Chapter 10 Artan
ARTAN
It's nearly eleven when I get back to Luan's apartment.
The day with Erion ran longer than expected.
Scouting Irish territories, mapping warehouse locations, calculating risk versus reward for every potential strike.
Hours of surveillance that left my shoulders tight and my patience thinner than usual.
Not terrible, exactly. Once you get past the chaos, the aggression, the constant need to provoke everyone around him, Erion is surprisingly intelligent.
Strategic. The kind of mind that sees three moves ahead and plans for five.
Loyal? Too soon to tell. Loyalty in this world isn't declared, it's proven. Blood and time, nothing less.
If the alliance holds, things could get interesting. But that's a big if.
I unlock the door and step inside.
Something's wrong.
The shift hits me immediately, visceral and undeniable. The apartment feels off. Disturbed. The harmony that's been building over the past few days is gone, replaced by something jagged and discordant.
I pause in the entryway, listening. My hand drifts toward my waistband automatically, fingers brushing the grip of my gun. Years of training, muscle memory older than thought.
The lights are on in the dining room, casting a warm glow that doesn't match the tension crawling up my spine.
I follow the sound I can't quite place. A soft scraping. Quiet, careful movement.
Dining room.
Lily is on the floor. Crouched down on her knees, picking up broken pieces of china with methodical precision. Her movements are tight and controlled, each gesture deliberate and careful. A bucket sits nearby, water dark and murky. The mop leans against the wall, its strings still dripping.
I stop in the doorway. Take in the scene. Broken plate. Food splattered on the wall, dried now, sauce and fragments of vegetables clinging to the cream-colored paint like evidence of violence.
"Lily? What happened? What are you doing here so late?"
She doesn't look up. Keeps cleaning, her hands moving steadily from floor to bucket, depositing shards with careful precision. Her hair falls forward, obscuring her face. A curtain. A shield.
"I didn't want to leave him alone." Her voice is steady. Too steady. The kind of calm that's held together by sheer will, by conscious effort to keep every emotion locked down tight. "But now that you're here, I can go as soon as I finish this."
The words carry weight I can't quite parse.
"Lily." I force calm into my voice. "What happened?"
She sighs, a small sound that carries too much weight. Still doesn't look up, won't meet my eyes. "Accident. Luan was frustrated. He threw his plate. It's fine. I'll get it cleaned up."
Accident.
The word doesn't fit. Luan doesn't throw plates when he's frustrated. He goes cold. Silent. Controlled. Turns inward and locks everything down until he's made of stone and ice. This kind of mess speaks to something else. Something darker. Loss of control. Rage without direction.
The kind of explosion that comes when a man pushed past his limits finally breaks.
I cross the room and squat beside her. Put my hand over hers, stopping the movement. Her fingers are cold beneath mine, trembling slightly despite the steadiness of her voice. The contrast tells me everything I need to know about the performance she's putting on right now.
She freezes but keeps her head down. Hair falling forward like armor. Like if I can't see her face, I can't see the truth.
With my free hand, I reach for her chin. Gentle. Giving her every opportunity to pull away, to refuse, to maintain the distance she's trying so hard to create. She doesn't. Doesn't move at all, just goes very still under my touch.
I turn her face toward me slowly. Her skin is soft under my fingertips, warm despite the chill in her hands. Smooth and delicate in a way that makes something protective and primal rise up in my chest.
We're close now. Too close. Breathing the same air. The space between us charged with everything we haven't said, everything we've been circling around since the moment she walked into this apartment and filled it with warmth and light and cooking smells that made it feel like home.
The pull between us is immediate. Magnetic. Undeniable. Something that's been building for days, coiling tighter every time we're in the same room. Every time she smiles. Every time she blushes. Every time those dimples appear and knock the air from my lungs.
I can see the pulse in her throat. Rapid. Unsteady. Fluttering like a trapped bird.
She looks at me, and for a moment the guarded expression cracks. Something raw flashes in her blue eyes. Vulnerability. Want. All of it tangled together in a way that makes my chest tighten and my control slip another fraction.
We lean in. Almost kissing. The space between us shrinking to nothing, to breath and heat and the thundering of my own pulse in my ears. Her lips are parted slightly, soft and full and so close I can feel the warmth of her breath ghosting across my mouth.
Her breath hitches. A small sound, barely audible, but I feel it everywhere.
My hand moves of its own accord. Reaches up, tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her ear with slow deliberation. The silk of it slides through my fingers, soft as water, and I savor the sensation because I know I shouldn't be doing this. Know there's no stepping back from this.
And see it.
A gash. On her forehead, near her left eye. Butterfly bandages holding it together, the edges of the wound stark against her pale skin. The flesh around it is bruised and swollen, purple and yellow spreading outward like a stain.
Rage floods through me. Hot. Instant. All-consuming.
The kind of fury that obliterates thought and leaves only action.
Luan did this. In a moment of rage. He can't see, can't control his movements when anger takes over, can't gauge distance or force or consequence. But Lily got caught in it. Collateral damage from his blindness and his fury and his inability to accept what's happened to him.
"Qelbesire," I curse under my breath. Bastard.
The word tastes like ash.
I stand fast, the movement propelling me backward. Away from her. Away from the pull I can't afford to feel. "LUAN!"
The name echoes through the apartment, sharp and furious. Loud enough to carry through walls and closed doors. Loud enough to demand immediate response.
I storm through the hallway, my boots heavy against the hardwood.
I find him in the office, sitting in the leather chair like a king on a throne.
Glass of whiskey in hand, the amber liquid catching the low light from the desk lamp.
His posture is relaxed. Casual. Like nothing happened.
Like the woman in the next room isn't cleaning up the evidence of his loss of control while bleeding from a wound on her face.
