Page 18 of His Possession

His gaze landed on Maeve, his voice low but firm. “Are you hurt?”

Maeve shook her head, though the tightness in her chest made it hard to speak. “No. I was with you when it happened.”

Rory nodded once, his eyes narrowing as he turned to take in the destruction again. His jaw clenched, the veins in his neck taut with the effort of holding back whatever storm brewed inside him.

“This was a message to me, to the O’Neill Syndicate,” he said, his tone like steel. “The Kellehers want us to know they’re willing to cross lines.”

Maeve crossed her arms, trying to mask the tremble in her hands. “Why me? Why my work?”

“Because they think you matter to me,” Rory said bluntly, his gaze cutting to hers. “And they’re right.”

The raw honesty in his voice made her belly flip, though she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or something deeper. Rory wasn’t a man who minced words and hearing him claim her like that was both thrilling and terrifying.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

As Rory stepped closer, his broad frame towering over her, and he reached out to gently cup her chin. The contrast between his cold fury and the tenderness in his touch left her breathless.

“What I do best,” he said, his tone deadly calm. “Handle it.”

Maeve swallowed hard, her cougar instincts stirring as she held his gaze. She could see the angry turmoil in his eyes, the tightly leashed power simmering just beneath the surface. He was dangerous—more dangerous than she’d ever fully grasped—but she also knew he’d stop at nothing to protect her.

“Rory,” she began, but he cut her off.

“No,” he said firmly, his thumb brushing her cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture. “You don’t need to worry about this. Let me take care of it.”

Her lips parted, a thousand protests bubbling to the surface, but none of them came out. She wanted to tell him she could handle herself, that she didn’t need him to fight her battles. But she needed him. The danger she was facing wasn’t something she could handle alone.

“I don’t want to be a liability,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady.

“You’re not,” Rory said, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made her pulse race. “You’re my priority.”

The words sent a thrill through her, even as they filled her with unease. She wasn’t used to being someone’s priority—not like this. But with Rory, it didn’t feel like a choice. It felt inevitable.

As he turned to inspect the damage again, Maeve watched him with a mix of fear and fascination. His controlled movements, the way his mind seemed to work ten steps ahead of everyone else—it was enthralling. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that being close to him would come at a cost.

Rory pulled out his phone, his voice clipped as he gave orders to someone on the other end. The conversation was terse, efficient, and when he ended the call, his expression was unreadable.

“I have men on their way to secure the gallery and your studio. I’m assigning someone to watch over Sabella,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

Maeve blinked, startled by his assumption. “Rory, I can’t just?—”

“You can, and you will,” he said, cutting her off. “This isn’t up for discussion, Maeve. If they’re willing to do this, they’re willing to escalate. I won’t take chances with your safety.”

The finality in his voice left no room for protest. Maeve exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting to the broken sculpture at her feet. She hated the idea of relying on him, hated feeling like a pawn in a game she didn’t want to play. But as much as it grated against her pride, she knew he was right.

“Fine,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rory stepped closer, his hand brushing hers as he looked down at her. The intensity in his eyes made her breath catch, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her again. But he simply nodded.

“Good,” he said, his voice low. “Now let me take care of the rest.”

As he turned to leave, Maeve felt the full significance of what she’d just agreed to settle over her. Being with Rory wasn’t just dangerous—it was consuming. And she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

But as she followed him out of the gallery, the flickering image of her shattered sculpture burned into her mind, Maeve couldn’t deny the truth: she wanted to see what would happen next, even if it destroyed her.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the sleek, modern interior of Rory’s penthouse. Maeve hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, the tension in her chest winding tighter. Her cougar instincts stirred, restless and alert, torn between the safety Rory promised and the danger his world carried. The contrast was dizzying, but the steady hum of his presence beside her had a grounding effect she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Rory walked ahead, his movements deliberate and assured as he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. The space reflected him perfectly—sharp lines, cool tones, and a subtle elegance that spoke of power without excess. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed Galway Bay, the stars twinkling lights stretching far into the darkness.

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