Page 32 of His Possession

“I know,” Rory interrupted. “Malachy has her. As soon as he saw you were cut off and heading to Alexander, he intervened.They drugged her. She’s groggy, but fine, but seeing you in the middle of that...”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. The intensity in his gaze spoke volumes, the unspoken promise that he would protect her no matter the cost.

Maeve stepped closer, her fingers curling around his wrist. “I’m not fragile, Rory. You don’t have to protect me from everything.”

“You’re not fragile,” he agreed. “But you’re mine.”

The words hung between them, their meaning clear. Maeve’s eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. She didn’t argue, and that was enough.

As the flames died and the wreckage settled, Rory knew the fight wasn’t over. The Kellehers would regroup, and the O’Connells were still a looming threat. But for now, Maeve was safe. And that was all that mattered.

They retreated to the abbey in Galway. Rory often smiled thinking that man like Con—gangster, smuggler, panther-shifter—owned and maintained two ancient abbeys. The one in Galway had been his original seat of power. After it had been almost destroyed, he had relocated a major portion of the clan to another abbey on a private island. The one in Galway still served as a safe house and fortress all in one. It was quiet except for the soft creak of the old wooden floors as Rory paced the large sitting room. His movements were restless, like a predator confined to a cage. Outside, the moon hung low over the forest, casting long shadows across the windows. The silence pressed against him, but it wasn’t the kind that brought peace. It was the kind that held too much unsaid.

Maeve was upstairs. Rory could feel her presence even without seeing her, the bond between them pulsing like a live wire under his skin. His panther prowled within, restless and hungry, demanding to be near her. She was his mate, his anchor in the storm, and yet the distance between them—even if it was only a floor—felt unbearable.

When the soft creak of footsteps reached his ears, Rory stilled, his gaze snapping to the staircase. Maeve appeared at the top, her dark curls cascading over her shoulders, her blue eyes shadowed but steady. She hesitated, gripping the banister as she looked down at him. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them heavy with the unsaid.

“Rory,” she breathed.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he closed the distance between them in long strides, meeting her at the base of the stairs. His hands went to her waist, pulling her down to the last step until they were standing eye to eye. Her skin was warm under his touch, her scent intoxicating—a mix of adrenaline, fear, and something uniquely hers.

“You shouldn’t have been there,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“You couldn’t have stopped me. I refuse to sit on the sidelines,” Maeve retorted, her chin lifting defiantly. “We’re in this together, Rory.”

Her words sent a flare of heat through him, a mixture of frustration and raw need. She was stubborn, reckless, and everything he couldn’t live without. His fingers tightened on her hips, pulling her closer as his gaze dropped to her lips.

“Do you have any idea what it does to me, seeing you in the middle of that?” he growled. “You’re my mate, Maeve. You’re mine to protect.”

“And what about me?” she demanded, her voice trembling but fierce. “Do you think I can just stand by and watch you risk everything? You don’t get to carry this alone, Rory.”

Her words were a challenge, and something in them broke the last of his restraint. He crushed his mouth to hers, the kiss a clash of anger, desire, and something deeper. Maeve responded instantly, her hands sliding up his chest and to the back of his neck to tangle in his hair. Their breath mingled, harsh and ragged, as the spark between them ignited into a consuming fire.

Rory backed her against the wall, his body pressing against hers as his lips claimed hers again and again. His hands roamed her curves, desperate to feel every inch of her. Maeve gasped against his mouth, her nails scraping against his scalp as she arched into him. The soft sounds she made only fueled the primal hunger roaring inside him.

“Upstairs,” he rasped, his voice thick with need.

Maeve nodded, her breath coming in shallow bursts as he scooped her into his arms. She clung to him, her lips brushing his jaw as he carried her up the stairs. The bedroom door swung open under his foot, and he set her down gently, his hands never leaving her as he pushed the door shut behind them.

The moonlight bathed the room, softly illuminating the sharp angles of Rory’s face as he watched her. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them electric. Then Rory stepped closer, his hands going to the hem of her shirt. He pulled her shirt over her head, his eyes darkening as he revealed her bare skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

Maeve reached for him, her hands trembling as she unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. Her fingers traced the scars on his chest, her touch light but reverent. Rory caught her hand, pressing it to his heart as his other hand cupped her cheek.

“You don’t know what you’ve done to me, Maeve,” he murmured. “You’ve torn down every wall I’ve ever built.”

Her eyes softened, and she leaned into his touch. “Good. Then maybe you’ll stop hiding from me,” she whispered, “and let me in.”

Something inside him shattered at her words, and he kissed her again, slower this time, but no less intensely. His hands slid down her body, stripping away the barriers between them until they stood bare before each other. Maeve’s gaze never wavered, her confidence and vulnerability both a challenge and a gift.

Rory guided her to the bed, laying her down with a tenderness that belied the fire burning in his veins. He joined her, his body covering hers as he kissed her deeply, his hands mapping her curves. Maeve’s breath hitched as he moved lower, his lips trailing down her neck, across her collarbone, and over the swell of her breasts.

She writhed beneath him, her body arching into his touch as he worshipped her with his hands and mouth. Rory’s control frayed with every soft moan that escaped her lips, every shiver of pleasure that rippled through her. He wanted to claim her, to mark her again as his in every way, but he also wanted to show her just how much she meant to him.

“Rory,” Maeve gasped, her voice breaking on his name.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against her skin.

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