"Wanting to hold you, wanting you near. How much I want to bring you home."
~ Journey, Open Arms
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Screams. Screams all around him. Fire at nearly every house. At just five years old, everything he ever knew was burning to the ground.
He gasped as he was lifted off the ground. It was his mom, covered in soot and blood. He cried as he clung to her and she cradled the back of his head. She planted a kiss to his hair and whispered to him, "it's okay, baby. We're gonna get out of here."
She couldn't even take two steps before the pair was sent flying in two different directions. The sheer force of the explosion created such a distance between them, his mom didn't get to him in time before a human did.
Black boots came into his hazy line of vision, making his little heart drop. Though in pain, he scrambled to get to his feet, but the owner of the boots had other plans. A thick wire clamped around his neck, making him hiss in pain. It was laced with silver, as was the pole it was connected to.
It was an altered snare catch pole for animals because that's what the humans saw them as- animals.
Despite his skin burning as if it would melt off, he frantically searched for his mom, desperate to know she's okay.
"Cillian!" He heard her cry out.
"Cillian?" A distant voice called out.
He turned his head as much as the pole would allow him to and found her being held at gunpoint by multiple humans. "Mommy!" He screamed and clawed at the pole and at the human man holding it.
All the man did was laugh as Cillian's little arms couldn't reach him. Even when he was able to turn enough to bite the pole, it had no effect on it what so ever. The man chuckled and dragged him in a different direction. "Look at you, probably not a day over six, and so brave. You got fight in you, mutt." He snickered, bringing the werewolf boy closer. "I'm gonna use that."
"Cillian." A voice called out, softly. "Are you okay?"
His body flinched awake and his gaze snapped up to meet Sophie's gaze, but he said nothing. He remained sitting up in bed, his hand oozing red. The culprit? A shattered lamp on the ground.
"Cillian!" She gasped and hurried to his side.
He didn't even flinch when she sat next to him, his eyes blank and cold, his body broken out in a light sweat. Blood splattered on his face and some spots that stained his clothes. Even with all the blood, he didn't seem to be in pain. She remembered her promise not to touch him and fought the urge to grab his bleeding hand.
She peeked up to find him already studying her, his gaze intense. "Are you okay?" She asked him, softly. "That must have been one intense nightmare."
Silently, his glazed over eyes searched hers. "Scared."
Her eyebrows furrowed. "You don't have to be. You know I won't hurt you-"
Her words were cut off by his deep, rough voice correcting her. "You're scared." He heard her heart quicken.
Unsure why he was acting this way, she backed away ever so slightly. "No," she breathed. "I'm not scared of you."
His face twisted with a snarl and he accused her, "you're going to make me go back." With his eyes blank, he flinched and cowered away, before the snarl returned.
Her brows furrowed, unsure what made him flinch. Was he still dreaming? "What? No, I'm not sending you back."
In a blink of an eye, he was on his feet. It was so quick, it made Sophie reel back and fall to the floor. She scrambled to her feet and backed away, but he followed her until she was backed against the wall.
"What are you doing?" She exasperated, her eyes wide and frantic. She was breathing to rapid- too fast to close her mouth. "Cillian?"
Her words were cut off as his big hand gripped her by the back of the neck. He stepped between her legs and had her torso pinned against the wall with his hips.
She trembled as his haunting eyes trailed up and down her body. She had never felt as small as she did just now- metaphorically and physically.
Her hands went up instinctively and placed them on his chest to keep him away. Despite her attempts, reality was, she was no where near strong enough to shove him away.
Even still, when her hands touched his firm chest and her wide, frantic eyes met his, something in his expression changed. His face that was twisted in a snarl, softened to just furrowed brows. He seemed to be confused, processing.
His eyes widened in horror and he immediately released her, reeling back. He glanced around the room, as if just realizing where he was, snapping back into reality.
"Sophie?" He whispered and took a step towards her.
His small step had her flailing back, scrambling to get away from him. He understood and stayed away, mortified at whatever he had just done.
Through her tears she noticed his whole demeanor was completely different. His shoulders were now hunched over, his head down, trying to appear as small and least threatening as possible. Her suspicions were correct. He was having a night terror. Like the book had said, her touch snapped him out of it.
Though she was still scared for her life, she breathed a sigh of relief. For the both of their sakes, she stood to her feet. He remained as still as a statue, as if he made one wrong move she'd flee.
At just an arms length away, she cleared her throat and simply said, "we need to bandage your hand." Then she walked away. When he didn't follow, she stopped and turned around, staring at him pointedly. "C'mon."
Cautiously, he did as told and followed her to the kitchen. She pulled out a stool from the kitchen island and quietly told him, "sit."
He did as instructed and sat on the stool, making them eye level. She reached under the sink and pulled out a white box with a red cross on it. It was a box he was all to familiar with- a first aide kit.
She set out what she needed on the countertop and then turned to him. She held out her hand and softly asked, "will you let me help you?"
Will you let me? That was something he has never been asked before. Unless his injuries caused him to be unconscious from blood loss or pain, most of the time he always had to patch up his own injuries. The few times they didn't, the nurses were rough and careless with him, as if he couldn't feel pain. Never had someone offered to help because they wanted to.
"I know touch is hard for you, but I promise I'll be as gentle as I can. I'll only touch where I need to." She promised him.
Shouldn't he be the one helping her? She didn't owe this to him. He just scared the ever living daylights out of her and yet, she still wanted to help him? He didn't deserve it. Not even a little bit.
As if his body moved on its own, he slowly placed his large hand in her small one. She kept her promise and was as gentle as possible as she inspected his hand. Her feather light touches made butterflies fill his stomach and forget all about the pain he was in anyway.
