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THE WARDEN

I followed Ava into my father’s secret Blackthorn laboratory, my nerves stretched taut, every instinct on edge as I braced for whatever secrets this place held.

The sconces flickered to life, their faint yellow glow barely cutting through the heavy shadows that clung to the room. The air was dense, choking, thick with the sharp tang of chemicals mingled with a sickly-sweet musk I knew too well.

Ava was ahead of me, but she was just out of reach, her shoulders tense as she moved silently between the workbenches.

Her silence was heavier than the room itself.

But I could tell she could feel my presence behind her, just like I felt her all around me—on my lips, in my arms, around my cock, the memory of her all-consuming heat lingering like an ache.

Ava’s guilt radiated so strongly from her it felt like it seeped into my bones. She was already pulling away, turning into a ghost before my eyes.

A kiss had turned into sex. No therapy to mask it, no punishment to justify it. Just raw, unfiltered need.

She’d kissed me.

She’d begged me to fuck her.

No matter how much guilt clouded her eyes now, no matter how much she tried to pretend it didn’t happen, I knew it meant something.

Ava felt something for me.

Maybe it wasn’t the same as what she felt for Ciaran. Her heart still ached for my brother.

And she still hated me. How could she not?

After everything I’d put her through, everything I’d done in the name of saving her.

But something had shifted. There was a crack in the wall she kept between us, and I could feel it.

There was something there between us now, buried beneath her anger and the hatred. A thread, fragile but real, connecting us.

Something that was ours .

And that was a start.

A spark was all it took to envelop a forest with wildfire. There was a spark between Ava and me. All I had to do was fan it.

I wouldn’t give up now. I couldn’t.

I’d sacrificed too much, risked too much, to lose her now. Even if it meant I had to break my own brother’s heart.

I tried to steel myself against the flood of guilt that threatened to drag me under every time I thought about hurting Ciaran—and how I’d have to destroy him to have her.

My own flesh and blood. My brother. My twin. My mirror. The other half of me.

But she was more important than anything .

No matter how far I had to go, no matter what lines I had to cross, I’d make her see that she was mine.

I clenched my fists, forcing the guilt down, burying it deep where it couldn’t reach me. This wasn’t a battle I’d lose. Not to Ciaran. He’d crossed that line first.

He’d sworn to protect her, to keep her safe—but never to touch her.

She was mine. She’d always been mine.

But he’d stolen her anyway, justifying it because he thought I was dead.

Could I really blame him?

I watched Ava as she moved gracefully through the laboratory, her steps light, almost floating, like she was dancing between the shadows.

Her delicate fingers trailed along the shelves, brushing over the dark bottles haphazardly stacked there, her touch reverent and curious.

Her hair fell over those sharp, intelligent eyes, veiling them just enough to make me crave their full focus, as she tilted her head to read the peeling labels written in Latin, her plump lips moving silently around the ingredients, her mouth forming shapes I couldn’t look away from.

Was it any wonder he’d fallen for her?

All you had to do was watch her be.

Her movements were like music, fluid and captivating, while her very presence was a song that lodged itself in your soul, demanding you listen.

Ava didn’t just exist; she commanded attention, effortlessly, unknowingly, like gravity itself bent toward her.

And I couldn’t blame Ciaran for wanting her. But I wouldn’t forgive him for taking what was mine.

A surge of aching, broken need almost overwhelmed me as I fell in love with her all over again.

I never stopped. Not since the day I watched her step out of the car and lift her face to stare at Blackthorn Hall.

“Ava…” I murmured, reaching for her, my hand brushing against her arm.

Her eyes lifted to meet mine, and in them, I saw everything—desire, conflict, and a guilt so deep that almost made me look away. Almost.

She pulled back, her movement sharp, as if my touch had burned her.

The sting of rejection hit me harder than I wanted to admit, a twisting ache in my chest.

Rising fears clawed at the edges of my thoughts—had I gone too fast? Misread her? By reaching for her, had I only pushed her further away?

The thought settled like ice in my stomach. I was losing her. Again.

She cleared her throat. “There’s got to be something here… answers.”

Her shoulders tensed as she avoided my gaze, feigning interest in the rows of journals stacked on the heavy mahogany desk at the far end of the lab.

I wanted to speak, to pull her back from whatever edge she was teetering on, but every step I took closer to her, she seemed to pull farther away.

I clenched my jaw, letting my eyes scan the room as I wrestled with my tangled emotions, layering them with ice until I felt calm once again.

On the rows of cluttered workbenches stretched out before me were glass beakers and vials, some filled with strange, dusty substances, others stained with the remnants of experiments long evaporated, crowded every surface. The hollow clink of glass echoed faintly as my sleeve brushed against a bench, the sound sharp enough to make me flinch.

“This…” Ava’s voice broke the brittle silence. “I’ve seen this before.”

I followed her to the desk, my pulse quickening.

