Page 35 of Claiming Pretty

The ache in my chest deepened, guilt twisting around my ribs like a vise.

I hated hurting him. But there was no undoing the knot of feelings inside me, no untangling the threads that bound me to Ciaran.

Ty’s expression hardened again, and without a word, he turned and walked out.

“Darkmoor is actually a really cool old place.” Lisa’svoice carried as she followed him down the hall. “We even have a legit passagetomb on the grounds aligned with the winter solstice or wintergrianstadif you’re up on your Irish.”

The sound of their footsteps faded, leaving me alone with Ciaran.

My heart thudded in my chest as I looked up at him.

Ciaran stood there, his chest heaving, his fists clenched at his sides, like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling. But the fury in his icy-blue eyes betrayed him. It was raw, uncontained, and aimed squarely at me.

The room felt heavier, quieter, the tension between us thick and buzzing. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence stretching as the weight of everything unsaid pressed down on us.

“I thought you were dead,” he growled, his voice breaking on the words, the edges rough with emotion. His hands flinched as if he ached to reach out for me.

“I know,” I whispered as I stood facing him, my throat tightening. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my choice.”

“Months, Ava. You were gone formonths.” His face twisted, his voice rising, the volume a whip crack against the silence.

God, I wanted to touch him, to pull him into my arms, to feel the safety of his warmth, his strength.

But hesitation held me back.

I saw the way Ciaran looked at me as I fought off the masked man—stunned, as if he didn’t know me anymore. As if the girl he loved had been replaced by someone sharper, harder, someone he didn’t quite recognize.

Had I changed too much for him to still love me? Had Tyinfiltrated my soul so deeply that the connection Ciaran and I once shared was beyond saving?

My throat tightened. What if I was no longer the Ava that Scáth loved? What if I had become someone he couldn’t love anymore?

Because despite everything—the doubts, the guilt, the fear—I still loved him.

Even if I didn’t deserve him anymore, even if we couldn’t go back to how it was.

He was my Scáth, my shadow, my everything. And in this moment, that love felt like it might tear me apart.

I took a step toward him. “I was fighting to get back to you every day, I swear.”

His eyes narrowed, disbelief flashing across his face. “Were you? ’Cause you and Ty look pretty fucking friendly now.”

The accusation hit me like a slap, and guilt lanced through me, sharp and immediate.

But then came the anger—anger that he didn’t believe me, that he didn’t understand.

But before I could yell back, something shifted in his features, something that cracked his anger wide open and laid his pain bare.

“Is he…” His voice was raw, fractured, as if the words themselves were breaking him apart. “Is he the one you want now?”

It struck me like a dagger to the chest, stealing my breath.

The agony in his eyes, the vulnerability he was trying so hard to hide—it unraveled me.

I closed the distance between us, my hands reaching for him, all hesitation blown to dust.

“I loveyou, Scáth.” My voice shook, but my words were certain, unyielding. “I’m yours.”

Something broke in him at my words. He pulled me to him, crushing me to him like he was afraid I’d disappear again. His lips crashed against mine with a desperation that stole my breath.

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