Chapter 12 - Amber
The sun beat down as Amber walked home. She had always loved summer, when it was warm enough and light enough after work that she could stroll home and be alone with her thoughts.
She had always liked walking quietly and letting herself ruminate.
At the moment, as they often did nowadays, her thoughts drifted to Cillian, and the other night when she had fallen asleep against him.
Amber rounded the corner. Her smile vanished, her jaw dropping in horror as she took in the gruesome sight in front of her.
Cillian leaned against the doorframe, a bloody hand clutching his side, another wound bleeding along half his calf. He was covered in grime. Panting, wincing in pain, he tried to give a playful smile.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said. “The real kicker is this one.” He pointed to the tiny, shallow scratch over his eyebrow. “Deadly.”
Amber didn’t laugh. “God, we need to get you to a hospital or something.”
Cillian shook his head. “I’m not a big fan of hospitals,” he growled.
“Don’t be stupid,” Amber said, already fishing for her keys. “Let’s get in the car, and—”
“I’m a shifter; I heal quick,” he said, then added, perhaps a bit petulantly, “And I don’t like hospitals.”
“So you’re planning on bleeding all over the porch?” She meant to sound sardonic. Instead, she came off as panicked.
“I was hoping you might be willing to help,” he said.
“Of course.” She said it without thinking.
Huffing, she pushed her hair away from her eyes, trying to keep herself calm despite the panic beginning to surge through her.
“But can I at least get Camden or Jasper or Franco?” she asked.
“Or, you know, someone who actually knows about stitching and first aid beyond putting a bandage on a scratch from a rose thorn?”
Cillian grimaced again as he adjusted his position. “I’d rather not at the moment,” he said. “They don’t exactly know that I went rogue.”
She glanced around, trying to still her swirling thoughts and the panic there. What did he mean that he’d gone rogue? He hadn’t been that stupid, had he? But one glance in his direction told him that, yes, he had been that stupid.
She wanted to chew him out, to slap him upside the head for being so careless.
Her mind was spinning, and she had to shove down her panic.
He looked like a mess. What if he had gotten himself killed?
The thought sent an unpleasant spasm rippling through her, a frustration she wouldn’t have expected to feel. Her heart was hammering.
Why do I care so much? she wondered with a jolt. This was the man who had forced her to marry him. Why was she worried about his safety to the point of anger?
She glanced at him again and shoved that thought aside. She would have to pursue it some other time. At the moment, there were other, more important problems to solve. Cillian looked as though he was about to fall over at any moment.
“I need your help, Amber,” he said.
“I don’t know this first thing about stitching or first aid,” she said.
He grasped her shoulder, smirking down at her. “I’ll talk you through it.”
She swallowed her retort and exhaled through her nose in frustration. After a moment, she nodded. Without another word, she helped him into the house and onto the sofa.
“Kit’s in the closet,” he said, but she was already heading toward it. She remembered it from when he’d looked after her the first night he had brought her here.
Hauling out the bag, she turned to face him again and grimaced. “All right. Let’s start, I guess.”
He slipped off his shirt. She sucked in a breath.
She hadn’t gotten a good glimpse of him the night he had woken her up from her nightmare.
She had known that he was fit, of course, but she hadn’t realized just how muscular he was.
Even through the blood, she could see each perfectly defined muscle.
Scars ran along his skin, but they only seemed to enhance his features.
Her eyes roamed along his body for the briefest of moments before she forced herself back into action, hoping that he couldn’t see the bright blush spreading across her face.
“There are some painkillers in there,” he said. “Mind handing me a couple?”
She found the bottle, opened it, and shook out white pills into his hand at his request.
“Just so you know, once these take effect, I get a little loopy,” he said, then popped them into his mouth. “Give it a few minutes.”
She nodded, pulling out a pack of wipes before turning back to him. “What were you doing, exactly?” she asked, beginning to wipe off the injuries. Cillian hissed, his muscles flinching at the sting of the antiseptic.
At first, he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t until she looked up at him that he finally spoke.
“I was going after the Night Pack,” he said. “I got a lead on one of them, and I decided to check it out.”
