He looks ahead with grim determination on his features. “I will,” he says with a sigh. “But not the way you want me to.”
The sudden flare of hope in my chest immediately dwindles, and I cry even harder than before. I shove against him, but he quickly holds me tighter.
“Stop that.”
I can’t help it, though. I have to do something with my arms and legs that are filled with fire. They’re going to burn if I don’t fight. I push him and flail, crying freely, but his grip on me intensifies.
A door opens, and on instinct, I grab at the frame. My fingers anchor onto the edge. Something tells me if he has me alone, I won’t ever leave this room the same again, and the demons that plague me urge me on, insidious voices that hiss in my ear like flames from a fire.
Fight him.
Run.
Hurt him.
Get away.
He tries to tug me inside, and I’ve almost got him. He stumbles when I yank the door.
“Put me down!” I scream. “Put me down!”
With a savage tug, he yanks me through the door, turns, then kicks the door closed. He moves quickly. He must be strong to carry me like this, as effortlessly as if he were carrying a child. I’m whimpering and writhing against him, but there’s no getting away from his strong grip.
We reach the bed, and he tosses me down. I scream and shake my head, tearing at the duvet and pillows. I can’t stop the burning in my body, and I have to do something with my limbs.
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” he says, but his voice isn’t angry anymore. He seems surprised. He raps out my name sharply, startling me.
“Aisling.”
I sit up and look at him. His hands are on his hips, his eyes stern.
“Stop that.”
My hands are around a pillow. “Stop what?” I say. Every minute that passes hurts worse than the last. I collapse onto the bed, bury my face on the pillow, and weep. I sink into the pain and burning, unable to make it stop.
“Please,” I sob. “Let me out of here.” My voice is barely above a whisper. I’m rocking on the bed, the pillow already dampened.
He curses under his breath in Gaelic, shaking his head. He kicks off his shoes and sighs, then he joins me on the bed. He sits up against the headboard, the pillows at his back, reaches for me, then arranges me against him.
“I’m not giving you what you want,” he says, with bloody unnerving calm, like a parent talking to a toddler in a fit. “But I’ll give you what you need.”
“Like that’s supposed to bloody help?”
He holds me to him with one arm while he takes his cell phone with the other.
“It will,” he says. A moment later, he’s talking to someone on the line.
For some reason, it actually does help being held by him. My face is pressed up to his chest, and his heartbeat’s steady. Even his voice, while he talks on the phone, seems to bring something soothing to my limbs. The old Aisling would be shocked at the nearness of Tiernan. But I’m not the girl I was then, and he’s a man now.
I only catch bits and snatches of his words to whomever he’s talking to on the phone.
“Sebastian… withdrawal…” Then he’s nodding. “Aye, right away.”
He hangs up the phone and tosses it on the table.
“We’re getting you food and water,” he says. “Are you still hot? Does it still burn?”
I nod. It hurts too badly to do anything but nod.
“We’ll get a shower for you while we wait.”
I need to go home. Everything I need is at home.
“I don’t want a shower, I want to go home.”
He shakes his head and doesn’t respond.
“You have to bring me home,” I repeat, as if maybe he didn’t hear me the first time and this will be the ticket to getting him to understand how important this is.
“No,” he repeats, his tone firm.
I smack at his chest, “I can’t stay here!”
“You bloody well will, and we’ll talk about this when you’re in your right mind.”
He picks me up again, swings his legs off the bed, then carries me into a large bathroom. The tile’s light blue, the accents silver, bright overhead lighting nearly blinding me. He turns the shower on, but I’m still fully clothed.
“Take them off,” he says.
I strip out of my clothes quickly. He scowls at the total lack of hesitation. I’ve used my body before to get what I need. When I’m fully naked, I turn to him.
“I’ll do whatever you want if you let me go,” I whisper. I offer my full, naked body to him. I lift back my head and jut my body toward him boldly, my tits and curves on full display.
His jaw firms. He points one finger toward the shower. “Get in there before I redden your damn arse.”
The old me would’ve been embarrassed by this, I think. But I don’t care right now. All I know is, right now he means it, and I don’t want to push him to make good on his threat. I step into the shower, and turn it on cold.
I lean up against the cool tile. The blissfully cool water feels so damn good, I sigh. It doesn’t relieve all the pain and fire, but some. I shake from the cold, but can’t bear the thought of the water getting any hotter than this, because it’s the chill that’s keeping the fire inside my skin from burning me.
“Feels good,” I murmur. “Feels bloody good.”
He takes in a deep breath and lets it out. I look over my shoulder to find him staring at me, his gaze steadily fixed on my eyes. Does he not like what he sees? I can’t be bothered by that now, though. I need more water. I turn my body to face the steady stream, my palms open upward,
