Chapter 3 - Cillian
Wandering through the beach town, Cillian thought idly how nice this place would be for a vacation.
It was picturesque and quaint. There were lots of woods nearby, giving shifters the perfect opportunity to go running and stretch their legs.
Cute shops and restaurants lined each side of the narrow streets.
He’d have to come back here when he wasn’t on the hunt.
He had left Silverrose a few days ago, tracking Isaac’s lead.
It had paid dividends. Dustin had given him a couple of names, and Cillian had managed to find one of them within a day, a guy named Hanson.
Hanson hadn’t been much more than a lackey the last time Cillian had come across him, but it seemed as though he had climbed through the ranks.
He still wasn’t a top player in the Night Pack, but he held a lot more sway than before, and he had a lot of good information.
Hanson hadn’t given him everything he wanted. He had refused to divulge if Night Pack was planning anything, or if they were even still a group, at least at first. But he had given him a name: Eric Crossfeld.
Cillian remembered Eric vaguely. He had been one of the higher-ups in the Night Pack who had gotten away.
After interrogating Hanson, he’d found out that Eric seemed to have become the new leader.
At the very least, Eric was the one who had contacted Hanson about resurrecting the Night Pack and instructed him to reach out to others.
Cillian had tried to get more information out of Hanson that would help him go after some of the others.
But when Hanson started gloating about all of the destruction and chaos Night Pack had caused during their peak, adding that it was only a teaser of what was going to come in the future, Cillian had lost his cool.
He had always had a darker side to him that he tried to keep hidden, because it was easier than admitting to someone how angry he could get.
When Hanson had started going into detail about some of the murders he’d helped commit, practically gloating about them, that composure Cillian tried to keep at all times had snapped.
It had been an impulsive act. He had hoped to at least get a location out of Hanson before dispatching him, but sometimes that impulsivity got in the way.
Cillian had managed to find correspondence between Hanson and Eric that pointed him to this town.
And, considering neither Dustin nor Hanson was alive to give Eric a warning that he was hunting for him, it seemed he had found his next target.
If he could kill Eric, the apparent new head of the Night Pack, then maybe he could stop the entire pack before they could mobilize.
Cillian wandered through town, keeping his eye out for Eric.
At the moment, until he gained more information, the best he could do was stake out the town and catch a glimpse of him.
He’d be able to quietly ask around to see if anyone had caught a glimpse of him.
But no one seemed to know the man he was describing.
He wasn’t sure if that was because they didn’t recognize him or because they were afraid of him.
In a medium-sized tourist town, either scenario felt possible.
This was the worst part of recon: gathering information on your target.
Once Cillian managed to find his target, he would be able to begin following him around and putting plans into action.
He just had to wait, and he hated it. He’d never been good at being patient.
He felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin while waiting to find Eric.
Every day was another day that asshole could cause mayhem and chaos.
He needed to be dead and in the ground before he could ruin anything else.
Eventually, he caught sight of Eric by chance one evening.
He was strolling through town, hands in his pockets, whistling and looking around as though he were a casual tourist instead of a murderer.
He didn’t look as though he had a care in the world.
Cillian watched, already calculating how to proceed from here.
He needed to find out where Eric was hiding, figure out his patterns, and pin down the best place to intercept him.
He couldn’t be too hasty. Eric was quick and clever.
If he sensed something was wrong, he’d vanish before Cillian could move.
Cillian planned on waiting a couple of days before doing anything, as much as he hated the thought.
He wanted to follow Eric for a couple of days, get a feel for his habits, and see if he made contact with anyone.
But at one point, when Eric turned a corner, Cillian caught sight of his face.
There was a smug smirk dancing on Eric’s face, the kind that made one’s stomach turn and alarm bells clang in one's head.
Something was wrong. Some plan was already in motion. Cillian’s skin prickled. Whatever Eric had planned, he needed to find out what it was before it was too late.
Eric wandered from shop to shop, gathering items. It looked as though he were any normal person. Cillian didn’t buy that for a moment. Eventually, a whistling Eric, bags under his arm, strutted down the road and clambered into a small red car.
Eric peeled out of the parking lot, speeding out of town.
At first, Cillian considered letting him go.
He needed more information. He couldn’t just rush in and attack Eric.
That thought lasted for all of a minute.
Whatever was going on, things were already in motion.
He wasn’t going to let Eric get away, not a second time.
He followed after, shifting into a wolf the second he hit the forest wrapped around the outskirts of town.
He ran through the woods, staying a little behind the red car, but keeping it in his sights.
It felt good to run through the woods, to stretch his wolf legs and let the air run through his fur.
It felt as though he hadn’t had the chance to break into an all-out sprint for ages.
After months of calm stability, there was something invigorating about having another mission, something to help satiate the darker side of his nature.
The chase gave him something to look forward to.
Eventually, Eric pulled down a drive and parked in front of a small house. Cillian slowed, watching from the shadows of the woods, staying downwind to prevent Eric from catching his scent.
Eric hopped out of the car, whistling as he strutted to the door, the car beeping behind him as it locked.
Cillian frowned. Something about the scene felt off, though he couldn’t figure out what it was.
