“Please,” I whisper in broken desperation. “Please save me.”
Just once.
Just this once, and I’ll never ask anything of you again.
“Mara!”
My head jerks up as my heart thumps so hard that my fingertips throb. Is this the voice of God calling my name? The door bangs open, and I receive my answer as a flash of lightning illuminates the house.
No, it’s not God.
It’s a shirtless Warren with hair tousled and lamp in hand.
“Mara! Where are you?” The light shines on me, and hiseyes widen when he sees me staring listlessly back at him. “Oh, darlin’…” Shoving the lamp onto the entryway table, he bears the brunt of the hail himself as he hurries down the steps and gathers me into his arms. “How long have you been out here?”
Cocooned, I can’t gather the strength to fight his embrace as he carries me over the threshold and kicks the door shut. I’m empty, so weary from guarded hope and choking fear swinging like a pendulum inside of me. I just want to feel peace.
Instead of the bedroom, Warren quickly veers to the parlor and gently deposits me onto the sofa before wrapping a blanket around me. “Stay here. Gotta get you warm.”
Water drips from every inch of me as he builds a fire that bathes the room in an orange glow. It’s only when he drops to his haunches in front of me and briskly rubs my arms through the wet fabric that shivers hit me hard enough that my teeth chatter and my toes curl. A faint wondering for Emmaline brings an instant of awareness, but the harsh coldness that stiffens my bones freezes my tongue as well.
In the flickering light, shadows play along his face as he pinches the drenched collar of my nightgown with long fingers. “I’m gonna go grab you a dry one, okay? Don’t want you to get sick.”
Warren’s gone before I can unstick the words in my throat, but he returns just as quickly with a bundle. “Here you go, sweetheart. I think all your nightgowns are dirty, so I grabbed one of my shirts and some socks.”
Facing the fire to give me privacy, he kicks off his wet trousers, revealing bare, muscled buttocks a few shades lighter than his hairy legs. I wait for panic to set in as he towels himself dry, but my blood must be too cold and sluggish to alert the rest of me.
Now clad in fresh pants, he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Are you finished?” he calls softly over a naked shoulder. My teeth clack in reply, and he turns around only to wince when he sees I haven’t moved at all. “Mara, sweetheart, you’ve got to get changed. Your lips are blue.” Easing down on a knee, he hesitates before tugging the wet blanket from my unresponsive fingers.
“C-cold,” I stammer, lips loosening up enough to let the broken word through. So cold even though the fire burns brightly not even five feet away.
“Shit.” Warren dips his head to the side before framing my cheeks with hands as hot as the fire he built. “I know you are, darlin’, but look at me.” His gruff urge is softened by the tender touch of his palms. “If you don’t get out of these clothes in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna do it for you. Do you understand?”
A quaking tremor wracks me, but I manage a jerky nod. He swings around again, and when I lift a shaky arm to untie the ribbon at my collar, bits and pieces of dead petals fall to the floor. But the buttons…the small fasteners slip from my numb fingers no matter how tightly I grip them. I whimper in frustration and try harder. “I c-can’t.”
Warren’s at my knees in mere seconds. “Shit,” he mutters again, raking a hand through hair darkened by the rain. “I’m not gonna look any more than I have to, okay?” He pauses and searches my miserable gaze, but at my violent tremble, he hurriedly unbuttons and lifts my nightgown over my head. Chilly air rushes over my shoulders and stomach as my nakedness is exposed, but he never looks below my chin as he shifts me to a drier spot and grabs his shirt. “Arms. There you go, darlin’…now let’s get you all buttoned up.”
Only marginally warmer, I shake so hard my kneesknock together. Fire burns my feet, and I hiss. But it’s not actual fire, only his big hands massaging the feeling back into my toes before he covers them with the wool socks.
“Here, let’s get you closer.” Warren moves me to the rocking chair, and a ragged moan escapes as the heat envelops me. “I’ll be right back, darlin’.”
This time, a hairbrush, towel, and blanket return with him. Gentler than any man has ever been to me, Warren bundles me up in the thick blanket and towels my hair dry with soft pats. The storm still rages on outside, but in here, there’s only our breathing and the snapping of the fire. I stare into the dancing flames. Why can’t I get rid of my hurt as easily as they devour the logs? Am I to carry this pain with me forever?
His hands gather my hair to one side, and tingles explode along my scalp as he drags the hairbrush in slow strokes to work out the knots. I shiver and swallow a groan at the unexpected pleasure. It never felt this good when Mrs. Overstreet did this. Then again, nothing she ever did was this soothing. Between the fire’s crackling heat, the rhythmic pulls of the brush, and the steady ticking of the mantelpiece clock, drowsiness creeps in and weighs down my lashes.
“Mara, I—” Warren’s been so quiet that I jolt when he finally speaks. “Sorry, darlin’. Didn’t mean to spook you.”
The fire pops as he falls silent. What was he going to say? He didn’t sound angry, but surely he intends to scold me for leaving the bed and foolishly going out into bad weather. With his unspoken words hanging between us, the brushing isn’t as pleasurable as before.
A long pause, then he speaks again. “I hate that you’re hurting. Hate that I can’t do anything about the past or yournightmares. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it right now, and that’s okay, but just know that I’ll listen to you when you’re ready. I’d take every bit of your pain away if I could.”
I clench the blanket, belatedly noting the throbbing ache in my hand from hitting the steps as I fight the instinct to reject his words. As much as I want to believe his fervency, there’s so much inside of me. All of the memories that hurt to hold but are too agonizing to release. I wish it were as simple as transferring my pain to him, but pain like this doesn’t just disappear at the first bit of kindness. And even if he managed to take it away, there would be nothing left of me afterwards.
I’m broken.
The brush falters.
Did I say that out loud? I didn’t mean to.
