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Oh, God.
I’m pacing. Round and round the perimeter of the hut. I’ll admit it: I’m scared. Really fucking scared and I’m trembling like a leaf. Lucky getting into the Garden will be hard, but I’m not going to be here forever. All he’d have to do is wait for two-and-a-half weeks, and he’d see me leave. He could pounce and take me before I have the chance to get a new identity.
I don’t want to be alone.
Without contemplating the consequences, I storm out of the hut, cross the stones and head towards Cillian’s bedroom. The panic rises with every step, and by the time I fling open Cillian’s bedroom door, I’m hyperventilating.
Harsh white light floods the room, blinding me, and when my eyes adjust, I’m staring down the barrel of a gun. Cillian’s sitting bolt-upright in bed, pointing it at me, a thunderous expression on his face.
Drinking me in, his eyes narrow and he growls. “What’s wrong?” Then his attention turns above my head, into the office. “Is someone here?”
Just before he leaps out of bed, I say, “N-No. No one’s here.”
He pauses, studying me in a different light now. Studying my tear-streaked face and wild hair. I must look a fucking mess, but right now, I don’t even care.
He draws in a deep breath, then softens his voice. “Then what do you want?”
“C-Can I stay with you tonight?”
My voice is so small and pathetic that I’m not sure it travels across the room. Especially when he doesn’t move a muscle. Just pins me with an ice-cold stare, the vein in his temple ticking.
Enough time passes for shame to seep in. It trickles, hot and syrup-like, over my shoulders and up my neck, making my face even redder.
“Ignore me,” I mutter, wringing my hands. “Sorry I disturbed you—”
Cillian cuts me off with a growl, then rips back the covers, revealing empty space next to him.
“Get in.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I crawl into the warmth of the bed, drinking in the familiar cocktail of warmth, oaky cologne, and pheromones.
Wordlessly, he flicks the light off, plunging us back under the cloak of darkness. His breathing punctuates the silence. It’s heavy and fast and full of conflict.
“You’re trembling.”
“S-sorry,” I mutter in the silk sheets, rolling to face the wall.
He lets out a groan. The bed dips and then he slides an arm under my neck, replacing the pillow. His other hand snakes around my waist, pulling me backward, into the hard wall of his body.
With his breath tickling the top of my head, he runs a gentle hand over my stomach, tracing small, comforting circles just above my navel.
“You’re okay, angel,” he murmurs into my hair. Each circle releases some of the fear pent up in my body. “I’ll make sure you’re okay.”
Cillian
She’s cute when she sleeps.
Dark hair splayed over the pillow, mouth parted, gentle snores escaping it.
Somehow, I’ve woken up with her head on my chest, her legs entwined in mine, and her hand lying flat on my stomach.
While she’s dreaming, I steal the chance to study her face, indulging in all of the questions I’ll never ask her.
What are you so scared of?
What are you running from?
Who do you need me to kill, angel?