My vision narrows. Tunnels down to him and nothing else.
I grab him by the collar. Yank him up with enough force that the glass tumbles from his hand, hitting the carpet with a muted thud. Whiskey soaking into the fibers, the smell sharp and immediate.
"Qelbesire!" The word rips out of me, vicious and uncontrolled. "You need to control yourself or I'll make you!"
"What the fuck?" Luan pushes me back hard. His hands find my chest and shove, and I stumble back a step before catching my balance. His green eyes are unfocused but full of anger, blazing with it. "Watch it, Artan!"
"Both of you, stop!" Lily's voice cuts through the tension like a blade. She gets between us, her small frame suddenly a wall. Her hands come up, one pressed against my chest, the other against Luan's.
I can feel her trembling. The fine tremor running through her body, adrenaline and fear.
"Don't defend him when he hurt you," I say. My voice comes out low and dangerous, barely controlled. The rage is still there, simmering just below the surface, demanding release.
Luan's face shifts. The anger bleeds away, replaced by something more dangerous. His jaw tightens. His hands drop to his sides, fingers curling into fists.
"What?" His voice goes quiet. Deadly. Empty of everything except threat. "What are you talking about?"
Lily touches her forehead. Fingers brushing the bandages with careful precision. Her face shifts, understanding flooding in, followed immediately by something guarded and careful. Something that looks like panic barely contained.
"It wasn't Luan."
She takes a step back, creating distance. Physical and emotional. Building walls between us that weren't there thirty seconds ago.
I feel that distance like a door slamming shut. Like losing something I hadn't realized I was holding onto. Something precious and fragile that just slipped through my fingers.
Luan's anger shifts, morphing into confusion and concern. His unfocused eyes move in her direction, trying to find her in the darkness that surrounds him.
"You're hurt?" The question comes out careful. But I can hear the edge underneath. The worry he's trying to contain. "What happened?"
Lily takes another step back. Puts more distance between herself and both of us. Her arms wrap around her middle, a self-protective gesture that makes my chest tighten.
"It was an accident." The words come out too smooth.
Too rehearsed to be spontaneous. "I went home after…
What happened at lunch. The house is full of moving boxes.
I'm packing to move out. I tripped over one.
Lost my balance. Hit my head on the edge of the table.
It happened fast. But I'm fine. Really. It looks worse than it is. "
The explanation is too detailed. Too specific. The kind of story someone tells when they've practiced it in their head, when they've run through every possible question and prepared answers in advance.
She's lying.
Every instinct I have screams it. The tone of her voice. The way she won't quite meet my eyes. The defensive posture. The excessive detail meant to convince rather than inform.
I want to push. Want to demand the truth. Want to grab her by the shoulders and make her tell me who hurt her so I can find them and make them regret ever laying a hand on her. Make them understand what happens when you cross that line.
But she's already retreating. Already closing off. Her body language screams back off, and I force myself to respect it even though every instinct in me is demanding that I do the opposite. To pursue. To protect. To fix this.
Lily forces a smile. The kind of smile that doesn't reach her eyes and cracks at the edges. "Now that you're here, I'll go. There's tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches in the kitchen if you're hungry. The sandwiches are wrapped. You just need to heat them up for a few minutes in the oven."
She looks pointedly at Luan when she says it. A gesture of care despite everything that happened between them today.
Then she leaves. Walks past me without another word. Her shoulder brushes mine, the contact brief and electric, and then she's gone. The sound of her footsteps fading down the hallway. The front door opening. Closing with a soft click that echoes through the suddenly empty apartment.
Silence fills the office. Heavy and uncomfortable.
I run a hand through my hair, exhaling hard. The rage is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it's lost its target. No direction. No outlet. Just heat and pressure building in my chest with nowhere to go.
"I'm sorry—" I start to apologize for my outburst.
"I don't believe her." Luan cuts me off, his voice flat and emotionless. The tone he uses when he's processing information and setting aside everything else. "I could hear the lie in her voice."
I nod, then remember he can't see it. "Yeah. Me too."
"She's in trouble." Luan continues, his jaw tight.
He moves to sit back down, finding the chair by memory.
His movements are careful but confident.
Practiced. He's been navigating this space for days now, learning it through repetition and touch.
"I heard her on the phone the first night.
She was talking to a friend. Mentioned giving her house to her brother.
He has gambling debts. She's helping him pay them off. "
The information settles over me like a weight. The brother with gambling debts. The house she's giving away. The financial pressure that must be crushing her.
And now an injury she's lying about.
"I'll find out who hurt her," I say.
The words come out like a vow. A promise. The kind of promise I've made before, to people I've sworn to protect. Promises that bind deeper than blood, deeper than choice.
This one feels the same. Inevitable. Non-negotiable.
Luan looks toward me, his unfocused eyes somehow still managing to feel assessing. Reading me through sound and tone and the things I'm not saying.
"Are we good?" I ask.
"Yeah. We're good." Luan's mouth twitches. Almost a smile. Dry. Amused despite everything. "Our first fight. Over a woman. Lily's cast quite a spell, hasn't she?"
I don't respond. Can't argue with that.
Because he's right.
Lily has cast a spell. Walked into this apartment and wrapped herself around something vital in our chests. Made herself matter in a way that's dangerous. In a way that complicates everything.
And whoever hurt her just became our problem.
And in our world, that's not a position anyone wants to be in. Because when men like us decide someone's our problem, it stops being theoretical. It becomes concrete. Final. The kind of decision that ends in blood and consequences and justice delivered outside any legal system.
I look at Luan. See the set of his jaw. The tension in his shoulders. The way his hands rest flat on the armrests, fingers pressed hard against the leather.
He's thinking the same thing I am.
Whoever hurt Lily is going to regret it.
Deeply.