“If you want your friends to come here, I think that’s great,” he said. “But I don’t think going out right now is a good idea. We’re still trying to figure out what’s going on with the Night Pack, and until I know for certain that Eric isn’t coming after you again, I think you need to stay home.”
“That’s a flimsy excuse,” she scoffed.
“It’s not flimsy at all. I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he repeated, his voice sterner this time. “It’s dangerous.”
“How is going to a bar dangerous?”
“We don’t know where Eric is right now,” he said. “But I’ve heard that some of his colleagues, ones who were part of the Night Pack I was telling you about, might be in the area. It isn’t too much of a stretch to think that Eric might be nearby, too. If he sees you or catches your scent, I don’t want him hunting you.”
“Wasn’t that the whole point of marrying me?” she asked icily. “To stop him from hunting me?”
“It was a precaution. It doesn’t mean he won’t try.”
“Cillian, you’re being ridiculous,” she said. “I appreciate the concern, but you need to see reason here. You can’t keep me locked in here forever.”
Her voice cracked a little. Guilt rippled through his stomach, but he wasn’t going to back down. Not on this.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
“It’ll be two, three hours max,” she said. “I spend more time out at the nursery.”
Cillian marched over until he loomed over her. She shrank back in her seat, her back pressing against the cushions. The sun streaked across her hair, making it gleam almost gold.
“It’s not an option,” he snarled.
Amber didn’t recoil, but he didn’t miss the flicker of unease in her eyes.
“I’m not going to let you go.”
She stared up at him, her eyes blazing. Cillian expected her to argue, to fight back. He could still see that anger radiating off her, and he wouldn’t have blamed her for it, even if he knew he was in the right. He waited for her to retort, for her to get angry and stand up for herself. They kept glaring at one another, neither backing down. Time stood still as their gazes remained locked.
Then her shoulders slumped, and she glanced away. The spell broke. The fight he had seen spark behind her eyes was nowhere to be found, so absent that he wondered if he had imagined it in the first place. She pinched the bridge of her nose for the briefest of moments before her hand flopped down to her side. She sighed.
“All right,” she muttered.
Cillian blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. “You’re not going to argue anymore?”
She shrugged. “It isn’t going to change your mind,” she pointed out. “Why waste my breath?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? Something about that lack of fight unsettled him, as if he had done something wrong, even though he was only trying to keep her safe. He frowned, bobbing back and forth on the balls of his feet as he tried to figure out something to say. A kernel of guilt formed in his stomach like a tiny pebble, and he couldn’t figure out where it had come from.
Before he could figure out what to say next, something that might smooth over the situation, Amber stood. She looked smaller than she had earlier, more fragile. And, to his alarm, she looked defeated.
“I’m going to my room,” she muttered, brushing past him.
“Amber—” he began, but she had already raced out of the library. He listened, motionless, as they hurried up the stairs. A moment later, he heard a door slam shut overhead.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d fucked up. He’d let his impulsivity get the better of him—again. If he hadn’t reacted so strongly, if he had taken a moment to think about everything, he might have been able to talk to her rationally. Maybe she wouldn’t have wilted the way she had.
For the next couple of hours, his frustration ebbed until all he could think about was that defeated look she’d had at the end of their conversation, the way the fight he had always admired had disappeared as though it had been snuffed out—as thoughhehad snuffed it out. That image lingered in his head for the rest of the evening. Eventually, he couldn’t fight the urge any longer. He marched up the stairs to Amber’s room.
He hesitated a moment before knocking on the door. There was a long pause, and he wondered if she was going to tell him to leave. He wouldn’t have blamed her.
“It’s open,” Amber called.
When he cracked open the door, he saw Amber pushing herself to a seated position from where she lay on the bed, her laptop next to her. She regarded him with cautious eyes as he stepped into the room, her lips a thin line, her shoulders tight, as if she were expecting more fighting. She pushed back some of her strawberry-blond hair, mussed from where her head had rested against her pillow, and waited in silence.
“What’s up?” she asked when he still didn’t say anything.