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“Stop. Stay where you are.”
I could feel the panic building again, filling my chest with iron, squeezing my lungs as if I’d never get a lungful of air again.
“Breathe, Sentinel.”
But I shook my head. Not to disobey, but to protest. My head began to swim, my vision fading at the corners as panic swamped me.
“Sentinel.” Ethan’s voice, his tone, was like a slap to my mind. “I gave you a direct order, and I expect you to follow it. Take a breath!”
I sucked in air through painfully tight lungs.
He took a step closer, visibly flinched when I pulled back farther.
“Stop.”
“I won’t come any closer,” he promised. “But I’m going to hold out my hand. You can take it when you’re ready. Each time you inhale, you squeeze. Each time you exhale, you squeeze. All right?”
I nodded. Ethan reached out his hand. It took effort, but I slowly lifted my shaking fingers to meet his.
“Inhale slowly,” he said, and I squeezed his hand as I sucked in air.
Ethan watched me, nodding. “And exhale, slowly.”
I nodded, blew out air through pursed lips.
“Again,” he said softly.
It took time. I don’t know how long. Seconds. Minutes. He stood there the entire time, his arm outstretched, but otherwise making no move to invade the boundaries I was trying to rebuild. For a man as commanding as Ethan Sullivan, that must have killed him.
When my breathing was finally steady, I drew my hand away, wiped dampness on my pajama bottoms.
Ethan’s scratches had already disappeared, but the fear from his eyes hadn’t.
“You’re all right?” I asked.
“I am scared to my bones.”
I nodded, tried to swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’m going to just . . . take a minute.” With a hand against the wall for support, I rose slowly, making sure my quaking knees would support my weight, then walked toward the bathroom and turned on the light.
I was always pale, but in the mirror I seemed preternaturally so, with blue shadows beneath my eyes. And across the left side of my face was the faint red flush from Balthasar’s hand, from where he’d slapped me.
No, not just that—from where he’d marked me.
Wherever we’d been, whatever we’d done, he’d been able to touch me. To hurt me. And if I hadn’t found my way out of that place when I had . . .
I shook my head. I was here now. I was here now, and he wasn’t. I’d made it out of wherever I’d been, and now I had to deal with it.
I had to find a way to deal with it.
First things first: I’d be damned if he’d mark me. I turned on the faucet, confirmed the temperature with my fingers, and splashed cold water onto my face over and over again until the memory and color had faded again.
I turned off the water, pressed a towel to my face, and when I put it down again, found Ethan standing in the doorway.
The expression on his face was ferociously possessive, and intensely uneasy. “Tell me what happened.”
I nodded but walked past him into the bedroom, felt a pulse of guilt that I’d avoided touching him. But he didn’t mention it.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, gathered my hands in my lap. Ethan stayed in the doorway but pivoted to face me, an uneasy distance between us.
