I wondered when Cian was going to get it over with. Or maybe Fiona was going to chop me up with her knives.
“I have never heard anyone demand anything of him until this stormy night,” Fiona whispered, apropos of nothing, then shut the door. I heard the lock rattle and then a definiteclick. She’d locked me inside the room.
I flung myself on the bed and cried into the pillow. I cried for so long that I’d made a gully inside of my heart and had nothing left to give—physically, mentally, or emotionally.
A few hours must’ve passed when I heard the lock turn and Fiona stepped back in. She poked me, but I was too tired to turn and face her. When she shook me, I moaned, and a tear slipped down my cheek. My glasses were skewed on my face but still on.
She sighed and left the room. A minute later, I was being hoisted from the bed by two strong arms. I blinked, trying to wake myself up.
Cian looked down at me, his brow furrowed, before he turned his eyes away from my face and forward.
Maybe this was it.
My last walk.
My entire body trembled in his arms, like my muscles were being shocked.
Cian took each step down carefully, then walked out the open front door. Heavy pellets of snow fell against my face, but they weren’t coming down as manically as before. The storm had slowed down. A hard breeze moved the tendrils of hair from my bun, and they stuck to my face, clinging for life. I had a feeling we were close to morning. The night had thinned some.
Keenan opened the door to a dark SUV with tinted windows, and Cian stepped inside. He set me on a seat and then turned to look out the window.
“Where are we going?” My voice reflected my heart. Broken.
He didn’t answer. No one did. The car was silent except for the occasional squeak of the windshield wipers.
About an hour later, we pulled up to a private airport and drove around back, where an airplane waited on a tarmac.
Where the hell is he taking me?
If it was out of Massachusetts, that would only be the second time I’d left the state. I went with Delaney for a weekend away to New York the year before. She attended a bookstore convention. That was what she’d called it, but it was more of a book lovers’ intervention—with each other. Which meant…they talked about buying more books.
I’d done okay on the plane ride to New York, but it was a short flight, and I knew where I was landing. It felt like a great adventure. But this? This felt like whatever the opposite of that was. A great doom?
Keenan parked. Fiona slid out first. She had a black crossbody purse across her all-black outfit. It looked like it was made from a fish net and tulle. Cian stepped out next. I gasped some when his arms came back into the SUV and he slid me toward him. He hauled me up like he had at his house and kept me locked in his arms.
“I can walk.” I pushed against his chest, but he ignored me, moving toward the plane.
The wind picked up and brought what felt like a gush of cold with it. He was warm, and I couldn’t help it. I huddled closer to him, tucking my head underneath his chin, his wild hair tickling my face.
Everyone called him the Beast of Boston, but he didn’t smell like one. He smelled woodsy, with a hint of musk.
After he climbed the steps to the plane, he planted me in a seat, strapped me in, then took the one across from me. He turned his face toward the window.
The sun was just starting to rise, and it fell on him, giving life to all the details that were masked by the night.
He was even more gorgeous than he’d been in the darkness. Even though what I could see of his eyes were dull, like the light had burnt out in them, they were the most gorgeous color I’d ever seen. Gray with a black ring around them. It made them pop against his golden skin.
He turned his face forward and caught me staring. I turned my attention to Fiona. After Keenan had boarded, she’d taken the seat next to me. She closed her eyes and relaxed as the plane took off. I didn’t particularly like this part. I’d read that this was one of the most dangerous moments of flying. The takeoff and the landing.
I started to twirl the ring around my finger.
A few minutes later, we were in the air. Fiona opened her eyes and dug in her fishnet bag. She pulled out a book. From the outside, it looked like a hardback cookbook, but I noticed the book inside didn’t match the cover.
She was reading a romance book and hiding it. She’d carved out a perfect square to tuck the smaller book in.
“I love those,” I whispered to her.
It took her a second to pull her eyes away from the story and meet mine.
