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Cillian snarls something vicious and inhuman, spinning away. My breath hitches at the loss of his grip on me—at the absence of his power grounding me. He whirls, pacing the floor in front of me with a look I’ve never once seen on his face.
Pure hate.
Pure, unbridled rage.
Pure. Fucking.Malice.
“First it was hands. Then he wanted mouths…”
Cillian roars, and I jump when he grabs the lamp off the bedside table, whirls, and sends it crashing into the wall.
“Then, one night when we were fourteen, Finn stole his wallet, woke me up with two bags already packed, and we left. We never went back.”
I’m sobbing now, the agony of the re-opened wound so painful that I feel like I might die. But then suddenly, strong, powerful arms circle around me, cocooning me against his broad, warm chest.
I choke on my tears, clinging to him so hard I know my nails must be drawing blood. But Cillian doesn’t flinch.
He doesn’t pull away.
He doesn’t look at me like I’m broken, or disgusting, or shameful, or a whore.
He just holds me, and rocks me, and strokes my hair softly as I scream my pain into his chest, for I don’t even know how long.
When the tears finally stop, he still doesn’t let me go. And I don’t want him to.
I still feel safer in the arms of an actual psychopath than I’ve ever felt before.
“Who is he.”
I stiffen, my pulse racing.
“Cillian…”
“Who.”
It’s not barked, nor does he even raise his voice that much. But that’s what makes it possibly the scariest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s the quiet, unemotional way he asks it.
“Cillian, please…”
“Tell me hisname, Una.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my face to his chest before I slowly pull back, shaking my head. My tear-streaked eyes meet his cold, lethal ones.
“I’ve buried my past,” I whisper quietly, pleadingly. “Please don’t make me dig it up again.”
His jaw grinds. He blinks. And then slowly, I can see cracks splintering their way across the deathly mask he always wears, until it finally falls away.
“Come here.”
He moves onto the bed, sitting against the headboard and pulling me into his arms as I burrow into him.
“We…I can try again—”
“No. Forget that.”
His arms circle me, holding me tightly, possessively.
Unflinchingly.
