Chapter 8 #2
‘Cillian?’ Rose calls, pushing open a gleaming dark wood door.
The lighting inside is dim, atmospheric and sensual music plays softly.
The change of vibe from the airy room with the bay window is extreme.
When there’s no response, Rose huffs impatiently.
Despite being behind her, I can see that the lighting is coming from a handful of wall sconces, and on the far side of the room, a large, ornate mirror dominates the space.
A tingle runs down my spine as if I’m being watched but when I turn, the hallway behind me is empty, and it’s only when I look back that I catch a glimpse of a reflection in the mirror.
The most striking woman I’ve ever seen is staring right at me.
Her straight, thick black hair hangs down around her perfectly made-up face and over her bare, evenly tanned shoulders.
There isn’t even a hint of a strapline. She tilts her head to one side as she observes me with cold, almost black eyes, her bright red lips pursed together as they curve downwards.
There’s not a single ounce of warmth in her gaze and, together with the heavy black and purple sequinned dress, it makes her appear like an evil queen.
Rose pulls me further into the room, breaking my gaze with the unknown woman. The silence is unnerving. And then I see the figure sitting next to her, though he’s shrouded in shadows.
‘Cillian? This is my friend, Niamh,’ Rose says. ‘She’s in my class at uni – and in an attempt to make respectable friends like you are always telling me to do, I invited her to my party tonight.’
Aside from the evil queen, the attention in the room focuses on me for what feels like an eternity.
I shift nervously under the scrutiny as Cillian puts down a whisky glass and gets to his feet, and it’s as though the shadows physically retreat, sliding from his shoulders and slithering down to the floor, then vanishing.
I blink, maybe that sip of Stox has had more of an effect that I expected?
My breath catches in my throat as I meet his gaze.
His eyes are the oddest shade of blue I’ve ever seen, giving him an ethereal quality.
I lift my head, and for a brief moment I think I see horns appear either side of his head.
Huge, great horns like a stag’s antlers, but antlers that are more like tree branches wound through with leaves.
I’m startled by the sound of a horn, almost as if signalling the start of a hunt, but no one else seems to notice.
I shake my head unable to process what’s happening in my mind, but I can sense Rose’s impatience growing, her desire to get back to her party, and she propels me further into the room until I’m stood directly in front of her brother.
We simply stare at one another, and it suddenly feels as though it’s just the two of us in the room.
At well over six foot tall, he commands the space.
His hair is that darkest of browns, and I’m caught up in those pale blue eyes, so unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.
And when they meet mine I’m a deer caught in headlights, trapped by the intensity of his gaze.
I can’t tear myself away. I think Rose has just repeated the introductions and I’m guessing that I should do or say something.
But in this moment, where it feels as though no one exists but me and Cillian, I can’t catch my breath, let alone form a sentence.
Maybe I should have accepted Sean’s offer for vodka with my Coke after all.
‘Hi!’ I manage to say at last, but I’m not sure what to do.
Do I hold out my hand to shake his? This feels a little like a business meeting, with him wearing an actual suit in a dark black that seems like a total absence of colour rather than a colour in its own right.
His shirt is also black, but open at the neck, and he’s not wearing a tie.
I suddenly notice that there are other people in the room, too. Men, also in suits, while the women are in a mix of sharp velvet or silk suits and cocktail dresses. None of them looks older than about twenty-five. Is this how rich young people socialise?
My gaze shifts back to Rose’s brother.
She has already told me that Cillian’s twenty-six, but the age gap feels much bigger right now.
I will never be that sophisticated. Or so dominant.
Down the side of his neck, reaching under his shirt, is a tattoo, at odds with the rest of his appearance.
I don’t want to be caught staring too hard, but it looks like it might be antlers, similar to the ones I imagined framing his head a few minutes before.
His surname is Hunter, after all. Maybe he’s playing up the link, what with their house being named after that ancient pagan hunting god.
Well, he definitely has the body of a god if the way he fills out that jacket is anything to go by.
Deciding that it doesn’t seem like he’s going to shake hands, I curl my hands into fists and put them behind me.
‘And this is Vittoria Riali,’ Rose says, unenthusiastically, gesturing at the evil queen. ‘My brother’s’—she pauses—‘girlfriend.’
The evil queen, Vittoria, flashes Rose a look of pure animosity.
‘Is this some stray you picked up at college to make yourself look good?’ she scoffs and glances around the room at the other guests. Some of whom smile back, although most shift nervously, watching Cillian as if to gauge his reaction before deciding whether to join this woman’s snideness or not.
‘Niamh’s hardly a stray, Vittoria,’ Rose says, flicking her hair off her shoulder. ‘And it’s university. Not college. We’re going to be lawyers, remember? One day, you might need our help.’
