Page 49 of Something Worth Keeping
“And you’re a human who analyzes everything, trying to understand an instinct-driven bond through logic.” Cillian’s smile was soft, genuine. “We’re both learning.”
“We are.” Julian finished his omelet and pushed the plate aside. “For the record, the possessiveness works for me. The watching through windows was unsettling at first, but I understood the intent. And the claiming last night was…” he paused, searching for the right word. “Intense. Overwhelming. Exactly right.”
Cillian’s eyes darkened to that swirling charcoal color that meant emotion. “You’re the first person who’s ever made sense to me. The first one who didn’t flinch when I showed them what I actually am.”
“Because you’re not a monster - you’re a solution to a problem most people don’t want to acknowledgeexists.” Julian reached out, catching one of the shadow tendrils. It wrapped around his fingers, warm and solid. “And you’re mine as much as I’m yours, and that’s important to me.”
The shadowshummedwith pleasure.
Cillian’s phone buzzed on the counter, shattering the moment. He glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted - something guarded sliding into place.
“It’s Thorn,” Cillian said. “I need to take this.”
He stood, his phone already to his ear as he walked out of the kitchen. Julian heard the door to the hallway close with a soft click.
Julian sat back in his chair, still holding the shadow tendril. It remained wrapped around his fingers even with Cillian out of the room, a tether connecting them. He focusedon it, trying to sense what Cillian was feeling through their bond.
A flutter of something - tension? Determination? - but nothing clear. The bond was still too new, too undefined for precise emotional transference.
Julian strained to hear the conversation, but Cillian had moved too far down the hallway. Only fragments filtered back:
“…can’t wait for…”
“…knows the location…”
“…end this now before…”
Julian’s analytical mind assembled the pieces. Thorn was calling Cillian specifically. Cillian’s sudden guardedness. The fragments about location and timing. The emphasis on “now” and “before.”
They’d identified Marcus Vane’s location. And Cillian was planning to go after him.
Alone.
The shadow around Julian’s fingers tightened, as if sensing his spike of realization.
Julian stood, intending to follow Cillian into the hallway and demand an explanation, when Rook appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Morning, Jules!” Rook’s grin was wide and completely fake. “Cillian treating you right? You look thoroughly…” he deliberately made a production out of sniffing the air. “Claimed. Nice.”
“Where’s Cillian going?”
“Going? He’s just talking to Thorn.” Rook moved to the counter, examining the leftover breakfast ingredients with exaggerated interest. “Hey, did you know Cilliancan actually cook? Wild, right? The guy’s ancient and doesn’t eat, and yet he learns to make omelets for…”
“Rook.” Julian’s voice cut through the deflection. “Don’t.”
Rook paused, his amber-gold eyes meeting Julian’s. For a moment, the playful mask slipped, revealing something sharper underneath.
“You’re too observant for your own good,” Rook said quietly.
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, it’s not.” Rook leaned against the counter, his expression sobering. “Look, I’m not supposed to talk about operational details with civilians…”
“I’m not a civilian. I’m Cillian’s mate, and I’ve been providing tactical intelligence since we met.” Julian crossed his arms. “You’re here specifically to distract me while Cillian leaves to confront Vane.”
Rook’s silence was confirmation enough.
Julian’s hands curled into fists. The logical part of his brain cataloged the strategic sense - Cillian was powerful, experienced, and eliminating Vane would end the immediate threat. But the part of him that had woken up wrapped in Cillian’s arms, the part that still felt the phantom warmth of shadow-marks on his skin, burned with sudden fury.
