“First Blood” - Citizen Soldier
Ilove their histories.
All the pieces of the puzzle are coming together. Rory’s should be fairly simple, I imagine.
Rory kisses Seth like the lumberjack is his air supply. It’s desperate, rough, devouring. I laugh, limping across the room with my cane, my bones still sore from earlier chaos, my legs wobbling as if I’ve just walked off a ship.
I plop down onto Rory’s lap with zero grace, and he immediately grabs a greedy handful of my ass like it belongs to him. His hands are always hot. Always firm. Alwaysright there.
“Mmm. Merry Christmas to me,” he mutters, lips ghosting along my neck.
I run my fingers through his thick red hair. Always want to sink my claws into that copper fire.
But the second I do it, his jaw tightens, and a muscle pulses like a warning under his freckled skin.
“Careful, Lass,” he warns. “Do that too much, and I won’t be able to control myself.”
I shift just enough to pull back and ask, “So…were you born in Scotland?”
“Aye,” he says, like it’s both a curse and a prayer. “Highlands. My Mam and Gran were Scottish. But my Da was Irish. He fell in love and left Ireland for her. But then they emigrated when I was still a wee lad. I barely remember it. Big family. I was the second youngest. Always in trouble. Always angry. Didn’t matter what the rules were—I broke ‘em.”
He pauses. His fingers twitch against my hip. Then, he meets my eyes.
“Was clear early on that I wasn’t wired like the others. No official diagnosis. Just whispers. Their unofficial diagnosis wasantisocial personality disorder. Just another way of saying.I’m a sociopath who can smile while slicing yer throat.”
“Sounds like my Red.” I play with his shirt’s unbuttoned collar, daring to trespass on those ruddy curls on his chest.
He flexes, then chuckles dryly. “Loved bullying my brothers. Got kicked out of school for locking a girl in a supply closet. Stole knives. Slashed tires. Picked fights with kids twice my size just to see if I could win. And fire. Fire was my favorite.”
I still.
“Started with matches. Candles. Newspapers. But one night, I got bold. Set a corner of the house alight. Didn’t mean to burn the whole damn thing. I panicked. Tried to stop it. But the flames moved too fast. The kids made it out. Even Nanna. But Mam and Da didn’t.”
He looks away, jaw hardening again, and it’s the first time I see something almost like shame.
“I don’t feel guilt the way Jude or Seth might. But I feltrage. At myself. At the world. I used to burn myself with cigarettes. Never told anyone. Nanna wasn’t the same after. Too much grief. Too many mouths. One night, she took too many pills and never woke up.”
My chest aches for him, for all those kids, for the crazy kid inside him.
“We were all split up. Different foster homes. They sent me to one where the director worked on ‘troubled’ kids. Bastard made a career outta collecting us like we were broken toys.”
Silence stretches between us. His hand curls around the curve of my waist like he’s anchoring himself.
“So now ye know it all.” Rory sounds almost tired now. “And why the only fire Raphael lets me near is the one in the kitchen.”
Vincent, leaning nearby, deadpans, “It’s also the only reason we keep him around. That and the shepherd’s pie.”
The mood cracks, just a little, and I smile. I lean in close, pressing my mouth to the ear I once bit the lobe off. I lick the jagged edge slowly, just to make him twitch.
He gets harder instantly.
“One other fire, Red,” I whisper. “The one only I can light.”
He licks his lips. His hand grabs my ass again like he needs to prove he still owns it. “Does that mean it’s playtime yet?”
I bite his jaw. “Almost.”
And the way his gaze ignites, like a match flaring to life—yeah.Almostis going to kill him. And Ilovethat.
