“Cain?” I whisper, hoping he can hear me.
Another bang answers me, louder this time, then the unmistakable sound of bodies struggling, feet slamming against wood, furniture shifting under force.
My stomach drops.
He’s fighting with someone.
I back into the living room on instinct, every part of me shaking now, and crouch behind the sofa because it is the only thing my panicked mind can think to do. My wet clothes cling to my skin, cold and useless, while I listen to the noise upstairs tear through the house. Each sound feels worse than the last.
“Please…” I whisper again, not even sure whether I’m begging for Cain to be okay or for whoever is up there to leave.
Then it all stops. The sudden silence is so complete it makes my ears ring. I stay frozen behind the sofa, barely breathing, until footsteps begin descending the stairs. Cain appears first. Relief hits me so hard my knees nearly give out. I push myself upright and rush toward him.
“Cain, are you okay?”
He looks at me with something I’ve never seen on him before—fear. His hands hover near shoulder level, palms open, like he knows better than to make one wrong move. Water still runs down his skin, but the effortless composure he had minutes ago is completely gone.
Before I can understand why that feels so wrong, another presence fills the doorway behind him. A man dressed entirely in black steps into the room with slow confidence, heavy boots quiet against the floor, broad shoulders cutting through the shadows like they belong there. A black helmet hides his face, the dark visor reflecting my own pale expression back at me.
One gloved hand holds a gun pressed steadily between Cain’s shoulder blades, the barrel angled into his spine like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and every drop of blood in my body turns cold.
Cain moves aside. Not away from him, but because the gun at his back forces him to.
The stranger tilts his head as if he enjoys the fear locking me in place, and when he speaks, his voice slides over my skin like smoke.
“Were you worried about him, kitten?”
The blood in my veins turns to ice so fast it burns. Air catches somewhere in my throat, refusing to move no matter how hard I try to breathe.
I know that voice.
I would know it anywhere.
My eyes lock on the black helmet, on the broad shape of him standing there like he owns the room, and nausea twists low in my stomach.
The forest.
The dirt under my back.
The crushing weight of his body pinning me down while pure survival instinct ripped through every nerve I had.
It’s him.
The one who held me against the ground like I was nothing more than something to control.
I stumble back a step before I can stop myself, pulse roaring in my ears.
“You,” I whisper, the word torn out of me.
A dark chuckle hums through the helmet.
“Cute,” he says, slow and amused. “She remembers me.”
My eyes fly to Cain so sharply it hurts. He’s standing rigidly to the side, hands still raised, jaw tight, the gun never leaving his back. Understanding hits ugly and sharp.
“Leave him alone,” I force out, my nerves bleeding straight into the words. “He has nothing to do with this.”
The stranger goes still for half a second, then a low laugh rolls out of him.
