Page 8 of Mountain Shadow

Her brow furrowed as she thought about it. “I don’t …” Jens rushed forward and took her up in his arms as she fell, unconscious.

4

Sarah

For the first time in forever, her body felt blissfully warm. She reached out to pull her duvet cover tighter around her body. Instead of cool cotton, her hand felt hard muscle.

Somebody’s leg.

The muscle twitched under her fingers.

Sarah’s hand froze. She inhaled sharply, not daring to open her eyes. If this was a dream, it was quickly spinning into a nightmare. She wished herself back in her bed—or, even better, under her bed. Where monsters couldn’t find her.

But that wasn’t who she was, either.

I’m not a coward.

I need to know what I’m facing.

The world lurched sideways and the side of her head hit cool glass.

A vehicle.

A moving vehicle.

Sarah opened her eyes and stared down at where her hand was still clenched around someone’s leg. She let go and jerked back—only to bang her head against the window she’d been leaning against.

Ouch!

She inhaled sharply, swallowing a cry of pain, while still scooting back as far as she could from the stranger. Which, in a car, wasn’t very far. Her hand searched blindly for the door opening mechanism.

“Stop,” begged a quiet voice. “Please. The doors aren’t locked. If you want me to, I’ll stop as soon as we’re past this section of the road, and you can get out.”

Her fear dissipated at the sound of the deep, familiar voice. Sarah looked up into a pair of Jens Melkopf’s intense brown eyes.

She’d already decided she could trust him. She’d heard it in his voice. The ability to tell, just from listening to a voice, whether someone was lying or telling the truth, wasn’t one she’d been born with, but rather one that had been honed during her many years in radio broadcasting.

His eyes were on hers for only an instant before his attention went back to the road, giving her the chance to examine him at leisure. His dark blond hair was cut short and perfectly symmetrical. Even though it was evening-time, he was clean-shaven, as if he’d shaved recently. Everything about him, from his strong, square jaw to his Roman nose, seemed straight and unbending.

“Please stop the car,” she said. Not because she wanted to get out—it was a dark and rainy night, and Sarah had no idea where they were—but just to check that he would do as she asked.

His strong, large hands turned the steering wheel lightly. The turn signal clicked, the sound unnaturally loud to her ears. And then the vehicle went from tarmac to gravel, where it stopped.

For a second, the man didn’t move. He kept both hands on the steering wheel. His nails were short and buff, his fingers long and strong.

“Please don’t be afraid,” he said quietly, finally turning towards her.

“I’m not afraid,” she said, her tongue as thick as cotton wool inside her mouth. “Where …”

“My name is Jens Melkopf,” he said.

Sarah scrunched up her face. “I remember you. I may have fainted, but I don’t have amnesia.”

He snorted. It was a good sound, one that almost made her smile. “Good. Is it okay if I start driving again?” he asked. “I don’t want to sit here in the dark longer than necessary.”

She nodded, and he pressed the button, starting the car.

“Where are we going?”