The leather touch is deceptively gentle as it glides over my shoulder.
Over my collarbone.
Over my neck, where it stops.
Dreaded anticipation of the unknown dries my tongue and throat even more as his fingers tighten ever so slightly.
Then he speaks, his voice too smooth to match the monster I know him to be. “You have something that belongs to me, Mara. A baby that bears my mark.” Every trace of gentleness disappears as his fingers jerk my head back and harshly choke the breath from me. Wicked eyes as dark as night burn into me. “I want it.”
Emmaline.
“No!”I jolt awake, my own hands clutching my throat as I frantically search the darkness for my baby. She’s not beside me. Where is she? “Emmaline!”
“What’s wrong?”
The sleepy male voice is much too male and much too close to me, so I lash out, fist making contact with something solid.
“Shit,” the voice groans. “My nose.”
Arm drawn back to strike again, I falter slightly when I realize the voice wasn’thim.
It was Warren.
But too late to stop the motion, my fist lands uselessly against a hard arm. “Emmaline,” I breathe out on a sob, shaking the sting from my throbbing hand. My throbbing hand that doesn’t feel wet with blood anymore. “Where is she?”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Warren soothes in a nasally tone. “I cleaned out the drawer for her, remember? She’s right beside you on the floor.”
Heart in my throat, I glance wildly to the spot beneath the window where I laid her. He’s right. There she is, illuminated in a beam of moonlight, hands balled into tiny fists as she sleeps soundly in the drawer Warren arranged for her. Cool reassurance wars with the fear that felt so real. While we might not be entirely safe, at least we’re safe fromhim.
For now.
“You all right?” Warren’s husky voice sounds a bit more like himself now. “Was it a bad dream?”
The worst of them, but I don’t answer him. Is my baby breathing? The stillness of her little chest frightens me, but then she lets out a small, hitching breath as she settles again.
Barely does relief trickle through me before the bed creaks behind me. Flinching again at the noise, I turn my head sharply to see a shape rising in the darkness as Warren lifts up onto an elbow. Shadows drape over his bare shoulders,making him appear twice as large before my eyes adjust and home in on his worried expression. Supposedly worried, anyway. Feigned sympathy often leads to the complete opposite. He’d better stay on his side of the bed like he promised earlier.
“I’m sorry you had a bad dream, Mara. I can sing you back to sleep if you want,” he offers as he rubs his eyes. “It’s still early.”
“Sing?” I scoff shakily, hugging myself for comfort. The man wants to sing to me. “Do I look like a baby?”
“Of course not.” A soft chuckle, and then, “Actually, you look like a ghost in the moonlight. A very pretty, angry ghost who needs to get some rest so she can keep frowning at her husband. The poor sap won’t know how to act around her if she doesn’t.”
Something tickles my rib cage at being called pretty, but the foreign feeling isn’t enough for me to soften or crack a smile at his silliness. No need for him to know this mindless conversation keeps me from feeling the phantom squeeze around my throat. I certainly don’t want to go back to sleep because I can still feelhimwaiting for me there.
On second thought, maybe the man in bed with me isn’t so menacing after all, even without his shirt. So far he’s kept his word on not touching me. Slowly mirroring his position as he lowers back down, I warily hug the soft pillow.
Even in the dim light, I can see him staring at me before he nods to my fingers. “You’ve got quite the swing, woman. You okay? My momma always says my head’s so hard it’d bend a woodpecker’s beak.”
I flex my digits, testing the sensitivity. “I’ll live.” This is nothing compared to the hell I’ve lived through.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he cajoles. “Maybe you better let me hold your hand so I can make sure nothing’s broken.”
Quicker than my next blink, I tuck my fingertips into my palms. “It’s fine.” I can still hear the ghostly crack of the cane from my nightmare. Still see the blood dripping onto the floor. No man will ever touch my hands again if I can help it.
Warren’s charming grin falters. “You can go back to sleep now. I’ll keep you safe.”
This man’s naivety knows no bounds. “Not even you can guard my dreams, Warner.” If I thought calling him the wrong name would end the conversation, I would be very clearly wrong.
