The place is wrecked. Shelves down, the desk shoved out of place. Maeve is folded into the corner of the sofa, face in a pillow, crying.
And Atara.
She's planted herself in front of the sofa, feet set wide, a chef's knife clutched in her fist as if she means to use it. Her blouse is torn at the shoulder, her hair a tangle.
She turns, and the blade comes up at my chest before she registers it's me. The look on her face stops me where I stand.
It isn't fear. It’s a cold, vengeful darkness that makes my breath hitch.
I lower my weapon, my hands trembling. "Atara?"
I’m across the room in a blur. I don’t speak; I just pull them both into me. I wrap my arms around Atara and Maeve, pressing my face into the crook of Atara’s neck. I’m shaking. I can’t stop it.The sheer, overwhelming relief of holding them, of feeling the warmth of their skin and the steady beat of their hearts, is the only thing keeping me upright.
"I’m here," I whisper against her skin, my voice thick with a terror I’ve never admitted to anyone. "I’m here. You’re safe."
"They're in the compound," she says, her voice eerily calm. "I took one of them out in the hallway. He’s behind the fountain."
I stare at her. I walk toward her, my heart hammering a rhythm that has nothing to do with the war outside. I reach out, my fingers brushing the blade of the knife, and slowly, gently, push it down.
"Atara," I whisper, reaching for her.
She lets the knife fall to the carpet with a dull thud. The moment the steel hits the floor, she collapses. I catch her, pulling her into my chest, her body going limp as the adrenaline leaves her. She’s shivering, her hands clutching my shirt, her face buried in the crook of my neck.
"They were going to take her," she sobs, her voice finally breaking. "They were going to take her, Lorcan. I wouldn't let them. I wouldn't let them take her."
I hold her, my arms wrapped around her and Maeve, pulling them into the center of my life, my focus, my entire world. I bury my face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, the smell of vanilla and ozone and blood.
"I’m here," I rasp, my own voice thick with a terror I’ve never felt before. "I’m here. You’re safe."
I look at her, really look at her, and the unnerving realization hits me with the force of a train. She isn't the scared student I brought from Ireland. She isn't the girl who cried about her broken phone. She has forged herself into something else. Something harder. Something more dangerous.
She has protected my daughter. She has held the line.
I stare at her, feeling a strange, hollow sensation in my chest. I wanted to own her. I wanted to control her. But she took the rules I gave her and broke them, and in the process, she became the only person in this world I truly fear.
"You did good," I whisper against her skin. "You did so well."
She pulls back, looking at me with those haunted, fierce eyes. "What now?"
"Now," I say, stepping between her and the door, pulling my gun back up, "we show them why they never should have set foot on my land."
I leave them in the study, locking the door behind me with the master key. I don't look back. I can't. Because if I look back, I’ll see the girl who held the knife. And if I see her, I know I’ll never be able to leave her side again.
I step out into the hallway. The cool air of the compound greets me. The sound of gunfire has moved to the inner courtyard. I adjust my weapon, check my magazine, and feel the familiar, cold precision slide back into place.
My war has just become her war.
And God help anyone who stands in our way.
21
Atara
The study is a wreck. There is no other word for it. Books have been shoved off the shelves, the mahogany desk is skewed across the hardwood, and the heavy velvet curtains are shredded where the stray rounds caught them.
Maeve is still shaking. She's huddled on the sofa with her knees to her chest, her eyes following every shadow in the room. I can't leave her here. This is no place for a six-year-old, and Lorcan is standing over a bloodstain on the floor like he's forgotten how to look away from it.
I cross to the doorway, where Maria is hovering with both hands pressed over her mouth.
