Page 115 of Unholy Obsession

“Moira,” she wheezes.

I release her with a dramatic flourish. “Look at you! Out and about in the daylight. I’m gonna start calling you Daywalker.”

She snorts, glancing over her shoulder, then scanning the bar like she’s waiting for someone to jump out of the shadows. The bar is dim, the kind of place where the wood is dark and sticky, the air smells like stale beer, and the neon lights buzz just a little too loudly.

I narrow my eyes. “You got a stalker?”

“What?” Mads lets out a laugh that’s a littletooloud. “What do you wanna drink?” She heads for the bar, then glances sideways at me. “Wait. Are you even old enough to drink yet?”

I roll my eyes so hard they almost fall out of my head. “Ha ha. We’re practically the same age.”

She rolls hersharder. “Cute. I’m a hundred and seventeen years your senior in trauma years.”

I wince. Unfortunately,fair point. I only know thebarestfacts of what her father put her through, and even that is enough to make my blood curdle.

For a second, I wonder if Domhnall knows she’s here. Then I remember—stupid question. He wouldn’tapproveof her hanging out with me. Not that it’s up to her fiancé to approve shit, but I doubt he’d be thrilled about us kicking it like besties over a couple of beers.

“I’ll take a beer,” I tell the bartender.

The guy looks between me and Mads, his gaze flickingjust a little too longdown to her cleavage. “You sure? Not more shots?”

I shove Mads to the side before she can open her mouth and get us inrealtrouble. “Two beers,” I say, deadpan.

He huffs but turns to grab them.

“You can close out her tab, too,” Mads says, and he brings me the receipt to sign.

Then I snag both and head for a table. Mads trails after me, looking far too amused. “Look at baby bear all grown up,” she coos, ruffling my hair.

I bat her hand away and take a long pull from my beer, meeting her gaze over the rim. “So, you just wanna hang, or are we actually gonna talk about the fact that you snuck back into your own damn house like a teenager past curfew?” Then I think about how long ago that was. Months now. “Damn, it really is about time we just hung out like this.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, that wasnothing.”

Then she tips her head back andchugsher beer. Not a sip. Not a gulp. Just a long, steady pour down her throat until thebottle is almost empty. She slams it back on the table with a sigh, elbows propped up, eyes a little watery.

I just stare. “Right. Totally normal behavior.”

She licks a drop of beer from her lip and leans in. “It’syouI wanna hear about. You got something going on with that priest I met a while back?”

I freeze mid-sip. I wasnotexpecting her to ask aboutthat. People thinkI’mchaotic, but Mads? She’s on awholedifferent level. We don’t do casual heart-to-hearts about our personal lives over beers.

And, well. There’s also the tiny, insignificant fact that I haven’t told anyone I got married.

I set my beer down, clearing my throat. “Yeah. We’ve got a little something going on.”

Mads nods like that makes sense. “Sure. Sure. But it’s not serious, right? Isn’t that like, your whole thing? Not serious?”

I take another swig, buying myself a second. Yeah. Yeah, not serious was my whole thing. No attachments, no expectations, no letting people in.

But here I am, letting someone in.

I set my beer down with a littleclunkand rub my nose. “Uh. It’s… pretty serious.”

Mads frowns. “But you don’t do serious.”

I tilt my head at her. “What the fuck, Mads? Why do you care?”

She exhales hard and glances toward the door like she’s debating something. Then she leans in close, eyes dark, voice low, words sharp enough to slice right through me.

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