Page 31 of His Possession

The irony wasn’t lost on Rory. A week ago, Alexander O’Connell was just another pawn in a web of betrayal, an O’Connell loyalist who couldn’t be trusted. Now, he was a wild card—one who stood between Maeve and danger. The tension that flared between Rory and Alexander earlier hadn’t disappeared, but for now, they shared a common goal: Maeve’s survival.

Rory exhaled, his focus narrowing to the Kelleher men clustered near the far wall. Their leader, Tadhg, barked orders, his voice sharp and guttural. The O’Neill Syndicate’s superiorfirepower pinned down his men, but desperation made them reckless. One wrong move could turn this fragile stalemate into a massacre.

He turned to Malachy, who had taken a position beside him. “Push left,” Rory ordered, his voice low but commanding. “Flush them toward the docks. We’ll pin them in.”

Malachy nodded, already signaling the others. Rory’s plan had taken shape the moment the first bullet flew—every move calculated, every risk weighed. But risk didn’t faze him. He thrived in the pressure-cooker environment, the sounds of crisis sharpening his mind like steel. Maeve was the single unpredictable element in his carefully constructed plan.

He glimpsed her as she peered around Alexander, her eyes darting between him and the enemy. Even in the dim light, she was radiant, fierce and defiant. Her presence here made his blood roar with a mix of primal protectiveness and raw desire. She didn’t belong in this world of blood and betrayal, but she was here, and she was his. He would end anyone who tried to take her.

“Rory,” Malachy hissed, drawing his attention back to the firefight. One of the Kelleher men was moving along the catwalk, his rifle trained on Maeve and Alexander.

The beast inside Rory surged, his panther clawing at the surface. He moved without hesitation, slipping into the shadows and scaling the metal supports with fluid grace. The adrenaline coursing through his veins sharpened his senses, every sound and movement heightened. The man didn’t see him coming until it was too late.

Rory’s knife flashed in the dim light, the blade slicing through the man’s throat with lethal precision. Blood sprayed across the rusted metal, and the man crumpled silently. Rory wiped the blade on the man’s shirt, his movements efficient, and slipped back down to the floor below.

When he reached Maeve and Alexander, his chest burned with the effort to contain his fury. “You’re in the open,” he growled, grabbing Maeve’s arm and pulling her behind a stack of pallets. His hand lingered on her wrist, the warmth of her skin grounding him for a fleeting moment.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “Alexander’s got me.”

Rory’s jaw clenched. “That’s not good enough.” His gaze flicked to Alexander, whose expression was a careful mask. “Keep her out of the line of fire, or so help me?—”

“I’m not here to fight you,” Alexander interrupted, his voice hard. “We both want the same thing.”

Rory didn’t trust easily, but something in Alexander’s tone gave him pause. It wasn’t surrender—it was resolve. Rory nodded once—a silent truce forged in the heat of battle.

The roar of an explosion ripped through the air, the force of it rattling the building. Flames licked at the far end of the warehouse, and Rory knew Tadhg and his crew’s time was running out—his men were faltering, their movements disjointed as panic set in. This was their chance.

“Push now!” Rory barked a sharp command. His men surged forward, their firepower overwhelming the Kelleher resistance. He moved with them, his focus unwavering as he cut down anyone who dared stand in their way.

By the time the last of Tadhg’s men surrendered or lay motionless on the floor, the warehouse was a battlefield strewn with bodies and spent shells. Rory’s breathing was heavy, his muscles burning, but he didn’t stop. He scanned the room, his eyes finding Maeve immediately.

She stood with Alexander at the edge of the fight, her face pale but her posture strong. Alexander’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder, a gesture of protection that made Rory’s blood run hot. He pushed the jealousy aside, forcing himself to focus.

“Maeve,” he called, striding toward her. She turned, relief washing over her face as their eyes met.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone gruff as he reached her.

She shook her head. “I’m okay. Alexander made sure of that.”

Rory’s gaze shifted to her brother, his dark eyes sharp. “This isn’t over. You know that.”

Alexander nodded, his jaw tightening. “I’m with you. Whatever it takes.”

Though trust didn’t come easily to Rory, he knew an ally when he saw one. Alexander’s defection was a blow to the Kellehers and the O’Connells, a crack in their foundation. But Rory knew better than to believe he had won the war.

“Then we finish this,” Rory said

The aftermath of the fight was a brutal tableau. Rory’s men moved with grim efficiency, securing the area and tending to the wounded. The fight decimated the Kellehers’ forces, weakening them, but Rory knew better than to underestimate them. Tadhg would retreat, regroup, and retaliate. The war was far from over.

As the adrenaline faded, Rory turned his focus back to Maeve. She stood amidst the wreckage, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the flames licking the edges of the building. She was strong, but even steel could bend under enough pressure.

He approached her, his voice low. “Maeve.”

She looked up, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, the surrounding pandemonium seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in the stillness. Rory reached out, his hand brushing her cheek. Her skin was warm beneath his fingers, a stark contrast to the icy dread that lingered in his chest.

“You shouldn’t have been here,” he said, his tone softer now.

“I couldn’t let Sabella?—”

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