I ran, the gravel crunched under my shoes, every step echoing like gunfire in my skull. My lungs burned, but I didn’t slow. I could taste the air beyond the gate, the possibility of getting out, of making that call, of proving Lucien wrong.
I was halfway there when a shadow moved across the gravel, faster than it should have been, cutting me off.
Ivan.
He didn’t run. He didn’t even look winded. He just appeared in front of me like the ground had spat him out, his eyes hard, his jaw locked.
I skidded to a stop, breath ragged, panic flaring in my chest. For a second, I thought he might drag me back by force, throw me over his shoulder like Lucien had. But he didn’t.
Instead, he caught my arm, not roughly, but firm, unyielding.
“Don’t,” he said. Just that one word, low and warning, and it carried more weight than a dozen shouted threats.
“I just…” I tried, but he cut me off with a sharp shake of his head.
“You think you’re clever? You’re not the first to try.” His voice was tight, but not cruel. “And you won’t get past us. You’d be dead before you made it two streets out there.”
“I don’t care!” The words ripped out of me before I could stop them. “She has a daughter, Ivan! She deserves to know her mother’s alive. You all sit here, guarding, watching, while those women rot with questions. If Lucien won’t do it, then I will!”
His grip tightened. “And if you died trying, what then? You think that would help her daughter? Or anyone?”
The gate loomed behind him, close enough to make me ache. But I knew that one step, one lunge, and he’d drop me before I even touched the iron.
My chest heaved, my throat burned with rage and helplessness. Ivan exhaled slowly, then tugged me back, not roughly but with the same inevitability as the tide pulling the shore. I didn’t fight, couldn’t fight. He was too strong, too fast, too everything.
By the time we stepped back inside, my hands were shaking with fury, because I hadn’t just failed, I’d proven Lucien right.
Chapter 10
The moment I woke, I knew something was wrong.
The bond between us wasn’t quiet. It hummed with a sharp edge, agitated, restless, not the heavy warmth of her still being curled into me. My hand reached instinctively to the other side of the bed…empty.
A low growl built in my chest before I forced myself upright. The house was still, but not silent. I could hear voices below. Hers. Ivan’s.
I dressed quickly, every movement precise despite the anger thrumming beneath my skin. Black shirt, dark trousers, the weight of my watch snapping into place on my wrist. It wasn’t vanity, it was ritual armour. If I was going to confront her, she would see me as I was, controlled, composed, every inch the predator she needed to understand I could be.
By the time I buttoned the last cuff, I could already hear her voice. Defiant. Sharp. Arguing with Ivan in the hall below. My fangs ached at the sound, not from hunger but from something far more dangerous.
I started down the stairs, my footsteps measured, my fury contained but coiled tight, ready. With each step, my senses sharpened. The scent of her skin carried to me, laced with agitation and fire, there was also a slight scent of her blood. Did she hurt herself? The steady heartbeat of Ivan, loyal but wary.
And then I saw them. She stood rigid, arms crossed over her chest, chin tilted high like a queen ready to go to war. She’d been preparing this argument for hours; I could see it in the fire burning in her eyes. Ivan faced her, broad-shouldered and steady, the kind of immovable wall I trusted to hold the line when I couldn’t.
But when his gaze caught mine, his spine stiffened, straightened like a soldier bracing against a storm. He knew exactly what was coming, and he was right.
Because she’d tested my boundaries. And that meant she’d tested my control. “Report,” I snapped, my eyes never leaving her.
Ivan bowed his head slightly. “My Lord, your mate tried to slip past the gates this afternoon.”
The words hit like steel in my chest. My jaw clenched, fangs pressing against my lip as I turned my full scowl on her. She didn’t flinch, though I saw the pulse in her throat jump.
“You tried to run.” My voice was low, dangerous.
Her chin lifted higher. “I wasn’t running from you. I just wanted to help that woman. She has a daughter, Lucien. You can’t forget that, can’t forget how young she is. She deserves to know her mother’s alive. You won’t let her call, so I thought I could find a phone and…”
“You thought you’d put yourself in danger?” I cut her off, stepping closer. The air between us crackled with my anger, my need to shake sense into her. “You think the streets outside those gates are empty? The Irish aren’t the only filth out there. Demons are always on the prowl; they are like hunters that snifffor weakness. One wrong step, Sorcha, and you’d be gone before Ivan even drew breath. Do you understand me?”
Her eyes blazed. “I don’t care if it’s dangerous! She has a right…”