That didn’t stop his instincts from insisting that there was something he needed to do. That intuition was rarely wrong.
Slowly, he moved forward, silent, avoiding branches and keeping his eyes on the house.
It didn’t seem as though there were many people inside, if any.
At the very least, he couldn’t hear any voices or any conversation.
It also didn’t seem like this was the Night Pack’s hideout.
Not that he would imagine the Night Pack to use this quaint home as a hideout.
If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that it was just Eric on vacation, and nothing more. Yet again, that intuition screamed at him that something was wrong.
Cillian ducked around the house, keeping low to the ground. As he neared the back, he heard a sound, something that resembled a soft sigh. He froze, frowning. That certainly wasn’t Eric. Slowly, he peered into a window.
He could see the back of a woman’s head, someone with short blond hair. She was slumped forward on the couch, her shoulders stooped. From this angle, she didn’t look as though she was being restrained, but she didn’t look happy to be there, either.
Cillian’s brows knitted together. He couldn’t remember anything about women being part of the Night Pack. He didn’t know what she might be doing there, but he couldn’t imagine it was anything good.
Before Cillian could figure out what the woman was doing there or what might be going on, Eric strolled into the room.
The woman raised her head to look up at him, but said nothing.
Her shoulders remained stooped, her body rigid with tension and fear.
Cillian kept low enough that Eric couldn’t see him, but he could see Eric as he smirked down at the woman.
“Come on,” he said, his voice a little muffled through the glass.
The woman didn’t move at first. “Where are we going?”
“Does it matter?” Eric asked.
Cillian frowned. Something about the voice sounded familiar, although he couldn’t place it. He could have sworn he knew it from somewhere. He might have thought from the Silverrose pack, but that didn’t make sense. What would someone from the Silverrose pack be doing all the way out here?
“I don’t think it’s unfair of me to ask, all things considered,” the woman said.
Eric scoffed, folding his arms, shooting her a warning look. “We’re leaving. That’s all you need to know.”
“Can I at least have shoes?”
Eric’s eyes narrowed. “Stop talking back,” he snapped, and the woman flinched. “You’re going to listen to what I tell you, and you’re going to stop arguing. Do you understand?”
The woman bowed her head. “Yes,” she murmured.
“Good. Now, get up. Don’t make me tell you again.”
The woman slowly got to her feet, still hunched, as if trying to make herself as small as possible.
Eric rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, stop slouching,” he barked.
The woman straightened instantly, as if pulled upright by a string. “I’m sorry,” she said, and turned.
Cillian finally got a good look at the woman. At first, he didn’t believe what he was seeing. It was impossible. Out of everyone who could have been here, one of the last people he expected to see standing next to Eric was Amber Crane.
But it was definitely her. The same short blond hair, the same pixie face, the same long frame. But she looked drawn in on herself. Her arms were wrapped around her, and she kept her head bent. She wouldn’t look at Eric as he waited impatiently for her.
Was Eric holding her hostage? She wasn’t bound or anything, but she certainly looked trapped and miserable. Was Eric coercing her somehow?
Cillian regarded her. He remembered her as someone strong and fiery.
Whenever he had worked with her during training sessions, she had always had some sort of witty retort for him, something that would make him laugh.
He’d admired her spirit, her confidence.
Secretly, he’d always liked her smirk and the spark in her eyes, that determination.
Looking at her through the window, there was none of that. She looked like a shell of herself, her features taut, her eyes dim. He watched her flinch and shrink away whenever Eric spoke to her or reached out to touch her.
“Eric,” she said, and there was something in the way she said his name that made it seem as though she knew him. Had known him for some time, rather than a chance recent meeting. “Just take the car and go. Take whatever money you want and just leave me be.”
“I could,” Eric agreed, almost cheerfully. “But I’m not going to let you slip away that easily. Not this time.”
“What do you even want with me?”
He stroked his chin, eyeing her up and down. “Haven’t decided yet. I think that’s going to depend on how well you behave.”
“Eric—”
“Come on,” he said. “Stop stalling and let’s get moving. I’ve got places to be, and I’m not going to let you make me late. You hear?”
Silently, defeated, Amber bowed her head and nodded. Cillian watched the two of them disappear from the room.
Even after they left, Cillian stood motionless, feeling as though someone had slapped him. He couldn’t shake that defeated expression on Amber’s face. Out of everyone he knew in the Silverrose pack, she was one of the last people he would have expected to be that complacent, to not fight back.
His jaw tightened, his hand curling into fists. He was going to make sure Eric paid for whatever he had done to Amber to sap every last bit of fight out of her.
All thoughts of the Night Pack and learning more about their plans flew out the window. At the moment, they didn’t matter. The only thing Cillian cared about at that moment was getting Amber out of there. He wasn’t going to let Eric take her, especially not after what he had just overheard.
Slowly, he crept back around the side of the house toward the front. He needed to see what was happening in order to make a proper plan.
Just as he was beginning to run through the scenarios and how he could get Amber away from Eric without putting her in harm’s way, he heard a thump and then a loud, furious snarl, then sprinting footsteps.
Cillian ran.