"I wasn’t going to tell you this now, but I got word that Beatrice has disappeared again.”
“What?” All of a sudden I felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs.
“Brother, you need to get a grip.” Ronan held me steady. “I don’t have any details, but I spoke to my O’Brien liaison earlier. I am not about to leave you on your own to deal with this. I’ll be providing carte blanche and more men if need be. More security points. Whatever you need.”
I didn’t know what to say. My mind was still stuck at ‘Beatrice has disappeared.’ Fucking hell.
“Be careful," he said simply. "Love makes us vulnerable in ways we don't always anticipate. We’ll talk about this later. I don’t want the women to hear about this just yet. This is a special day."
I followed his gaze to the darkness beyond the garden's warm circle of light. Somewhere out there, Beatrice O'Brien remained a wild card. If she was alive, she remained a threat.
"I will need to tell her though," I said, watching Aoife laugh at something Cressida had said.So beautiful…
Ronan nodded slowly.
I clasped his shoulder, dragging my mind to the present. "Ronan? I'm happy for you. Both of you. You deserve this."
His smile was rare, genuine—the expression of a man who'd found something priceless. "So do you, Alexander. So do you. You have my blessing."
That was the first time he’d explicitly given his approval and confirmed full trust in me. Despite the setbacks, that weight at least was lifted off my shoulder.
As we rejoined the women, watching Aoife and Cressida bond over wedding plans and shared laughter, I allowed myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t such madness after all.
Two days. Then we would create our own hunt, our own rules, our own ending.
And maybe, if we were very lucky, it would be a beginning instead of an end.
But in the back of my mind, a nagging worry persisted. Beatrice O'Brien had vanished into the night with her husband's blood on her hands. Patrick's condition remained unknown—alive or dead, no one could say. And somewhere out there, a woman driven mad by obsession and abuse had slipped through our fingers like smoke.
The threat might be gone—which I doubted. It was likely biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike again.
I pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the sound of women's laughter, and the promise of a future none of us had dared to imagine.
Whatever came next, we would face it together.
Twenty-Four
AOIFE O'MALLEY
The past fewdays had been a whirlwind of intensity that left me emotionally drained and oddly exhilarated. Ronan Flanagan's visit had been like weathering a storm—every conversation a careful dance around unspoken threats, every glance a test of my worthiness to stand beside Alexander. The man was formidable, handsome, self-confident, and fair. I rather liked him, in fact. More than that, I respected him and could see why Alexander was so loyal to him.
But it was over now. Ronan and Cressida had left this morning, and I'd never seen a couple more desperately, beautifully in love. The way he looked at her, as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to humanity... The proposal scene in the garden would be burned into my memory forever. Their joy was palpable. Even I couldn't deny that magic.
The anticipation had been building all day, electric tension crackling between Alexander and me every time our eyes met, even though there was something in his gaze that gave me pause. He was worried, and I had no idea about what. I knew it wasn’tO’Brien. He’d said he hadn’t heard any news. So what was it? It didn’t matter right this moment, anyway.
For now, as twilight painted the sky in shades of violet and gold, I stood at the edge of the hunting grounds wearing nothing but a thin white dress and bare feet—just as he'd instructed.
"You have a thirty-minute head start," Alexander said, his voice taking on a predatory edge that sent heat pooling between my thighs. He held an ornate black mask in his hands—not the raven one from the first hunt, but a black, intricately designed masquerade mask that covered half his face. The sight had me trembling. "Use it wisely."
I studied his face in the dying light, memorizing the sharp angles before he would become the hunter. This was my choice, my request—to replace Beatrice's twisted memory with something that belonged only to us.
"And if you catch me?" I asked, though we both knew it was a matter of when, not if.
His smile was knowing as he lifted the mask. "Then you'll understand exactly what it means to be claimed by me."
Without another word, I turned and ran into the forest, my heart hammering with exhilaration rather than fear. Behind me, I heard him call out: "Run, beautiful! When I put this mask on, I won't be gentle."
The grounds were extensive, crisscrossed with paths I'd studied during the day. But as I moved deeper into the woods, instinct took over. I could hear him behind me now—the deliberate crack of branches, the measured footfalls of someone who knew these woods intimately.
