Page 72

His hand closes around my wrists and pins them against the wall above my head.

"Funny," I say, a little breathless. "You just happened to be out there tonight."

Something dark and unmistakably pleased crosses his face. "Oh, I do enjoy it when you bite back."

"Yeah?" I bare my teeth, but wheeze when my heart starts beating frantically, my medical band buzzing against my wrist.

I can't breathe.

The world wavers, and I can see myself running again, a twelve-year-old fleeing, horns screaming in the background as shadows close in.

The alley crashes into the memory, footsteps and wet stone, and my breath catches, my chest tightening as old fear and fresh adrenaline twist together, dragging buried memories dangerously close to the surface.

Wake up.

But this is no dream. This is real.

I'm still staring at those stupid dark eyes. For one impossible second, I wonder what would happen if I stopped fighting him, if I just leaned into his touch. Would he let go, or would he pull me closer?

Ciaran's mouth drifts nearer, his jaw brushing mine, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, not quite touching, just waiting there like he's giving me time to react. Or fail to.

The memory pushes in again. The blurred lettering flashes through my head, the same fragment that's been sitting under my skin since the library. My fingers curl.

Good Light. I should have left it alone.

He sees it too, tilting his head with an intensity that has my reality blurring at the edges. "You want to breathe?" he murmurs, voice low. "Is that what you need?"

His grip eases on my wrists, just slightly, but my burning lungs still won't fill. His gaze dips when I swallow, and he traces my bobbing Adam's apple with his other hand, then lets his palm settle loosely around my throat. The ghost of a touch has my insides tingling and screaming for air at the same time.

I want to kick him. Hurt him. Wipe that smirk from his face.

And yet, I can't help but imagine what would have happened had he not come out to…what, save my life? Prevent me from meeting people who might know Sola?

What the hell was I thinking, going out there?

Maybe he saved me, but that doesn't mean I trust him.

"So many thoughts," Ciaran mutters as he watches my face. "I can practically see them."

I jerk when he blows a stray lock out of my face, and the hint of a smile deepens. "And you're going to share them with me. Whatever dragged you out there, whatever you thought you were going to do, I want to know."

"F-fuck. Off," I wheeze.

His hands stay where they are, steady, like he doesn't need to use force to keep me here. "Talk to me."

I shake my head. "Not happening."

Something shifts in his expression, and I think he's going to push harder. But instead, he leans in just enough that I feel it again, the same proximity, the same heat, the same dangerous edge that makes something in me go tight and unsteady in the space of a heartbeat. "You're going to tell me, and you're going to tell me now."

I don't answer, but this time it's not just anger holding my silence.

The photograph. The half-hidden street sign. The hours I spent trying to identify it, chasing blurred lettering and half-formed clues until they dragged me into that alley. I still don't know whether the trap started there, the night someone photographed me in the library. Or if I walked into something a lot bigger the second I started pulling at a door that was never meant to be opened.

"Try again," Ciaran murmurs, his grip tightening as his eyes close. "Fuck, little mouse. I like the way you fight it when I've got you."

Something hot and vicious snaps through me at that.

"Fuck you," I choke out, the words breaking as I jerk against him, wrenching my wrists against his hold, my knee coming up between us in a sharp, clumsy shove meant to throw him off balance, to get space, to get air.