For a moment, I forget the carnage. Forget the blood and the panic and the monstrous machine tearing through the room. I only feel him. His breath against mytemple, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
The roar of the machine and the shrieks of the panicked crowd fade into the background as we race down a dimly lit corridor. Shadows stretch along the walls, fractured by the flicker of fading sunlight streaming in through narrow windows.
At last, he shoulders open a heavy wooden door. The hinges cry out in protest. He charges across the threshold and kicks the door shut behind us, the bolt sliding into place with a brutal clang. The silence that follows is broken only by the harsh, uneven sounds of our breathing.
He sets me down carefully, and I try to stand but my legs fold. The wall catches me, cold and unforgiving. I slide down to the floor, my back pressed to the stone, my head pounding like a war drum.
Everything’s spinning again.
My hands are sticky with blood. Her scream won’t stop echoing in my skull.
I choke back a sob and press my shaking, blood splattered hands to my cheeks, the tears spilling over before I can stop them.
Alder is suddenly there, crouching in front of me, his warm hands on my shoulders. “Gemma, look at me.”
I try. God, I try.
“Gemma.” He says my name like a tether, like something meant to bring me back.
I blink blearily up at him. “You’re here. You saved me. You said you would and then you did.”
He’s…gorgeous. Ridiculously so.
And those eyes.
They’re not just blue. They’re the ocean. The kindthat swallows ships and drowns sailors but also cradles them, carries them, brings them home.
I must have hit my head harder than I thought.
More tears. I hate it. Hate that I’m crying. Hate that I need him. But he’s all I have.
“You’re right, I’m here,” he says, and his hands tighten on my shoulders. “And you are safe.”
For the first time since this nightmare started, I start to believe it.
He stands and his assessing gaze scans the room before landing on a door on the far side.
“Wait here.” It’s not a command—it’s something gentler.
Panic flares again, and my hand shoots out, wrapping around his wrist. “Don’t.”
It’s not just fear. It’s a raw, vulnerable, terrifying feeling I don’t want to name.
His eyes soften. He kneels, fingers sliding between mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles so tenderly I could break. “I’m not leaving I’ll be right back. I promise.”
I nod. Or at least, I think I do.
The moment he disappears through the side door, I sag against the wall. The world tilts sideways. My vision warps at the edges.
The room is…nice. Luxurious. Silk panels. Silver accents. Like something from a magazine. I’d appreciate it more if the floor would stop pitching.
A muffled curse makes my ears prick. Then a crash, the hiss of steam, another curse.
“For the love of all that is sacred!”
A weak laugh escapes my lips. That’s new.
He returns, holding a steaming towel and drops to his knees in front of me.