This was his first time seeing her like this, all worried and concerned. He felt guilty for his actions, but it felt good that for once in his life, someone was worried about him. Her lips were still drawn into a frown, eyebrows knitted together in concern, and a few stray pieces of her hair fell out of her messy bun to lay on her face. As bad as he felt, his heart swelled.
She stilled her movements, feeling his intense gaze as he studied her. While he said touch would be the hardest thing for him and speaking freely would be too, he sure didn't seem to mind breaking the old "rule" of looking at her. "What?" She breathed.
He looked away, embarrassed for being caught admiring her. She shook her head to collect herself, grabbed a damp rag to clean his cut up hand, and something to wrap it up with after.
"I'm going to clean the blood up to see where it's coming from." She explained to him before she acted. When he didn't seem to protest, she carefully wiped away the blood.
Secretly, he continued to watch her as she focused on cleaning him up. He even noticed her eyes widen ever so slightly when she found the open wound. It took him off guard that even when she found where the blood was coming from, she kept pressure on it to stop it from bleeding, but then continued to clean the rest of it where the blood traveled up his arm.
It was odd, really, being taken care of like this. Most the time it was just patching up the wound and he'd take care of the mess it caused. But Sophie didn't do that. She cleaned every speck of blood she could find.
"I'm going to wrap it up now, okay?" She told him. Once again, when there was no response, she assumed it was okay to begin her work.
Subconsciously, she scooted closer to him as she began to patch up his hand. He figured it was either she was too focused on helping him to notice or the mate bond was beginning to have its pull.
He watched as she wrapped his hand, and did so horribly wrong, according to what he was taught and what was protocol, but he'd never tell her that. He could tell she was doing it as neatly, carefully, and as best as she could. That was more than enough for him.
She straightened, unintentionally caged between his thighs. "Okay, that should hold for a while. I'll probably have to check on it tomorrow."
She spotted a bit of blood on his cheek. Out of instinct, she gently cradled his face and carefully wiped the blood away. "It's sliced across the palm of your hand so it'll be tricky to heal. Be careful not to...." the words died in her mouth when her gaze caught his. Her hands retracted immediately as it dawned on her what she was doing. "I am so sorry."
His face was a lot closer to hers than she expected. His golden eyes flickered down for a moment, then back up to her eyes. Before she could turn to leave, his rough hand wrapped gently around her arm, stopping her in her tracks. Silently, he picked up the damp rag and gestured to her neck.
Her eyebrows furrowed and she reached up to feel what he was referring to. Red, sticky blood coated the back of her neck. She startled, thinking it was her own, until she remembered when he grabbed her, it was with his bloody hand. Her adrenaline must have been so high that she didn't even notice until now.
With his hand still around her bicep, he gently tugged her closer to him until she was stood between his thighs. Her cheeks reddened at the proximity, but she remained still for him. With slow, careful movements, he swiped her hair off her shoulder and to the opposite side so he could see all the blood and tentatively got to work.
What she didn't know is that the blood happened to be all over her mark. He worked around it at first, using the damp cloth to remove all the red, but then he couldn't avoid it any longer. With a feather light touch, he applied pressure with the rag to the mark.
Immediately her head spun and legs turned to jelly. She latched onto his thighs to steady herself. She gasped in realization, quickly let him go, and apologized profusely for how "inappropriate that was," and that she, "broke her promise not to touch him unless necessary."
She was too busy rambling on and trying to piece together what that jolt of electricity down her spine was to notice she nearly made him smile. She was completely flustered from not only him touching the mark, but from their closeness. She was so frazzled with pink cheeks, he couldn't help but melt a little on the inside.
After she was done rambling and apologizing, she finally asked, "what was that?"
He lowered the rag and quietly murmured, "the mark."
"The- oh..." she blinked, processing what he said.
Silently, he placed the rag into her hands. When she looked up at him in question, he explained, "you won't have that reaction if you do it yourself."
To his dismay, she stepped out of where she was standing between his legs. Then she wiped the blood away. She was hesitant at first, not sure if he was telling the truth. To her dismay, he was telling the truth. She only felt that way because he touched the mark, not her or anyone else.
"Hurt?" He knew it didn't hurt.
"No, it's, uh-" she cleared her throat and decided on, "sensitive... Did I get it all?" She questioned and turned around with her hair lifted so he could see.
He leaned in to get a better look, his breath fanning against the mark, sending a shiver down her spine. Embarrassed, she prayed he didn't notice and turned back around. He nodded, his expression a tad less passive than it was before. Instead, he looked rather sad.
After a beat, he said in a soft tone of voice, "I'm sorry."
She sighed and leaned against the countertop. "Was it a night terror?"
Though it was small, she noticed his slightly guilty demeanor. That was enough of an answer for her.
She hummed and shuffled just a hair closer. "Not your fault then." She told him, gently.
He was astonished. He fully expected this to be the calm before the storm. Surely, she'd contact General Hoppers and send him back for some sort of punishment.
"Are you okay now?"
"I'm okay." He said slowly, as if he were unsure. No one has ever asked him that before.
She gave him a small smile and nodded. "Thanks for cleaning my neck up."
She was thanking him for something he caused. He couldn't understand it.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
His gaze fell.
"We don't have to, it's okay." She reassured him. "If you ever need to, you know where to find me."
She turned towards the stairs, ready to head back to bed. He followed her up the stairs, both of them stopped at their own door.
"Have a good night, Cillian."
"Goodnight, Sophie."
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Please don't forget to comment, follow, and vote! Thank you to everyone who has! They're so encouraging ð©· I just don't get as excited to post if I don't feel everyone else is excited too, y'know?
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Question of the chapter: I think the majority of my readers are in a different country from me! Some even said they don't even know English and use a translator to read. I think that is so cool! I'm in the United States. What country are you from?
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