‘Is there anything else I need to do right now?’ she asks the tech, and I have to admire the way she’s managing to compose herself.
‘Not for me, but check with reception,’ the man says. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’
She nods. Fuck, I want to pick her up and take her away from this awful place. An overwhelming need to protect her floods me, sudden and unexpected. This young woman, who I barely know, has the power to make me want to remove her pain. Abruptly, she turns away from me and moves towards the door.
‘Niamh,’ I call after her as she pushes through the door into the corridor. She takes a few steps before she stops and looks back. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
‘Let me take you home,’ I say. For a moment, I think she’s going to refuse, then she sighs, the adrenaline that’s kept her going for the last hour or two deserting her.
‘Thank you, and thank you for coming, you didn’t have to.’ She still doesn’t meet my eyes. And I wonder if she’s waiting for me to take her hand again. But I daren’t. Not here, because once I touch her, I’m not going to want to let her go.
‘What do you need me to do apart from that?’
‘Nothing, it’s fine. I don’t even know what needs to be done,’ she says, staring down at the ground.
‘I’m taking her home,’ I say to the receptionist. I can see her hesitation but the darkness in my eyes has her shrinking back in her seat.
‘They’ll send Family Liaison Officers round tomorrow to discuss the arrangements and sort out counselling, if necessary. You can help her by seeing if she knows who her family solicitor is. Do you have contact details?’
‘She’ll be here,’ I say, handing her my card, and she smiles politely and staples it to the rest of the paperwork.
‘My condolences,’ she says as we leave.
‘Thanks,’ Niamh mutters, but her blue eyes are glazed, and when I steer her over to my car, she’s trembling.
‘Come along, let’s get you home,’ I say, but it’s as if I haven’t spoken. Niamh stares straight ahead, over the roof of the car even after I open the door for her.
‘I don’t want to go home,’ she says. ‘I don’t think I can stand it?—’
A sob erupts from her chest and her hand covers her mouth as if to hold back any more signs of emotion. She reaches for the door handle but I cover her hand with mine and turn her to face me, cradling her against my body. Her tears are silent but her body shakes with her sobs. Damp heat blooms through the fabric of my shirt and I press my cheek to her hair, breathing in her light floral scent and wishing I could take this pain away from her. She clings to me, as my hands skim over her back. I ache to pull her closer but she lifts her head, her eyes red-rimmed, her lips parted as if to speak.
Instead she pushes me away, opens the car door and gets in, the door thudding behind her. I sigh and get in my side.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, not looking at me. ‘If you wouldn’t mind driving me home, I’d appreciate it.’
‘I meant Cernunnos. You can stay with Rose for now. You should try to sleep. You must be exhausted.’
‘But—’
‘It’s easier for me this way.’
She nods, but remains bolt upright, staring out the window throughout the journey.
* * *
By the time I pull into the driveway at Cernunnos, I am deeply regretting not dragging Aiden out of his bed to drive me to the morgue. Instead, I’ve had to sit beside Niamh the whole way home while she sat straight-backed in the passenger seat, pretending that her life hadn’t just fallen completely apart.
‘It was supposed to be me in the car tonight,’ she whispers as I pull into the garage and kill the engine. I knew that. Rose had mentioned that Niamh was going to drive them all to Edinburgh, but I am eternally grateful to whatever changed their plans. Although it doesn’t necessarily follow that they’d have had an accident– different road, different drive, too many variables.
‘Then I, for one, am very glad that it wasn’t.’
She turns away and stares out the window before whispering, ‘I’m not.’
I reach for her hand again and squeeze it. ‘I doubt your parents would have wanted to lose you, Niamh.’
‘Yes, I guess,’ she says, frowning. ‘But… I don’t know what I’ll do without them.’ She turns to face me, tears slipping down her cheeks, and it reminds me of the last time I saw my sister cry. She was much younger– only twelve– but otherwise the circumstances were similar. Our mother died when Rose was only three, and I don’t think she remembered much about her death. But I’d never forget the way she just fell apart when Dad was killed.
Officially, it had been a car accident, but in reality, it had been a hunt gone wrong. And my first duty as Huntsman was to track down and kill the man who had murdered my father in cold blood. Feelings I’ve suppressed for years rise up and threaten to overwhelm me. The anger about what had happened, the pain of every thought of them, leading to a huge gaping rupture where my heart should be.
