Chapter 13
Niamh
I don’t stop to think. I run.
I neither know nor care where I’m headed, as long as it’s away from Cillian – and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m worried that he’s going to kill me or kiss me.
My lungs burn as I run through the dark, twisting forest. The air is thick with the scent of pine and fir, and damp, mouldering earth.
At first the path is clear, solid underfoot.
But the further I run into the woods, the thicker the layer of pine needles ready to slide out from under me and the softer the ground.
Branches scrape my face as I stumble over tree roots and my feet catch in tufts of undergrowth.
The pounding of my soles on the spongy ground thuds through my body, ragged breath filling my ears, so very loud in the night air, punctuated every so often with the memory of that one word.
Run!
My heart is racing, a combination of the physical exertion and the fear gnawing at my insides. The events of tonight play in my head. Except, not all of my memories are a nightmare.
Aiden carried me in the alley, Vittoria held my chin as she whispered the words I now know were a spell, but after that, every touch has been Cillian’s, every kiss has been Cillian’s.
I can’t forget how his tongue demanded entrance to my mouth, the feel of his lips on my skin as he kissed down my throat and the sensations that ran through me as he touched my breasts.
The warmth that pooled between my legs as he took what he wanted from me.
Right before he pulled a fucking crossbow on me.
I slap my hand over my mouth, although I guess when you’re running for your life, swearing is acceptable.
The memory of staring at the bolt poised in the crossbow triggers another flight response, and my legs pump harder.
It’s darker in this part of the forest. The night sky is no longer visible and my breath clouds in erratic puffs as I run.
The mist is growing more and more dense, as if each of my breaths is adding to it and it’s becoming a living thing with tendrils creeping along the ground that I might soon have to jump over rather than run through.
I scream as one foot slides badly on a patch of mud, stones and rotting leaves and I land on one knee for just an instant before I push back to my feet and carry on, a little less confident, and in a lot more pain.
I force myself to keep going, my body screaming in protest. Am I running towards safety or deeper into danger? I’m not going to slow down to find out.
And then, suddenly, I break through the treeline, stumbling out of the woods into a barren landscape of gorse and rough, heather-clad ground.
Gasping for air, I collapse onto the damp grass, close my eyes, and let out a shuddering breath.
Everything hurts, especially my chest, and I don’t feel as if I’ll ever be able to breathe normally again.
My palms are scraped, my knees bruised, and all my exposed skin is covered in a tapestry of red lines – scraped by thorns and brambles, and bitten by ever-present midges. Do the little bastards ever stop?
I curl into a ball and focus on simply breathing in and out.
In and out, with no idea how long it is before I open my eyes.
There’s a little light now in the eastern sky as I stare back into the dark forest, trying to work out if he’s followed me.
If I’m still in danger. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself.
It’s so cold, now that I’m not running. I know in my heart that it’s pointless anyway.
I won’t be able to outrun him forever. He’ll catch me and then…
A shiver runs through me as I remember watching as he pulled the crossbow from behind his back like some kind of slasher-movie psycho.
I could have sworn it wasn’t even there just a second before.
His eyes … they’d been cold, empty. I’d thought he was going to …
I really thought… Panic grips me once more.
I can’t wait here. I need to keep moving, keep running, to make sure he doesn’t catch me.
Because he’ll kill me if he does. Or will he?
I can’t quite get my head around that fact.
One thing I am sure of is that he didn’t want to.
He killed the deer, when he could have killed me.
He’s given me a chance to run. To reach the sanctuary. Wherever that is.
I take a deep breath and try to stand, but my head is still reeling.
Instead, I scoot backwards to lean against a tree, my head between my knees, until the waves of dizziness pass.
The way he touched me, the way he kissed me, is all I can think about.
Why? Why did I let him? But deep down, I know that I would have let him do so much more; I wanted so much more. What the hell is wrong with me?
Cillian is dangerous. I saw that with my own eyes tonight, and yet…
And yet, I’m still alive. And it seemed like he was struggling to keep his hands off me.
Cillian Hunter, who could have any woman he wanted.
I sigh, realising I may just be one of those women.
I wonder if he’s killed any of the others?
Vittoria, at least is still alive. What on earth have I found myself in the middle of?
Gradually, my breathing slows, the cold and the damp from the ground chilling my flesh.
The heat generated from running is slipping away and I shiver.
New sounds begin to emerge from the soft rustling of the trees and the gentle babbling of a nearby stream – the scurrying feet of small creatures, the tiny chirps of fledglings in their nests, the insistent chirps of the bats flying erratically around the clearing.
And then a steady rhythmic thud emerges, punctuated by the occasional snap of branches, the deep breaths of a seasoned runner.
He maintains his pace even over the uneven ground, so I guess I got that wrong.
Not to mention everything else about the Hunters.
I stare back towards the forest. The sounds are bouncing off trees, making it hard to pinpoint where he’s coming from.
But there is no doubt that he’s coming. He’s tracked me down.
And if he’s the hunter, I can only be the prey.
I roll over, tucking myself beneath the jagged branches and bright yellow flowers of a late-flowering gorse.
My breath catches at the pain when I roll over rough stones on the ground and sharp gorse spines pierce my bare skin, catching on the fabric of my dress and leaving red scrapes across my body.
I pull the worst of them out, keeping my movements as small as possible so as not to give away my position.
I hold still as the footsteps slow and Cillian comes into view at the edge of the clearing.
He looks around, stares upwards at the moon in the sky above us. I blink at the sight of the antlers visible again behind his head. Maybe none of this is real? But the pain of the needles reminds me that this is happening.
He strolls into the middle of the clearing, his expression grim.
‘I know you’re here, Niamh. I can smell your fear.’
