Page 116 of Dublin Beast

Bryan’s arm tightens around me, and I sink deeper into his chest.

I dozed off a few times on the ride, lulled by the rhythm of the road and the quiet thunder of his heartbeat. But even half-asleep, wrapped up in him like this, I’ve never felt safer.

The driver—Aiden, I think—parks the vehicle and doors open, letting in a gust of cold air.

Bryan shifts, one arm beneath my knees, the other cradling my back as he scoops me up like I weigh nothing. I want to protest—but I don’t have it in me. Because right now, I need this. I needhim.

Tag leads the way to open a heavy wooden door and Bryan carries me through, into the heart of his world.

The castle interior is old elegance and modern comfort—polished floors, arched ceilings, thick stone walls softened by plush rugs and velvet chairs. Firelight dances along dark wood and glass, throwing flickers across oil paintings and antique shelves.

Waiting by the hearth of a sunken living room are three women, faces warm and expectant, lit by the crackle of the fire.

The first is stunning—mahogany hair pulled over one shoulder, her body full and round with late-stage pregnancy. She smiles as Tag steps forward and wraps her in a protective embrace.

The second is younger, slight but not fragile, with straight black hair that falls to her waist. She practically launches herself into Sean’s arms, burying her face against his chest.

And the third—a curvy blonde with kind eyes and a calm presence—steps toward Brendan, hugs him tightly, then turns to me.

“Are you all right, Harper?” she asks gently. “Can we get you anything?”

Before I can answer, Bryan’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade. “She needs a doctor.” He sets me down carefully on the couch, his touch still burning on my skin. “Where the fuck is Kelvin?”

A new voice, younger, answers from the archway. “On his way. Andrew just passed him through the gates. He’ll be here momentarily.”

Bryan gives him a sharp nod. “Thanks, Finny.”

Tag’s wife steps forward, placing a hand gently on her belly. “We’ll give you some privacy. Cora made a berry trifle with freshly baked pound cake. We’ll set it out in the dining room with coffee and tea for when you’re finished with Doc Kelvin.”

Tag kisses her cheek and runs a hand over his unborn baby. “We’ll be in shortly.”

The women exchange quiet words, hands brushing over shoulders and backs, and then they slip from the room like a practiced routine. Soft steps. Closing doors.

Only a few seconds later, a red-haired man strides into the room, a large medical bag in one hand. If he notices the five Quinn brothers watching him like apex predators, he doesn’t show it.

His eyes go straight to me and then to my top. “I take it this blood isn’t yours or you’d be a lot worse off than ye are.”

“No,” I say, voice hoarse. “I think it’s just my leg.”

“Good. Let’s have a look.” He sets the bag on the coffee table and pulls out a pair of fabric scissors.

“I hope these weren’t your favorite jeans.”

“If they were,” Bryan growls from behind him, “I’ll buy her twenty more. Just fix her leg.”

The doctor lifts a brow, amused, and winks at me. “Guess I’d better get to it then.”

* * *

Doc Kelvin works fast and is efficient. His hands move with the practiced grace of a professional and his calm presence feels like a lullaby tempting me toward slumber after the chaos—or that could also be the adrenaline wearing off.

He numbs my leg, cleans a deep gash, wraps it tight, and makes a couple of dad jokes that land just enough to ease the tension in the room.

When he’s done, he gives Bryan a list of what to watch for, hands over a bottle of pain tablets, and promises to come back tomorrow.

When he takes his leave, he nods once to the brothers standing like sentinels behind the couch.

They follow him out—giving us space.

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