I blow out a breath.Took downmeans injured, not dead. Still.Bollocks.
“Tiernan's there now, but it's bad, Ash. It's really fucking bad.”
Ice slides down my spine. Tiernan. My uncle, my trainer,the man who taught me how to fight, how to kill, how to survive in this world.
“How bad?”
“He's… alive. He's asking for you. Says he needs to talk to you before he—” Seamus cuts off, but I hear everything he's not saying.Before he dies.
Holy fucking Christ.Tiernan.
“On my way,” I hear myself say, even as every instinct screams at me to stay here, to guard her, not to let her out of my sight. Her ankle's been healing, but not as well as it should. She's still limping, wincing when she thinks I'm not looking, and says she's in a lot of pain. I'm going to have to take her to a doctor soon, whether she wants to go or not.
“Hurry, Ash.”
Seamus's voice softens, which actually takes me by surprise. He doesn't speak softly to anyone. “I know. I know you've got something going on, but this is family. He's family.”
“I know. I said I'll be there.” I don’t need a fucking lecture.
I hang up before I can say anything else, then stand there in the dark hallway, my hands clenched at my sides, every muscle in my body corded tight.
Tiernan. The man who made me into a weapon, who stood in my corner for every fight,who never once flinched at the monster I became. Who told me six years ago, when I came back covered in someone else's blood, “Sometimes the monster is what the world needs, lad.”
I can’t fuckin’ lose him, not so soon after losing Donovan.
I can’t. I won’t.
I have to go. I know I have to go.
But she's in bed, soft and warm and mine, and every cell in my body is screaming at me to stay with her, to guard her, and not to let her go more than three feet away from me.
I haven't even joined her in bed properly. I've been lying next to her for two weeks now, close but not touching, even though everything in me wants to. I want to climb into bed and tell her Tiernan’s fucking hurt, that it’s not looking good, that I have to go…
The lump in my throat chokes me as I move on autopilot. Grab my clothes from the dresser. Pull on jeans, boots, and a jacket. Strap on a shoulder holster, checking the clip as usual.
Habits. Muscle memory from a thousand jobs I've done.
But this time, all of it feels… wrong. Like I need to let her go.
No. No, I fucking won't.
I stop outside the bedroom door and peer through the crack. I can see her curled up inside, her beautiful black hair still mussed from sleep, one hand tucked under hercheek. Her fair skin looks creamy in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
She looks so beautiful. So… innocent. Everything good in the world contained in one fragile body.
I could lock her in. Could bolt the door from the outside and make it impossible for her to leave. It's secure in here—reinforced windows, no way out except the front door.
She got out before, though, didn't she?
I remember the way she looked at me when she asked why I watched her, the tremor of trust in her voice when she admitted she didn't know how to stop caring. She's starting to understand, to get it. To see that I'm not just a monster.
Or maybe I'm just imagining things.
If I lock her in, she'll know I don't trust her. I don't want her to see herself as a prisoner, but I… Christ, I don't trust easily.
Before I can second-guess myself, I push open the bedroom door and cross to the bed. I sit on the edge, close enough to touch but not touching. Not quite yet.
“Bianca.” My voice is rough. “Wake up.”
