Page 61 of Soulmarked

“It wasn't your fault,” Sean said quietly, reading the guilt in my expression. “Diana Sullivan, what happened to her, you couldn't have known.”

“I should have.” The words felt raw in my throat. “All the signs were there. The symbols, her fear, everything she tried to tell me about things watching from mirrors... I did the research. I knew something was wrong.”

“And what would ye have done differently?” His accent thickened with emotion. “Told her the truth about monsters? About things that hunger in the dark? Would that have saved her, or just made her last days even more terrified?”

“I could have protected her better. Could have...” I stared down at my hands, the logical part of my brain knowing he was right while guilt still twisted in my gut.

“Could have what? Stationed yourself outside her door twenty-four seven? Given up your whole life to guard one person against monsters?” He moved closer, his presence steady and grounding. “You're doing the best you can in an impossible situation. That's all any of us can do. Saving people isn't an exact science.”

The truth in his words hurt, but something in them helped ease the crushing weight of failure.

“Your security's intense,” I said, because it was easier than explaining why I was really here.

A grunt as he landed another combination. “Keeps the wrong sort out.”

“And what sort am I?”

He paused, turning to face me fully. “That's the question, isn't it?”

Our eyes met across the space, and something electric crackled in the air between us. This was dangerous territory, not just being here at this hour, but this whole thing. This understanding that went deeper than it should.

But maybe that's why I'd ended up here. Because despite everything, despite all the reasons to stay away, something about Sean felt... safe. Even if he was probably the most dangerous person I knew.

He moved to a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of something that definitely wasn't tea. “Here's the thing about late-night drives,” he said, pouring two generous measures. “They usually mean you're running from something. Trust me, I'd know.”

I accepted the glass, letting the whiskey warm my hands. “Would you believe I just got lost?”

“No.” His smile held no judgment, just quiet understanding. “But I'm not asking. That's your business.”

And maybe that's what I needed most, someone who knew about darkness, about the things that haunted the night, but didn't need to know my specific demons to offer shelter from them.

Sean studied me over his glass, eyes catching the low light like a predator's. “You know what helps more than whiskey?”

“If you say talking about it...”

“God, no.” His smile was quick, sharp. “Was gonna say hitting things. Nothing clears the head like a good ass-kicking. Not that you'd know about that with your fancy federal training.”

He moved back to the training area, gesturing for me to follow. “Come on, fed. Show me what they teach you at Quantico when the cameras aren't watching.”

The invitation was exactly what I needed, a chance to exhaust myself physically instead of drowning in memories. I shed my jacket, noting how Sean's eyes tracked the movement as I stepped onto the mats.

“Your form any good?” he asked, falling into a loose fighting stance. “Or is it all government-approved moves by the book?”

Instead of answering, I moved. Years of training took over as I closed the distance, using his expectation of federal stiffness against him. The combination came naturally, feint, strike, pivot, sweep. Sean barely managed to block the first series, surprise flickering across his features as he was forced back.

“Well now,” he breathed, recovering his balance. “That's not standard training. Someone's been holding out on me.”

“Disappointed?” I kept moving, letting muscle memory guide me through forms I'd practiced since childhood. Each strike was precise, controlled, but carried the kind of power that came from years of dedication.

“Impressed.” He countered with a combination of his own, hunter's grace matching my technical expertise. “Where'd you really learn to fight? Not the official version.”

“Here and there.” I deflected a strike, used his momentum to throw him. He rolled with it, coming up grinning. “Had good teachers. Started learning when I was a kid.”

The training mat felt solid beneath my feet as I circled Sean, watching for tells in his element. He moved like a coiled spring, all contained violence and lethal efficiency. When he struck, it was lightning-fast. A combination aimed at my throat that would have ended the fight instantly if this were real.

But I'd been training since childhood. My body flowed around his attack, redirecting force rather than meeting it head-on. Where Sean fought to end threats, I'd been taught to understand them. His next strike found empty air as I pivoted, using his momentum to slide past his guard.

“Not bad,” he grunted as I caught his arm, turning what should have been a devastating blow into an opportunity. “But too pretty.”

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