Her gaze was locked on a journal, her hand brushing over the crest embossed on the worn cover, snakes twisted in a circular Celtic knot.

“Dr. Vale,” she murmured, her voice distant. “He had this emblem engraved on his signet ring.”

A chill ran down my spine as the pieces began to fall into place. “You’re sure?”

She nodded, her throat bobbing as she swallowed hard.

“And… and Mr. Byrne,” she continued, her voice shaking now. “Liath’s father—he had a ring on his finger, just like this. The same crest.”

I stared over her shoulder as she opened the journal to the first page.

My chest tightened. I knew that handwriting.

It belonged to my father.

A familiar chill slithered down my spine, but my blood turned to ice when my eyes landed on a single name etched onto the page.

Mona.

My mother.

Ava gasped softly, her fingers clutching the edges of the journal as she quickly closed it. “Ty… you shouldn’t see this.”

Her voice was careful, like she thought I might shatter if I looked too closely.

But I already knew. The weight of the journal, the name, the handwriting—it all fell into place like a grim puzzle. A sick, dreadful certainty settled in my gut.

This was it. The journal my father had kept for his “research.” The one he used to document every monstrous experiment he’d done to my mother.

The world tilted for a moment, rage rising like bile in my throat. I clenched my fists, swallowing hard against the storm brewing inside me.

“Let me see it,” I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.

Ava turned to face me, concern etched into her features. “Ty, no. This… this isn’t something you want to read.”

“I don’t want to read it,” I said, my voice cracking under the weight of my emotions. “I need to.”

She hesitated, her brow furrowing as if she was searching for the right words to protect me from myself.

“The truth will set you free?” she murmured, trying to comfort me.

I shook my head, the bitterness seeping into my voice. “No. But lies will imprison you. ”

Ava studied me for a long moment before letting out a quiet sigh.

Slowly, deliberately, she placed the journal down on the table between us. Her hands lingered on the cover for a moment, reluctant to open it again.

I didn’t wait. My hands closed over hers, her warm touch grounding me, and together we opened the journal.

Whatever was inside, whatever horrors awaited, we would face them together.

I could barely focus on the words as Ava slowly turned the pages, everything becoming a blur.

But the journal entries seemed to be broken up with strange chapter headings— Silver Moth, The Raven, The Dark Queen.

What the hell did they mean?

“Oh my God, Ty,” Ava said as she stopped at an entry.

Midnight’s Daughter.

I leaned closer, my gaze dropping to the worn page. The ink was faded in places, but my father’s precise, clinical handwriting stood out in stark contrast.

“Look.” Her finger hovered over the list of “ingredients” halfway down the page, pointing it out like it held the key to something she couldn’t yet say aloud.

My eyes narrowed as I scanned the words.

Curare.

Lycorine.

Scopolamine.

My stomach twisted when I realized what I was reading.

“This…” My voice faltered. “This is a recipe.”

Those headings, those strange entries… were drug concoctions born from his experiments .

I shuddered, thinking of how much my mother must have endured at the hands of a madman.

“A recipe for the memory suppressors,” she finished, her tone brittle but steady. “The ones my therapist gave to me. And to Liath.”

Her words hit me like a blow, sharp and unforgiving.

I swallowed hard, the sharp tang of chemicals in the air suddenly unbearable.

“I began to suspect my father was involved in something… dark,” I admitted, my jaw tightening. “But this…”

This was more sickening than I could have ever imagined in my vilest nightmare.

Ava nodded, flipping the page.

“And this,” she said, her voice dropping. “This is how to distill oleander into a tasteless, odorless, but lethal tea.”

The air froze around me, her words striking a chord so deep it felt like a knife in my chest as I stared at the formula on the page.

“The tea that killed your mother,” Ava whispered, almost to herself.

My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms as rage flared, hot and all-consuming.

If my father weren’t already rotting in the ground, I’d have gladly sent him there again.

Without thinking, I snatched another journal off the desk, needing to do something, anything to keep from shattering. The pages fell open to what looked like a diary filled with cryptic entries and symbols I didn’t understand.

Codewords, riddled with meaning that eluded me.

But a single word drew into frightening focus— Sochai .

Irish for Society .

My fingers trembled as I flipped through the journal, each entry a fresh wave of frustration.

“Are you okay?” Ava’s voice was soft, her touch light as her fingers brushed my arm.

I froze, her concern cutting through the anger, but I couldn’t let it take hold. Couldn’t let it pull me from the edge I was balancing on.

I won’t be okay. Not until this is over. Not until Ava is mine.

“We have to go back to Darkmoor,” I said, meeting her eyes, the truth settling like a stone between us. “We have to end this.”

The words carried more than a plan; they carried a promise—a vow. No more running, no more hiding in the shadows.

This time, it would end, one way or another.

“But first…” Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the vial I’d been carrying, holding it up between us. The liquid inside glinted faintly in the dim light. A promise and a threat.

This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

“…time for your final session.”