Or did I? I was so tired. I’d been cooking all day. It looked like it was out when walked by it, but I didn’t check it thoroughly.
There’s a clattering sound, and someone swears in a low, rough tone.
What the hell?Cold sweat breaks out over my back. Is someone here?
What do I do? Oh God, I can’t think, and there’s more and more smoke coming in from under the door.
Intruder or not, I’ve got to put it out. There’s a fire extinguisher in the kitchen. That’s what I have to get. And then I need to call 911.
Plan formed, I pull on a pair of sweats, slide my feet into my slippers, grab my phone, and rush out the door.
The sight that greets me in the living room is the stuff of nightmares. Flames stretch from the fireplace, clawing up the wall beside it and licking hungrily toward the big bookshelf. Even from this far away, I can feel the intense, oppressive heat. A loud crack echoes through the room as a burning chair to the right of the fireplace collapses, sending a shower of sparks into the air.
“Blake!”
I whip my head around in the direction of the familiar voice. “Rowan?”
Somehow, he’s here, standing between the sofa and the front door. I don’t know how I didn’t see him as soon as I ran out of my bedroom. I pinch myself just to make sure this isn’t another dream.
Nope, it’s not.
He darts toward me and grabs my arm. There’s a hint of panic in his eyes, and it makes my own fear balloon inside me. “I saw the fire from my house. We need to get out of here.”
“Get out? No way. I’m not leaving until I put it out.”
Books, my beautiful books, are already catching fire, their spines curling and blackening.
“It’s spreading too fast. We—“
“I know it’s spreading fast, which is why I need to put it out!” I try to move toward the kitchen, but he doesn’t release my arm from his iron hold.
Frustration spikes through me. “Let me go, Rowan.”
“You can’t put it out. What do you have, a single fire extinguisher?”
“I don’t have time to chitchat! I have to get it from the kitchen. Let go of me!”
Another loud crack.
“We’re leaving,” he declares like it’s his decision to make.
I’m fighting him now, squirming in his grip. “Just let me deal with this.” A cough overtakes me. Through watery eyes, I can see the flames reach toward my favorite special edition ofPride and Prejudice—the one I used to read out loud to my mom.
I have to save it.
Energy rushes through me, and I buck so hard that I take Rowan by surprise. His hold on me slips. I make it halfway to the kitchen before strong arms pull me back by my waist.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he growls into my ear, and then my feet are no longer touching the ground.
“What the hell!” I screech.
He throws me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes and carries me out the front door.
My blood rushes through my ears. He can’t do this.
I pound against his back, furious. “Put me down! Rowan, I swear, I’ll murder you. Put. Me. Down!”
He does—on the dead lawn outside of his house—and then he straddles me. His weight pushes down on my hips. He weighs a freaking ton, and I can’t move an inch.
