Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Devlin
When Cian found me in that room, it was the first time he’d called me by my name. His voice had cut through the fog of pain and self-pity like claws through flesh. I’d never forget the way he sounded. Like his heart was breaking.
Dr. Bev, as Cian called her, worked with military precision and had access to equipment I knew cost a fortune.
I scratched at the cast on my left arm—some purple lattice thing she’d claimed was a new waterproof design.
The injury was only a fracture, not a complete break, so luckily I wouldn’t need surgery.
She’d also given me IV fluids, restoring some much-needed hydration. I’d been locked in that room for what felt like days, and I hadn’t touched the protein bars or water bottles they’d thrown at me.
I hadn’t been fully in control of my mind during my time in that room. I’d been nearly delirious with pain, my head throbbing in time with the echo of Cian’s fading heartbeats. I’d heard his broken confession and mourned that his final moments were spent trapped in what he hated most. The dark.
Cian. My lion king. A man who never backed down, who could beat people—and life itself—into submission. He was scared of the dark, because his father had been a monster. And not being able to give him light in those final moments haunted me.
The door to his apartment finally clicked shut, leaving Cian and me alone for the first time since our night in the warehouse.
I sat propped up by a few pillows in Cian’s massive bed, watching as he leaned his forehead against the door and heaved a heavy sigh.
Finally, he turned around. Our eyes met and held.
I wasn’t sure what to say to fill the silence.
I didn’t even know where we stood. That night had changed both of us, but I didn’t know how.
I needed Cian to take charge and tell me what came next, but the uncertainty in his eyes made my hands shake.
“You should lie down,” I suggested.
His expression changed immediately, hardening into a look I knew well.
Cian only grunted before stalking into the kitchen and grabbing a tray I hadn’t noticed on the counter.
He carried it into the bedroom and placed it on the nightstand beside me.
Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, close to my hip.
He held up a mason jar filled with what looked like muddy creek water and pressed a straw to my lips.
I turned my head away like a child being forced to take medicine. “Eww. What the fuck is that?”
“Bone broth,” he said. “Drink it.”
“I don’t—”
“Shut. Up. Devlin.” His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. “I swear to God. Just shut the fuck up and eat. That’s the only thing I want your mouth doing right now.”
Shut up and eat.
Nothing else. I could do that. I could follow his orders.
I tried to take the jar from him, but he growled, so I dropped my hands and closed my lips around the straw.
I’d never had bone broth before, but it reminded me of chicken soup, something I hadn’t had in forever.
It was warm and comforting, and I drank about half before he took it away.
Next was a saltine cracker, which he again held to my lips.
I frowned at him, still unsure why he wouldn’t let me feed myself.
He responded with another glare. So I snatched the cracker with my teeth and drew it into my mouth.
I crunched. Swallowed. Then we repeated the process until half the sleeve of crackers was gone and Cian looked less angry.
He hadn’t growled in at least five minutes.
Cian braced his hands on his knees and hung his head between his shoulders. He was silent for a long time. The tension alone was enough to make me sweat. I wiped my damp palms on the sheets.
Finally, he spoke. “I’m so fucking mad at you.” He turned his head. “Know why?”
I could think of a few reasons. I picked the one I thought mattered to him the most. “I wouldn’t give them any details about the shooter or what happened. I risked your crew.”
He rolled his eyes with another growl. Guess we were back to zero on the Minutes Since Cian Has Growled counter.
“You fucking idiot,” he rumbled.
“Cian—”
“Why did you let them beat the shit out of you?” He twisted at the waist, bracing his fists on either side of my hips. His face was so close I could smell the antiseptic Dr. Bev had used when she’d fixed his stitches. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“I told you. I thought you were dead.”
He made a harsh, frustrated sound in his throat. “Who else touched you? Who other than Rhys?”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “I’m not telling you that.”
“Dev—”
“No. Fuck off, Cian. Give yourself a second to think clearly,” I huffed, mashing my index finger against my temple.
“You’re a better leader than this. They did the right thing fucking me up, and you know it.