She stopped cleaning and gaped at him. “On your own?”
When he nodded, she glared. “Are you an idiot?” she snapped.
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve gotten that comment once or twice.”
“Why would you go after them on your own?” she demanded. “I thought you were smarter than that.”
He shrugged, then winced at the gesture. “I don’t know,” he muttered.
She glared, waiting for a better answer. When he only shrugged and didn’t respond to the glower, she huffed, shook her head, and started working again. The two of them stayed silent for a long while as she continued, trying to keep a steady hand as she cleaned his wounds.
“You really are incredible, you know that?” he murmured.
She snorted, extracting needle and thread from the kit. “Why don’t you tell me that after I’ve finished mangling your stitches?”
“You’re not going to,” he said, and she noticed a distant, faraway tone to his speech, as if he were drifting. “You’re way too hard on yourself. You need to be nicer to yourself. You deserve it.”
She paused, hesitating for a moment while she studied him. “Those drugs already kicking in?” she asked, keeping her tone light, almost playful, but she couldn’t ignore the nervous stutter that kicked in at the way he was looking at her.
“Maybe,” he murmured. “But that doesn’t change what I’m saying.”
She raised an amused eyebrow, her lips twitching. “You’re delirious,” she said. “I’ll believe it when you’re not drugged and injured.”
“No, you won’t,” he muttered. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
This time, she blushed and glanced away, focusing on stitching.
He patiently guided her through the steps, and she worked in silence, moving quickly, grateful that she already knew a bit about sewing.
She’d always repaired her own clothes instead of purchasing new ones.
She had never expected she’d be using that skill to knit someone’s injuries together.
Glancing up, her heart stuttered at the way Cillian was watching her work, an intensity there despite his injuries. He looked at her, his eyes hazy and slightly out of focus. He reached for her.
“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he asked, not quite slurring his words but not far off, either. “Because you are. You’re really beautiful.”
She grasped his wrist before he could caress her face, though that didn’t stop the heat from creeping up her cheeks. Lowering her hand, she turned to fiddle with his bandage. She took a second to compose herself, then turned back to him.
“That’s just the drugs talking, Cillian,” she muttered, continuing to work. “You’re delirious.”
“No, it’s not,” Cillian said. “I should have told you ages ago. I’m a jerk for not mentioning it sooner.”
She bit her lip despite herself. She wasn’t sure what startled her more: Cillian saying any of those things, or that he was saying them while he wasn’t fully in control of himself.
Silently, painfully aware that he was still watching her every move, she finished knitting his wounds together and stepped back, taking her first real breath since she had begun.
She didn’t know if that was because of nerves or how close Cillian was, despite his injuries.
She hadn’t been able to fully ignore his stares boring into her, or the way his muscles felt beneath her skin.
“All finished,” she said, then coughed. “You should get some sleep.”
He nodded, grimacing as he pushed himself off the couch and made his way up the stairs. Her muscles didn’t fully uncoil until he was out of sight, and even then, her heart continued to pound, threatening to break out of her chest. She just wished she knew why.
***
The next morning, she stood in the kitchen, hovering over the stove, listening to the hiss of bacon and the sizzle of eggs as their savory smells filled the kitchen. Her stomach growled.
She hadn’t slept much the night before. When she woke up early this morning, she had decided to cook a large breakfast for Cillian, for whenever he woke up.
It helped keep her thoughts off the night before and how her mind seemed to keep spinning whenever he was nearby.
It distracted her from the questions running through her head about why she was so panicked when he had come home injured.
She was still angry with him, but at some point, things had shifted.
Her anger had mutated, and that worried and confused her.
As she tried to shove these thoughts away, Cillian walked into the kitchen. He had more color than he did the night before, though the bandages now caked in blood added a gruesome aspect to his appearance.
“Hey,” he said. He sniffed. “That smells incredible.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked, turning off the stove. She walked over and began examining the bandages, looking for signs of more bleeding.
“Like I got thrown into a meat grinder,” he said, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. “Been a while since I took that kind of beating.”