‘I doubt it,’ says Vittoria dismissively, rolling her eyes at Cillian, whose attention is still solely focused on me. I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye again, he’s making me nervous. Is this some kind of test to see how long I can withstand his piercing gaze?
‘Niamh is planning to specialise in criminal law,’ Rose points out, and I reach for her, pleading with my eyes for her to just stop.
I don’t want these people to know anything about me.
Knowledge is power. The words whisper through my head from nowhere, but I shiver as if someone whispered them directly into my ear.
‘She’s keen to ensure that victims and their families are able to access the justice system, no matter their socio-economic background. ’
‘How very … noble.’ Vittoria says, although distaste flits across her features before she schools them back to haughty disdain. ‘Only the very young and the very na?ve nowadays believe that’s possible.’
There’s a titter of amusement around the room, but this is the one aspect of my life where I am confident and I have the sinking sense that if I don’t stand up for myself right now, that these people will … will what? What can they possibly do except look down on me?
‘Anything is possible if you put your mind to it,’ I counter, more loudly than I intend, and the group falls momentarily into a shocked silence.
‘Cute,’ Vittoria says, recovering quickly, smiling in amusement as she slides a hand over Cillian’s chest, two fingers slipping in between the buttons of his black shirt. But Cillian doesn’t seem amused by Vittoria. His eyes are still firmly fixed on me.
‘Sometimes, in this world the only person capable of getting justice for you is yourself,’ he says. ‘With or without the blessing of the legal system.’
With one swift movement he captures Vittoria’s hand and removes it from inside his shirt.
He tucks it in the crook of his elbow, and I see the dark red lacquer of her nails, perfectly matching the shade of her lipstick.
The perfection of her appearance makes me look at my own pale pink nails, and I notice a chip on my index finger.
How insignificant I must seem to these people.
‘Besides, is anyone ever truly innocent?’ he asks me.
‘Yes,’ I say. How can that even be in doubt? But laughter circles the room and my cheeks flush in the dim light. ‘Some people are victims who deserve to be defended.’
‘I doubt you can relate, Vittoria.’ Rose says.
‘Relate? To being a victim?’ Vittoria sneers. ‘I’d rather have a lawyer who was guaranteed to win.’
‘Vittoria.’ The warning in Cillian’s tone is clear. But if I think this means he approves of me, I’m soon corrected when he snaps at me: ‘Surname?’
‘Whyte,’ I reply, instantly. ‘Niamh Whyte.’
‘You’re … Irish?’ Cillian asks, his voice a rich, velvety murmur that seems to brush against my skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. A delicious shiver coils its way down my spine.
‘Yes. My grandparents are – were – Irish.’
There’s an awkward silence as Rose and Vittoria stare daggers at one another while Cillian gives me his full attention. I find it impossible to look away.
‘Rose,’ Vittoria says with deep condescension, ‘why don’t you and your little friend go and get a drink? Dance a little. Maybe play some party games. Let the grown-ups talk.’
I feel Rose bristling beside me. ‘Why don’t you go—’
‘Now, now, Rosebud. Let’s not be rude to our guests.’
‘Rude? That’s rich. She’s so beyond rude, she’s—’
‘Rose!’ His terrifying demeanour is broken for a fraction of a second when he rolls his eyes, then looks at me. ‘She may stay. For now.’
She may stay? Would Cillian really have thrown me out? I glance around and realise that yes, yes he probably would. And if he didn’t want to get his hands dirty doing that, there were plenty of people in the room who would be willing to do it for him.
‘Why, thank you,’ Rose mutters dryly.
‘Just making sure you’re safe, Rosebud. We wouldn’t want anyone … unsuitable … hanging around the house.’
There’s a low chuckle from around the room, and the atmosphere shifts.
Cillian’s sharp eyes meet mine one last time, and I look down submissively.
On the back of one hand, curling out from the sleeve of his jacket, I can see the head of a black serpent and as I watch it, it moves.
I step back on instinct, bumping into Sean who seems to have materialised out of nowhere.
He reaches out to steady me but a low growl from Cillian has him removing his grip instantly.
‘I didn’t want to intrude on your … affairs, Cillian,’ Rose says. ‘But Sean insisted you had to meet Niamh. If you want someone to blame for this intrusion, then blame him.’
With that, she turns dramatically and flounces out of the room.
Unsure of what’s just taken place, I turn and follow as quickly as I can.
But before I pull the door to the room closed behind us, I catch sight of Cillian’s reflection in the mirror.
His antlers have re-formed. I can smell the outdoors, pine needles and wood, as though there’s a forest surrounding us.
The faint sound of the hunting horn plays out once more and I suddenly see myself running through the woods, fleeing from the Huntsman. From this Huntsman.
My mind is playing tricks on me again. One thing’s for certain. I should never have tasted Stox.