If those were my men, and I was the one found half-dead with an enemy, I’d want them to react the same way.
And I know that because I had men who didn’t.
They saw my power slipping and defected without an ounce of guilt.
But I was never the kind of leader you are.
Your men were ready to kill me just to avenge you, and they were right to. ”
His jaw was tight, his eyes blazing, but he didn’t argue with me.
Because I was right. We both knew it. He was just a stubborn fuck.
I gently rested my hand on the bandage wrapped around his neck and left shoulder.
“I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, either.
You weren’t…” I dug my teeth into my lip as I fought against the memory of that darkness, where the iron tang of blood hung heavy in the air.
My stomach lurched. “You weren’t conscious for a lot of it. But I was. The entire time.”
The anger faded from his expression, and he slid closer, cupping the back of my neck. “Dev…”
“I tried to keep you warm with my body, but you were so cold. And your blood was everywhere. I was sticky with it. Even now I can smell it, like I’ll never get it out of my nose…
I tried to keep pressure on the wound, but your breathing just kept getting worse.
And I put my ear over your heart so I could listen—”
My voice cracked, and my eyes burned. I didn’t want to think about this shit anymore. Reliving that moment was agony. Even though I knew the outcome, even though Cian sat in front of me strong and whole and very much alive, the horror of that moment still lingered in the corners of my mind.
Cian’s eyes softened, and some of the tension left his body.
I’d never seen him like this with anyone, least of all me.
Never with me. He drew me into his arms and tucked my head against his chest, my ear pressed to his heart.
His heartbeat was strong and loud, and I clutched his shirt at his back, finally exhaling with relief.
I hadn’t realized how badly I’d needed to hear it.
So I confessed to the rhythm of his heartbeat. “I let them beat me, because if you were gone, I wanted to die too.”
His body shuddered, and a rough exhale ruffled my hair. Fingers sifted through the strands on the back of my head while his other hand moved slowly over my bruised back. I trembled against him and felt a barely-there kiss on the crown of my head.
“Devlin,” he whispered. “You saved my life. I want you to want to save yours, too.” He lifted my head from his chest and cupped my jaw in both of his big palms.
Burning tears threatened my vision, and an entire softball lodged itself in my throat. “What changed in that warehouse?” I managed to croak out.
His smile grew slowly, until it became the foundation of my entire world. “Everything.”
Showering was a bitch, but Cian insisted.
We stripped off our clothes, then wrapped Cian’s neck and shoulder in plastic wrap so his incisions didn’t get wet.
I was in too much pain to get hard, and Cian was the same, so we stood under the shower spray, both of us soft.
Being naked with Cian minus the threat of his cock down my throat was new.
Cian carefully washed my hair with the hand on his uninjured arm.
His big fingers worked through my too-long strands, rinsing out the blood, dirt, and whatever the hell else had made my scalp start to itch.
I couldn’t bend over. My ribs were killing me, even though the doctor had said they were just bruised, and my left knee was swollen.
I was fully prepared to let the soap run down my legs and call it good, but Cian was thorough.
I sucked in a sharp breath as he lowered himself to one knee.
He slowly lifted one foot and rested it on his thigh, and I braced myself with one palm on the tile wall, the other on Cian’s good shoulder.
He carefully washed me from groin to toe.
The sight of his dark head bent in front of me wasn’t something I’d ever thought I’d see, especially while he touched me with a reverence I didn’t deserve.
He handled me like I was made of porcelain, and I honestly kind of felt like it. Still, this shift made my head spin. If someone had told me when we first met that Cian would end up on his knees, washing blood from my feet, I would’ve said they were insane.
Once he was back on his feet, I motioned for him to lean down so I could reach his hair.
While I worked the shampoo over his scalp, he playfully bumped the top of his head against my chest like a big dog.
I huffed a small laugh, but that’s about all I could manage without pain lancing through my ribs.
Cian seemed to notice, because he straightened right away, shampoo bubbles sliding down his temples.
He steadied me with a frown. “You okay?”
“Rinse before you get soap in your eyes,” I said, ignoring the question. “Turn around.”