Chapter 11 - Cillian
A scream echoed through the pitch-black house. Cillian shot up in bed, instantly awake. All his military training flew back to him, his body on high alert. He jumped out of bed, shaking the final remnants of grogginess from his head, orienting himself.
The scream had come from Amber’s room. He sprinted down the hall, expecting to see Eric or one of his cronies looming over her. Outside, the moon was high overhead. It couldn’t be much later than one in the morning. Without knocking or thinking about privacy, he burst into the bedroom.
There was no Eric, no shadowy figure dragging Amber out of bed. It was just Amber, thrashing in bed. She was frowning, her forehead creased as she tossed back and forth, whimpering.
The relief of seeing her in bed with no intruder lurking in the shadows quickly evaporated as Amber whimpered and groaned, continuing to writhe in her sleep. She was having a nightmare. Judging by her expression and the way she continued squirming and mumbling, it was a bad one.
“Amber?” He took her shoulders and shook her gently. “Amber?”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she continued thrashing beneath the sheets, muttering nonsense. Desperate to get her up, he shook her harder, hoping that he could jostle her out of whatever nightmare was gripping her.
Her fist flew up and slammed into his nose.
“Ow! Fuck!” He reeled back for a moment, one hand going to his now-throbbing face, the other still trying to nudge her awake. “Amber! Wake up.”
Her eyes finally flew open. She gasped, chest heaving, eyes wide as they darted everywhere, hunting for something.
“It’s all right,” Cillian murmured.
Her gaze slid to him. She blinked, surprised and confused.
“It was just a dream. You’re all right.”
Her eyes darted around, hunting for something in the shadows, eyes still far away as she dragged herself out of the nightmare. Her heaving breaths began to slow, and her eyes eventually fell on Cillian sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her.
“Cillian?” she asked, still dazed, still half asleep. “What’s going on?”
“You were having a nightmare,” he said.
“I was?” Her brow knitted together.
“Do you not remember?” he asked. His nose ached.
She frowned, chest still rising and falling with each heavy breath. He watched her. Her shoulders stiffened when she was able to dredge up whatever dream had frightened her so much.
“I do now,” she said, rubbing her face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“People who have nightmares don’t usually have much control over stuff like that,” Cillian said.
“Still. I’m sorry if I was a bother.”
“Not in the slightest. You, uh, have quite the cross, by the way.” He rubbed his still-throbbing nose. Her brows knitted together for a moment, then her eyes flew wide as comprehension dawned.
“Oh, God.” Her hand covered her mouth. “Did I…?”
“Yup.” He cracked a grin. “I was hoping that the self-defense lessons were helpful. Hadn’t realized you’d also taken up boxing.”
She groaned and rubbed her head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Honestly, I’m impressed. You managed to put a lot of strength behind that even while you were asleep.”
She let out a guilty chuckle as she pushed herself to a seated position.
Her breathing had eased, but there was still a wildness to her eyes.
They darted between the shadows, as if she kept expecting someone to emerge from them at any moment.
Her features were drawn. Her hands were fists pressing into the mattress. She swallowed.
He sobered, his hand falling down to rest next to hers, but not touching. “What was the dream about?”
Pink flushed across her cheeks, and she glanced away. “It was nothing,” she murmured. “Just a nightmare.”
Whatever had just happened, it was not “just a nightmare.” You didn’t have to be a genius to figure that out. His hand rested on her shoulder. She flinched for a moment, then relaxed. Her gaze slid from the hand resting on her to look up at Cillian.
“You can talk to me, you know,” he said.
Embarrassment flickered across her face, and she glanced away. He could see her trying to repair the walls that she had built around herself, the barriers that she pretended weren’t there in the first place.
“It was nothing,” she finally murmured. “Really. Just a bad dream.”
He shot her an exasperated look. “Amber. You were screaming. I know you don’t like to talk about your problems, and you try to pretend that everything’s fine, but I have eyes and ears. This wasn’t just a normal nightmare, was it?”
She swallowed, hesitating. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she took a moment.
Cillian watched, and he could see the war in her eyes, as if she was debating just how much to tell him, how vulnerable she could let herself be.
He waited, wondering what she would decide.
