‘Bloody hell,’ he mutters, putting the knife in his pocket. He leans into the boot, his strong arms sliding beneath me as he pulls me out, lifting me effortlessly. For a moment, we stare at one another, his embrace comforting, his body supportive. Everywhere we touch his heat warms my cold body.
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I can feel his internal debate about what to do, but he snaps himself out of his thoughts and sets me down next to the car.
He’s changed into his version of casual clothes– dark jeans, a designer T-shirt. He’s not wearing a jacket, but he doesn’t appear to feel the chill that sends a shiver through my body. His tattoos are dark against his skin, and I stare at them, remembering how mesmerised I was the first time I saw them. Now I recognise the designs as a mix of Pictish symbols, Insular Celtic knotwork and some more modern illustrations. The double disc on one bicep consists of two perfect circles connected by double straight lines. Within each circle, triskelion spiral, creating a vortex that symbolises the endless cycles of life. The colours he’s chosen are bright, far more vivid than anything found on the actual symbol stones, but which seem to make the designs feel modern, alive even. His lower arm carries the image of a curved hunting horn, and I’m reminded of the sound I thought I heard all those years ago, the night we first met.
On his other arm there’s a crescent and V-rod, vaguely reminiscent of a cruder version of the Masonic compass and dividers, but it’s the black serpent that curls around his lower right arm that catches my eye. Its tail sits neatly in the crease of his elbow before it winds around his arm twice, the head slithering at an angle onto the back of his hand. While it might be clearly a serpent, it’s head is reminiscent of a ram, with curved horns on either side. The black body of the serpent is solid enough that it must have been painful beyond what I could endure to have it inked.
He slams the boot closed, picks up his knife and moves it up to my face. My eyes meet his as I struggle to decide what I should do, although realistically, there are no good options. I’m completely at his mercy. He tugs on the fabric of the gag, pulls it away from my skin and slides the knife in between, then with a single easy movement, the gag falls away from my face. I try not to think about how sharp the blade must be or how much damage it could do to my flesh should he decide to use it against me.
‘Cillian…’ I whisper as his fingers grip my chin and he freezes.
‘What? But… How?’ He steps back, his mouth open, moving as if he’s trying to form words.
‘How do you keep doing this to me?’ he mutters, his voice cold and controlled, as he slowly kneels in front of me. I whimper as he slides his hand between my legs, running the hilt of the blade up my inner thigh. The cool handle makes me gasp, the threat of danger and pleasure taunting me with what this man could do and how vulnerable I am. I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t turn the knife around. As the handle reaches my core, he pulls it away, lowering it and slicing through the thick ties that bind my ankles.
He grabs me by the shoulders, turning me to face the car with one arm clamped around my chest, holding me side-on against him.
‘Raise your arms,’ he demands, and I do so with some difficulty, my fingers nearly numb. Once again, he slides the knife between my limbs, then, with one smooth movement, the cable ties fall to the ground as his blade slides through them. I stumble instantly, and he catches me again.
‘Sorry,’ I say, then wonder why the hell I’m apologising to him.
He runs his fingers over the welts left by the cable ties on my wrists, shaking his head as he smears my blood with his fingers. I look around at the small clearing surrounded by dark, menacing trees, noticing the familiar wooden signposting of a Forestry Commission car park. I have no real idea of where we are, but it feels remote.
‘What are you going to do to me?’ If I sound terrified, it’s because I am.
His eyes close and it looks like he’s taking deep breaths to gather his courage. But that can’t be right. The man in front of me isn’t afraid of anything. If the past four years have taught me anything, it’s that the Hunters are successful because they’re ruthless. I stare at him, everything within me telling me to run, but I don’t. I can’t.
‘I know you don’t remember what happened?—’
‘In the club? In the alley? When I was attacked? When I killed?—’
‘You… you remember?’
‘You think killing a man is something I’d forget?’
‘You shouldn’t remember. Vittoria… she did something. Used theGuth Dorcha. She told me she had taken all your memories of me, of Rose.’
‘Would that have made it easier for you to murder me?’ I laugh. Surely he can’t think something like that is even possible. ‘Well, either she lied to you, or this goo doracha thing didn’t work because I remember everything, Cillian. The night we met, the way you kissed me the next morning?—’
‘But you shouldn’t… I… I don’t understand,’ he says. ‘But… it’s too late now anyway.’
He doesn’t answer, just continues to stare at me before he shakes his head and takes my hand, attempting to drag me towards the woods.
‘Come on,’ he says, but I plant my feet and refuse to move, yanking my hand from his grip.
‘Why don’t you just kill me here? It’ll save us both the walk.’
We stare at one another, but he doesn’t answer immediately. I take a step backwards, then another and another, before I make contact with a tree and spread my hands back over the bark, steadying myself. It’d been raining earlier in the day, and there’s a puddle beside me, still and shiny. I dread to think what would be looking back at me if I looked into it. I doubt my hair and make-up have survived the evening’s events.
Cillian moves towards me, still confused, and I’m getting the oddest sense that we’re not alone anymore, that we’re being watched. But the car park is empty and all I can hear is the soft sound of the wind through the branches. He reaches for me, runs his fingers down the side of my face, then around my jaw and throat. I shiver. No matter how much I try to hate him, my body has other thoughts, and it reacts to his touch in a way that should send me running, but instead anchors me to the very spot where danger is lurking within him.
His hand slides down the front of my chest, cupping one breast briefly and circling the nipple with the pad of his thumb. I gasp as his hand continues its path, sliding down over the angle of my hip, teasing the hem of my dress before his fingers slide around the curve of my thigh. I don’t know why but I have craved this man since the moment we met, no matter that I know he’s dangerous, to my body as well as my heart. Maybe, if I let him… No, how can I even consider it?
‘Run, now,’ he says. ‘Take your chances in the woods. If you reach the sanctuary you will have both won and lost your freedom. But you’ll still be alive.’
‘And if you catch me?’
He closes his eyes for a moment and the world shimmers around him. He opens them again, fixes his gaze on me, and reaches over his shoulders behind his back, pulling a crossbow from… from nowhere.
