Page 32 of Líadan's Code

“Do you think we should check on Jordan?” I ask. “I didn’t hear the water run, and he’s been really quiet.”

“Are you worried?” he asks, eyes closed as he wraps his arms around me. “I doubt he slept well on the wall, Lía. I don’t think they pulled him down until the last possible moment. Jordan looked like he was going to fall down when Bruin dropped him off. The only thing keeping him upright was how fucking bullheaded he is.”

“That’s kind of what I like about him,” I whisper, blushing. “I figured he’d be mad when he found out who I was, but he almost seemed uncaring and blasé about it. As if it was just one more bullshit thing the world was throwing at him today.”

It’s dark outside, and the streetlights have all turned on. It’s almost ten at night by this point. I didn’t expect him to be happy that I’m both the Banshee and my father’s daughter, but I thought I’d get more of a reaction.

“This man is used to wearing a mask, same as you, milseán,” Brendan says, yawning. He had a busy day, I’m unsurprised that he’s tired. “Jordan’s looks a little different than yours. You not only have the very literal mask that you wear, but also the Ice Queen resting bitch face, that I love to watch crack just for me. Did you notice how he swallowed every scream and mouthed off at me. Jordan doesn’t bend for anyone.”

“He is for Daddy,” I remind him.

“I would do a lot of really fucked up things if your happiness was on the line, much less your life, baby,” he growls. “Why should Jordan be any different? Willing to throw away your morals for the people you love doesn’t mean you’re a pushover, Lía. You know better than that. Now, if you want to check on Jordan, get up and do it.”

“Ugh,” I sigh, nudging him off of me.

Brendan pouts as he gets up, which is adorable. Ya know, for a man who is six-foot-three and two hundred pounds, the man is solid muscle. So if he didn’t want to move, he simply wouldn’t.

Standing, I walk toward the stairs. I changed hours ago into comfortable house clothing, knowing I wasn’t leaving the house today. I’m wearing thick wool socks that go up to my thighs, a long-sleeved shirt without a bra, and my hair is out of it’s normal messy bun. It was starting to give me a headache.

Even though I started to climb the stairs slowly, I find myself moving faster as I get to the top. There’s this anxiety clawing at me, because I know none of his wounds over the last several days have been looked at. I really need to see him, or I’ll be a wreck all night.

I don’t know him, and we’ve only had a few interactions, but I’m inexplicably pulled to him. Brendan was right when he said he was surprised by my reaction to Jordan. I dislike most people, particularly those who own a cock.

Knocking quietly on the door, I open it slowly, finding the room completely dark. Biting my lip, I leave the door open to use the hall light, and wait for my eyes to get used to the darkness. Jordan is sprawled out on the bed, his face buried in the mattress as he snores lightly. Bubbles of laughter fill me, though they don’t escape me.

They haven’t in years.

I can’t laugh unless I’m hurting someone anymore, and even that isn’t from true happiness. Walking as quietly as possible, I switch the lamp on the lowest setting, but still, Jordan doesn’t twitch.

He’s still in the clothes he arrived in, making me wrinkle my nose. He should shower, though I don’t blame him for being so exhausted. Daddy’s men aren’t known for their hospitality.

I should know. The warehouses we keep our prisoners in are barely standing. They are one step away from being condemned, and that is the way Daddy likes them.

To be fair, most of them never live to survive my father, so I’m not going to fight for them.

“Jordan?” I say softly, touching his leg. I don’t know if he’ll startle after the last few days, and I’d rather not get kicked in the face.

Thankfully, he only gasps awake, turning over to flip onto his back.

“Yeah?” he rasps, throwing his arms over his face with a groan. “Do you need something, Princess?”

“You’re a delight, you know that?” I say wryly. I really dislike his new nickname. Fuck me.

“Hmm. You haven’t seen nothing yet,” he says, pushing himself up to sit. “What time is it?”

“After ten,” I tell him. As he glances at the window, he sighs as he sees how dark it is.

“I didn’t mean to sleep so long,” he mutters.

“You looked as if a stiff breeze would have blown you down,” I say with a shrug. “You needed sleep. Uh, I want to take a look at your injuries. Can you strip?”

“Bold, little girl,” he chuckles. “I will not be doing that. I do need a shower, though. I probably would have drowned if I tried taking one earlier.”

Standing, I find myself having to gaze up at him. Even though I’m a taller woman, Jordan and Brendan both make me feel small. Jordan is probably about six feet tall even.

“I didn’t mean it the way I sounded,” I say, biting my bottom lip.

Jordan smirks as he reaches out to rescue the lip I’m currently worrying.

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