Chapter 18 - Amber
She stared at the closed door as she heard the lock trip, barely able to believe what had just happened. More to convince herself that it had really happened than anything else, she walked up and jostled the door handle. It held fast.
Taking a step back, she ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes still glued on the lock, as if her glare would force it open. It didn’t. After a moment, she sighed and walked to the bed, collapsing on it, rage and disbelief still swirling inside her, refusing to settle.
Cillian had locked her in here. She had begged him not to, and he had still done it.
After everything he had promised her, he was no better than Eric or Sier or any of the other men in her life who had tried to control her.
She had thought he might be different. She had started opening up to him. She’d been willing to trust him.
This is what it had gotten her.
She stared up at the ceiling, her anger and fear and frustration swelling. After some time, she made a decision. She wasn’t staying here. She wasn’t going to be a sitting duck for Eric to find, and she wasn’t going to let Cillian keep her locked in here.
A lifetime ago, she would have accepted what was happening.
She wasn’t, not this time. Pushing herself up, she got to her feet and walked over to the door.
Once again, she jostled the door, as if it might have changed in the last couple of minutes, as if maybe Cillian had changed his mind.
Nothing. She might be able to break down the door or pry the hinges out so she could remove the door that way, but she didn’t want to try that if she didn’t have to.
She glanced out the window, frowning. There was a thick branch right outside, the twigs poking out from all sides, tapping and scratching at the glass. Pushing herself back to her feet, she walked over and peered out.
The tree the limb was attached to was large, rising almost as high as the house.
Any taller, and it probably would have been cut for safety reasons.
She shoved open the window. Warm, early-summer air brushed into the room, caressing her arms. She looked closer at the tree.
If she were careful, she could probably get down this way.
She couldn’t go just yet, though. She needed to wait until Cillian either left or went to sleep. She had done this before; she hadn’t forgotten the steps.
Taking a deep breath and already preparing a mental checklist of what she would need to pack, she closed the window and sat back on the bed to wait.
For the next hour—maybe longer, since she never checked the time—she remained almost motionless, running through her list and checking for any gaps.
She had never expected she would have to do this again, but the steps flew back to her almost instantly.
All the while, she listened, keeping an ear out.
She could hear Cillian moving around downstairs.
She tried not to think about what he was doing.
She tried not to think much about him at all.
She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that.
It wasn’t until full night had fallen and the moon hung in the sky that things changed.
Down below, the front door opened and slammed closed.
Her head lifted, and she swung her feet over the side of the bed, walking over to the window.
She watched a shadowy figure, the silhouette unmistakably Cillian’s, walk across the lawn.
A moment later, Cillian’s figure was gone, replaced by a hulking wolf.
He shook his head, massive shoulders rippling with the motion.
Then he was running down the road, though where he might be heading at this hour, she had no idea.
It didn’t matter. This was the perfect time to leave. She stepped away from the window and got to work.
She threw as much as she could into an ancient duffel bag she had carried for years, even during her time with the Ironbrand pack.
It was the same one that she had used when she had disappeared all those years ago.
When it was as full as she could handle, she went back to the window and shoved it open.
A warm summer breeze brushed against her skin, the chirps of bugs and the periodic glint of fireflies greeting her.
She peered down again at the soft earth and chewed the inside of her cheek.
Her fingers gripped the wooden sill. If she jumped down, she wouldn’t be able to turn back.
Did she really want to go? Did she really want to throw everything she had gained in the Silverrose pack away?
Eric’s face filled her mind. His sneering smirk, those intense, mocking eyes. A chill crawled along her spine. She sucked in a breath. Not giving herself time to think any further, she grasped her duffel and tossed it out ahead of her. It landed in the grass with a soft thump.
She took her time clambering out over the sill, her heart drumming in her chest. She grasped the large branch overhead and used that to balance herself as she wobbled.
Taking a deep breath, she tightened her grip on the tree and worked her way over to the thick trunk.
After a few moments, she saw another branch a foot lower and moved down to it.
Slowly, she descended until her feet touched the ground, palms gripping rough bark that scraped against her skin.
Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she grabbed the duffel and hurried into the nearby woods, keeping out of sight of the road.
As she walked, she expected the tension in her shoulders to ease with every step, the way they had last time.
She expected that weight to begin lifting, for the excitement of a fresh start to wash over her at any moment.
At the very least, she expected some of the fear that had been crawling beneath her skin to lift, to evaporate into nothing.
Instead, the fear kept gripping her, and instead of that weight lifting, each step seemed to drag, the walk growing harder.
Her brow knitted together. This wasn’t right.
She was supposed to be happy. She was supposed to be excited and feel free.
It was supposed to get easier the further she went, not worse. What was wrong?
Her mind wandered back to Cillian. What would he say when he found out she had snuck off? What would he do? Why did she even care that much about it?
A small bubble of guilt began to swell in her stomach. She might not agree with his methods, but he had only been trying to help. She didn’t forgive him for what he had done. That would take a lot of groveling and—
Wait, groveling? Why was she even thinking of him? She was leaving. She wasn’t going to see him ever again. There wouldn’t be any groveling, because she had no intention of ever being in his presence long enough for him to do anything of the sort. She was leaving. End of story.
If that was the case, then why did her stomach twist into knots when she thought about walking away?
And why did she keep imagining going back to him?
Why did she keep thinking about all the things he had done for her, how he had held her late at night after bad nightmares?
Every time she thought about him too much, her eyes began to sting, and some part of her was screaming at her to turn back around.
She gritted her teeth. It was over. She wasn’t going to think about him anymore. It was over, and she was gone. If he wasn’t going to listen to her, then she wasn’t going to stick around.
She kept repeating those words in her head over and over again, a mantra that she willed herself to hold onto.
She was leaving, and that was the end of it.
Still, she wished that the strange, hollow sensation wrapping around her would go away.
An emptiness that she had never experienced threatened to drown her, a pervasive sense of loss and loneliness that she couldn’t place.
She was leaving. That was a good thing.
Wasn’t it?
She was nearing the edge of town, keeping to the edge of the woods and still remaining out of sight.
It’s for the best, she told herself. Her fingers curled into fists around the strap of the duffel bag. This is the right thing to do. You should walk away and restart somewhere else.
She slowed to a stop, hesitating, then glanced behind her back toward town. This was the right decision. It had to be. She needed to leave before Eric found her. She had to run because if she stayed and he found her, she didn’t know what she would do. Running was the only option.
Her feet stayed rooted in place.
If you leave now, you’re always going to be running, a voice whispered in her ear.
She realized with an unpleasant jolt that it was right.
She had been running all her life. She had thought she’d found a home in Silverrose, but that had been stripped away from her with Eric’s return.
Now she was running again. What was to stop her from continuing this pattern for the rest of her life?
Never settling down, always fleeing at the first sign of trouble?
She didn’t need to do that. She couldn’t live the rest of her life constantly peering over her shoulder.
She had run once before, and it had been the right decision then.
But this time, she felt like a coward, not someone standing up for themselves by leaving a horrible situation.
But if she went back, she would have to face Cillian.
Thinking about what he did still sent ripples of rage running through her.
He had forced her to marry him. She had started moving past it, but then he had locked her in her room.
He still thought that he could control her. He still thought she was weak.
Did he, though? a voice asked. Or is he just someone who cares about you?