“Eight.” I pulled the elastic out from between my teeth to secure my hair.
“So you did read them.” He stepped in front of me, walking backward, trying to get into my line of sight.
I smoothed down my flyaways and stared past him as if he wasn’t there.
He halted right in my path, crossing his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging under his charcoal sweater. “I called you.”
“Several times, I see.” I sidestepped him and kept walking, my steps faster now.
He kept up with me. God, would he ever leave me alone?
“Then why didn’t you answer?”
“I was busy.” I unzipped my jacket pocket and fished out my lip balm.
“Doing what?”
“Being somewhere you weren’t.” I swiped it on, capped it, then pocketed it.
He stepped into my path again. “You’re avoiding me.”
“So observant.” I went around him again, hands shoved in my pockets, pace unchanged.
“Why?” he asked, his voice exasperated as if the answer genuinely eluded him.
Dear Lord, help me to accept the things I cannot change, and to not go to jail for his murder.
“I needed a day off,” I bit out.
“From what?”
From everything. From faking Rua. From being responsible for the fate of all those girls. From him.
I didn’t answer.
The top of the staircase opened ahead, the foyer spread below, dark marble and chandelier light and the watchful eyes of old portraits, all of it too grand for the pettiness of this fight and too exposed for how personal it already felt.
I pressed my sports watch into runner mode with my thumb, the small beep bouncing off the high ceiling. Then I put one hand on the polished banister and started down the stairs.
He followed.
“From what, Liath?” His voice had dropped to a growl, no longer annoyed in the shallow way of a boy denied attention, but strained.
I shot him a look. “Really?” My laugh came out thin and sharp. “You’re just gonna play like last night didn’t happen?”
He blinked. “You’re upset about last night.”
I rolled my eyes. “Genius.”
I sped up my steps, practically jogging now, his footfalls heavier as he kept up with me.
“Okay. I… I might have handled it… badly.” The words sounded dragged out of him, like they hurt him to say.
It just made me angrier. I grit my teeth and tried to ignore him.
But he kept going, “Maybe I shouldn’t have—”
“Lorcan.”
“What?”
“Don’t apologize for something you don’t mean.”
“I’m not apologizing.”
I halted in my tracks and looked at him properly for the first time.
Something in his face had gone tight and almost younger, as if he were a little boy lost.
“Then what are you doing?”
He gave me a pleading look. Or as much of a pleading look that Lorcan Lasair could give. “I don’t know.”
I turned away and started walking again, stomping down the stairs, really.
Of course he didn’t fucking know. This was all just a game to him. I was a fucking toy. A whatever. Something with a point that he hadn’t bothered to think about.
“Christ, Gray. Stop.”
His hand caught my arm and he turned me to face him.
“No, you stop,” I snapped, trying to wrench free.
His grip only tightened as he pushed me against the railing, the balustrade pressing into my spine.
“I can’t,” he said, the words coming out rough and angry. “I’ve tried.”
I went still.
“Despite everything, my reputation, my father, my better judgment,” he said, his features contorting with anger as he got in my face, “you’re in my fucking head and I can’t get you out.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re blowing up my phone. Following me around. And somehow, I’m the problem?”
“Yes.”
“That is—”
“You make me want you,” he said, the words breaking out sharp and ugly. “You make me want things I shouldn’t fucking want, and what exactly am I supposed to do with that?”
Vindication flared hot and vicious through me. He wanted me. He felt something for me, and the fury in his face told me it frightened him. For one sharp second, I wanted to savor that.
Then I remembered Lorcan was still a bastard. Still my enemy. Wanting me was not enough.
I tried to fight my way out of his grasp. “Well, you’ll just have to choke on that wanting, Lorcan. Because I don’t want you.”
“Don’t lie.” He crushed me even farther against the low balustrade with his body, the foyer gaping open below in a marble drop. “I can see how I affect you.”
I hated that he was right. Heat pooled low and unwanted, my pulse jumping at his nearness, at the utter completeness with which he blocked out anything that wasn’t him.
But I was stronger than my desires.
“Just because,” I grit out through my teeth, “you trick my body into reacting doesn’t mean I’m interested in giving in.”
“You think I trick you?”
“You’re an arrogant, cruel bully, so utterly devoid of any real emotion it’s like talking to a wall. So, yeah, you trick my eejit body because I don’t like you.”
His mouth flattened, his entire body going still except for his fingers that flexed into my arm.
“You take that back, Gray.” His voice had gone low enough to vibrate against my skin. There was no tease left in it now. Only cold fury and a possession he had no right to.
“No.”
His free hand slid onto my thigh and moved higher, up between my legs.
I grabbed his wrist, pushing against him. To my surprise, he stopped moving, his hand mere millimeters away from the soaking mutinous part of me.
He leaned in until our noses were practically touching. “Every time you close your eyes, you think of me. Every time you touch yourself, it’s my name in your mouth. You know it is.”
He flicked his tongue across my top lip. A mark. A claim. A promise.
An ache surged through me, raw and urgent, twisting low in my belly until my muscles trembled, wetness leaking into my leggings, my cheeks flaring hot because I feared he would feel how soaked I was getting.
“Before this is over, you’ll beg me to fuck you. I’ll make sure of it.”