I swallow, trying not to breathe as he brushes a speck of something from the lapel of his jacket. At least his hands are empty, no sign of either the crossbow or the knife. He stares upwards, stretching his spine, cricking his neck from side to side.
‘It’ll be so much easier for you if you just come out,’ he says.
But maybe I can stay frozen forever and he’ll get bored and go home.
Yeah, like that’s going to happen. A man like Cillian isn’t going to give up and let someone like me win.
Part of me wants to crawl out from my hiding place and beg again for mercy.
But I’ve tried that already, offered him the only thing I have left to give, and he didn’t take it.
Tears run down my face, I can’t give up – can’t surrender to this man without a fight, even if I know I won’t win. I have to at least try and find this sanctuary. I wipe the tears from my face as carefully as I can, but when I look back into the clearing, he’s staring directly at me. And he smiles.
I don’t think. I just react and roll in the opposite direction from him, pushing to my feet as soon as I clear the gorse bush and racing away as fast as I can with the thick undergrowth pulling at my limbs.
It slows his progress as much as it does mine until there’s another path in front of me and I run and run and run.
I’m not sure if what I can hear is my own thudding footsteps, my heart beating or his.
But it’s not long before I sense him behind me, his breath on my neck.
A large hand grabs me, and I’m yanked backwards.
My feet leave the ground instantly, but as I fall, he twists us both around so that he hits the ground first, his body cushioning mine.
He grunts as his back slams against the ground and instinctively I roll off him.
But he anticipates the move, shifting his hips to roll with me and my back slams onto the ground instead.
He moves over me, his weight pinning me, even as I try to scramble out from under him.
He grabs my wrist, trapping it against the ground above my head.
Then he grabs the other, placing it in the same hold.
Panic floods through me as I buck and roll and fight, but it’s hopeless, nothing works.
But I refuse to give in, even when I realise that it’s not a gun in his pocket pressing into my inner thigh.
I continue trying to throw him off me, increasingly conscious that those movements are only serving to arouse him more and more.
I try to bring my knee up, determined not to make his conquest of me easy.
But he barely makes a move before I’ve exhausted myself and my body grows still, trapped beneath his, my movements subdued, limited to the rapid rise and fall of my chest. The ground is cold underneath me, leaching the last remaining heat from my skin.
‘Please,’ I whisper when he pulls back. His erection presses into my core, and I move against it, seeking … something. I writhe underneath him, cursing my body for always responding to his in ways that I find confusing and arousing.
‘Please, what?’ he asks. ‘What is it that you want?’
I try to find an answer. What do I want? Right here, right now, I want him. He’s proven himself in the most primal way, chased me down and captured me and now I want him to take me, make me his. Forever. But I shouldn’t want that.
‘Earlier … I would have let you… But you didn’t. And now… Please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die,’ I say instead.
His expression hardens. What did he think I was going to say? That I wanted him to fuck me? Just saying the crude words in my head reminds me that we don’t see this act in the same way.
‘That’s it? Your only request?’
I nod and he tightens his grip on my wrists. I whimper as the welts reopen, covering his fingers with fresh blood.
‘So, I can do anything else I want to you, so long as I don’t kill you?’
‘Y-yes.’ Why does that sound so much more like a promise than threat?
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do,’ I whisper. Maybe I do mean it. I’ve kissed other guys over the years, but each and every one of them has simply disappeared out of my life as soon as things looked like they might go further.
Not that any other man has ever made me want this the way Cillian does.
But how can I want him to do that when he brought me out to kill me?
Maybe in my own way, I’m just as messed up as he is.
I stare up at him, and he gazes down at me confusion in his eyes.
‘Niamh,’ he whispers. ‘I want you just like this. Scared and restrained so I can do whatever I want to you – your pain bringing me pleasure. That isn’t something you should want.’
‘Why do you get to decide what I want?’ I glare up at him. ‘My mother told me to stay away from you. And Rose. That people like you were different.’
He looks at me for a moment, then laughs.
‘And how right she was.’
‘But what I want, that’s my choice to make, not anyone else’s.
’ I shift my hips against his erection, his groan making me feel powerful despite the way he’s restraining me.
He bends his head to trail a line of kisses from my ear along my jawline.
I shiver, pressing closer to him. Our lips meet again, hungrier than before, our hands tearing and pulling at clothing, seeking out bare flesh to touch.
I part my legs, and he pulls my knee up so that he can nestle more easily between my thighs. He gazes down at me as he slowly, methodically grinds himself against me. Those shadowy antlers are visible again like some kind of aura around his head.
‘Who are you?’ I manage to ask between breaths.
This can’t be real. Slowly, I pull one hand from his grasp and lift it to brush my fingers through the place where the antlers seem to be.
They brush against a solid surface. Impossible.
It’s the drugs or my exhaustion or else this really is a dream. ‘What … what are you?’
‘Niamh?’ He sits back on his heels and takes my hands in his, pulling me up.
Movement draws my attention to his wrist, and I watch as the tattoo of the snake takes form beneath my fingers, writhing around before the head and upper body twist around my finger and it hisses at me, baring its fangs, and then strikes.
I yank my arms out of his hold and scream.
What the actual hell?
Cillian jerks in surprise, the serpent disappearing back into the flat ink of the tattoo as we stare at it.
He moves back a little, and as his weight lifts, my adrenaline surges and I kick my foot up as hard as I can, not caring where it lands.
His face creases in pain and a strangled ‘oof’ escapes his lips.
Then I’m rolling out from under him and scrambling away.
Off and running again. And this time, I’m determined not to let him catch me.
The feel of the serpent coiling its head around my finger. The pain radiating from the two puncture wounds. What the hell is he? Or is it me? Am I the one going mad? I keep running and as I run, I send up a brief prayer to St Jude – he loves a lost cause.