Page 117 of Dublin Beast

I sink into the cushions, exhausted. I’m warm and dry and no longer actively bleeding, but I’mwrecked.

Bryan crouches in front of me, his expression tight with restraint. “Ready to head upstairs?”

I nod, unsure whether my voice will work at all.

Without another word, he lifts me into his arms again.

I don’t protest.

The quiet creak of the stairs is the only sound as he carries me higher, his chest solid beneath my cheek, his heartbeat steady and grounding. Every inch of this place feels foreign and so out of my league it’s depressing.

I’m not sure I belong here, but I might want to.

At the top of the stairs, he pauses.

“I want ye in my room,” he says, his voice low and serious. “But if that doesn’t sit well, I can take ye to one of the spares. Yer choice.”

His green eyes meet mine, open and waiting. There’s no expectation there. No pressure. Just that stormy worry he doesn’t seem to be able to hide.

I let out a long, shaky breath. “Your room.”

My answer feels safe. Not too much. Not too little.

“I’m not ready to be alone yet,” I add, quieter. “If that’s okay.”

I know it's non-committal. I know I’m hedging. But everything still feels so raw it’s not the time to make decisions. This isn’t about us—it’ssafety.

Bryan understands that. I can see it in the softening of his jaw, the way his grip adjusts—firmer, but gentler somehow.

Yes, he came for me. Yes, he saved me. Andyes, I understand he’s not the monster I feared—but I don’t know if I can live with the fact that he hurts people as part of his everyday life.

We enter his room—dark walls, heavy drapes, clean lines softened by warm lighting and a massive charcoal duvet. It’s more elegant than I expected.

Everything about Bryan, is a contrast.

Sharp edges and surprising warmth.

A fireplace glows low across the room, and the bed is massive—a king with a carved wooden headboard that looks older than both of us.

He sets me down with care, then straightens. “Alright then?”

I clear my throat, suddenly feeling absurd for needing to say it out loud, but I do anyway. “Can we keep it a PG event for now?”

A corner of his mouth twitches, but there’s no teasing in it. Then he nods.

“I wasn’t suggesting anything more,” he says, moving toward the bed. “I just need to care for ye and hold ye… to assure myself yer actually safe and sound.”

He eases me down onto the mattress, slow and deliberate.

“Now,” he mutters, glancing at the ruined clothes I’m still wearing, “let’s burn these clothes and get ye cleaned up.”

I let out a half-laugh, half-sob, my eyes burning as I glance down at the dried blood staining my shirt, my jeans, my skin.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Let’s.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO

Bryan

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