He wasn’t going to push her, but he wanted to tear down her walls, to make her comfortable enough to tell him.
Eventually, she sighed, running her fingers through her mussed hair.
“I’ve been having nightmares about Eric for a while,” she finally admitted. “They weren’t that bad at first, and I figured they would go away on their own. Except they seem to be getting worse.”
“What are the nightmares about, exactly?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even, to hide the anger beginning to crawl through him.
She shrugged, fidgeting. When she spoke, she played with the comforter.
“I’m trapped with him again,” she said. “Sometimes I’m running down a hall, and he’s chasing after me, only the hall keeps getting longer and longer. Other times, he’s yelling at me about something I messed up. I try to walk out of the house, but there aren’t any doors. That sort of thing.”
At first, he didn’t know how to respond. His mind flicked back to earlier, when she had dropped the flour. He remembered how terrified she had acted. He hadn’t been able to figure out what had happened then.
Now…
He tried to keep his expression even, but he could feel his blood beginning to boil. Red began to tint the edges of his vision.
“He was a horrible person,” Amber said, her voice shifting to nearly a snarl. “He made my life a living hell. Even now, he’s still fucking with my head. I just want to be able to walk away and never think about him again.”
Her voice cracked. Amber took a breath, her fingers knotting into fists around the fabric in front of her.
“I’m sorry,” Cillian said, managing to keep his voice soft and gentle.
If Amber hadn’t needed him right then, he would have stormed out of the house and gone after Eric right then and there.
He wanted to find the bastard and tear him to shreds after everything he had done to her.
But he forced himself to stay. He could go after the fucker later.
“He’s not here, though,” he said after another moment. “And I promise you that he’s never going to get you here. We have alarms throughout the house, and I’m here. I’d like to see him try to get near you while you’re here. I’ll tear him to shreds before he gets anywhere near you.”
She nodded, shifting closer to him. He wasn’t sure if she even realized she was doing it. Her shoulder pressed against him, and her head leaned against his shoulder.
“Thanks.” She bit her lip, hesitating, though Cillian could sense some question pressing at her lips. He waited to see what it was, whether she would ask something. He remained silent, waiting for her to speak.
“Could you stay with me for a bit?” she finally asked, embarrassed. “I don’t really want to be alone.”
“Of course,” he said.
He shuffled further onto the bed until he was sitting next to her.
He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.
For a brief moment, she stiffened, but then her body relaxed, and she nestled into the crook of his arm.
Her eyes fluttered shut. It took almost no time at all for her breath to even out, and she fell asleep.
Cillian stayed motionless, not wanting to move or disturb her. He stroked the side of her arm, feeling her chest rise and fall against him. Her slow, even breath tickled the hairs of his arm.
As he sat there, the rage that had been slowly building since he had first seen Eric looming over Amber through a window surged, finally overflowing. His jaw tightened. That fucker needed to answer for what he had done. He needed to be brought to justice.
No matter what, he was going to make that asshole pay.
***
The next day, while he was in the pack house pretending to work, while in reality thinking about all the things he was going to do to Eric when he got hold of the asshole, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, then snatched up his phone.
“Isaac?” he said without letting his old colleague say anything. “What’s up?”
“One of them has crawled out of the woodwork again,” Isaac answered.
Cillian straightened, his grip on the phone tightening.
“Who?” he demanded, already hoping it was Eric.
After last night and hearing Amber’s scream, he wanted nothing more than to tear that bastard to shreds.
That vendetta he had held for the entire Night Pack was still alive and well, but his hatred for Eric had mutated into something stronger, more potent.
“Chase.”
It took a moment for his mind to focus on the right face. Dark crew cut, tiny eyes, and a scar that ran from his ear along his jaw and down his neck. Chase. Another higher-up who had managed to wriggle out of the noose.
“Where?” Cillian asked.
“Not too far from you, as far as I can tell,” Isaac said. “Midnight Pack.”
“You’re the best,” Cillian said. “Thanks.”
He hung up. Without wasting any time, he pulled up the map on his computer. The pack Isaac had mentioned wasn’t too far away. Maybe an hour or so, traveling as a wolf. Cillian had run further than that on an injured leg back when he was in the military.