I didn’t want to look away. I couldn’t. For a moment, the room faded. The chains, the dirt, the other women, they all blurred at the edges, leaving just that gaze pinning me in place. My breath came quicker, not from fear, not exactly. Somethingelse, something sharper, something dangerous curled low in my stomach.
He started toward me, and my body reacted before my brain caught up. My fingers curled into fists, my shoulders squared. I wasn’t going to cower, not now. Not for him, I couldn’t show any weakness.
When he reached me, he crouched down, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. His gloved fingers slid under my chin, tilting my face up. The leather was cool against my bruised skin.
I hissed at the touch, it was a half warning, half reflex, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. His gaze swept over me, not like the guards did, not like I was merchandise. This was… assessment and something much deeper.
And God help me; some part of me didn’t hate it. That’s when the scent hit me, something I couldn’t name but it was dark and rich, it gave me a sense of something wild. It tangled with the copper tang of blood in the air, and I realized it was him.
“Mine,” he said in a deep growl, low enough that I had to strain to hear.
My brow furrowed in confusion. “Go to hell.” I snap. My pulse jumped which he must have noticed because he smiled then, a slow, dangerous curve of his mouth that didn’t belong in this place.
The chains fell away with a single swipe of his blade, and before I could think I lunged at him on instinct, but to no avail as his arm was around my waist, hauling me up against him. My bodyscreamed at the sudden movement, but his hold was unyielding, steady.
“Not hell, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and rough against my ear. “Home.” I should have fought harder, but I didn’t. I don’t know if I was too exhausted or if I just didn’t care anymore, but suddenly, I just wanted to be taken into this man’s arms and later once I got my strength back, I would fight.
So, I let him carry me, past the bodies cooling on the floor, their vacant eyes staring at nothing. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the sharp bite of gunpowder and the heavier, almost sweet rot of death. Every step he took seemed to put more distance between me and the nightmare I’d been trapped in, but it didn’t erase it.
The air outside hit me like a punch. Cold and very real. It smelled of rain-soaked concrete and exhaust, of life. The night sky stretched overhead, black and endless, dotted with stars I’d almost forgotten existed. My chest ached at the sight. I’d thought I’d never see them again.
His arms were solid, unyielding, the steady rise and fall of his breath a strange anchor. My body screamed to be put down, to run, but the other part of me, the exhausted, bone-deep part, clung to that strength without meaning to. Whoever he was, whatever he was, I knew one thing for certain, men like him didn’t exist in the quiet little life I’d lived before.
The world I’d known, the safe streets, the friendly faces, the illusion that evil was something far away was already gone. And looking at him, feeling the cold edge of danger rolling off his skin like smoke, I had the sinking feeling my life was about to get even more dangerous.
Not because of the monsters I’d just been freed from… but because of the one carrying me now.
His voice cut through the night, deep and unyielding. “Call the doctor and tell him to be at my house in thirty minutes.” It wasn’t a request; it was an order that carried the kind of weight that made the man he spoke to snap into motion instantly.
The men around us moved like shadows with their black combat gear, weapons still in hand, eyes scanning the dark as though more trouble might appear at any moment. One of them, tall and broad with a scar down his cheek, broke from formation to hurry ahead. By the time Lucien reached the waiting black SUV, the back door was already open.
He didn’t set me down. Not for a second. He shifted me in his arms just enough to slide into the back seat, keeping me pressed against the wall of muscle and heat that was his chest. The door slammed shut, cutting out the night and sealing us into the low hum of the engine and the faint scent of leather and gun oil.
For a long moment, he just looked at me, his eyes so dark they were almost black, studying me like he was memorizing every inch. Then his voice dropped, low enough that it felt like it settled under my skin.
“What’s your name?”
I hesitated. My throat felt dry, my voice smaller than I remembered it being. “…Sorcha.”
His mouth moved like he was tasting it, slow and deliberate. “Sorcha,” he repeated, as if he was claiming it. Then, just as quietly, “I’m Lucien.”
And for some reason it didn’t feel like an introduction. It felt like a promise.
“Lucien.”
The name hit somewhere deep, like the low, thrumming note of a song I didn’t know but somehow recognized. It didn’t belong to the kind of man you forgot. It didn’t belong to a man who let you go.
I should’ve been afraid of him. I was afraid of him, just… not in the same way I’d feared the Irish. This was different. The Irish had taken me apart piece by piece. This man… Lucien… looked like he could burn me down all at once and leave nothing but ash.
The SUV rumbled to life, the city lights streaking past the tinted windows. I could feel the weight of his arm still locked around me, not loose or casual, but firm. Possessive. Like I was his, whether I agreed or not.
My body screamed for distance, for space to breathe, but there was something else, something pulling me closer instead. Something in the way his heartbeat was slow and steady under my cheek, the way his scent was sharp but clean, steel and leather and something darker beneath.
I glanced up once, catching his profile in the dim light. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, lips pressed in a line that could slice glass. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking ahead, watching the road as if the night might dare to reach through the glass and take me back.
The air between us was tight, almost electric. I didn’t know him. I didn’t owe him anything. But the way he held me… it felt like the first safe thing I’d touched in weeks.
And that terrified me more than anything.
