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His eyes popped open and drilled her. "Yeah." He bit the word off. "I'm fine."
"Good, then how about we all go into the living room and find?"
"No."
Her sentence snapped in half. She looked up at him, obviously surprised by his refusal.
Their gazes locked across the table. He was breathing a little heavier than he'd like, but other than that, Jack
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thought he looked pretty damn calm for a man slowly being sucked over the edge.
"We hid all the silverware," she said smugly.
It was Jack's turn to grin. He reached for the chicken and wrenched off a succulent, still hot leg. "Then it's a good thing you made chicken."
Surprise flitted through her eyes. She studied him for a moment longer, and he would have sworn he saw a glimmer of respect. Then her lips twitched slightly and she turned away.
Jack allowed himself a triumphant grin. He'd one-upped Amarylis for the first time in years, and goddamn, it felt good.
It would have felt even better if she hadn't laughed.
Chapter Nine
Jack lay on the couch, shivering. He thrashed side to side, fighting the nightmare's frightening grip. A low, miserable moan escaped him. Restlessly he pulled the flimsy woolen blanket tighter to his chin. His teeth chattered in staccato bursts of sound.
A red haze crept across his closed eyes, turning his world into a twisting quagmire of dripping blood and oozing mud. Screams of the dead and dying reverberated through his head. Gunfire exploded all around him. Suddenly he was awake.
The darkness was coming. Oh, God, it was coming. He could feel it, circling him like hungry wolves, closing in for the kill. Fear washed through him, closed around his throat. Hot, aching breaths pushed past his trembling lips. He curled into the fetal position and lay there, panting, praying it would go away this time. Praying this time he could forget ...
Rain splashed at the windowpane behind him, rattling the house. The sound rocked Jack to the core of his soul. He wrapped his shaking arms around himself, trying desperately to hold himself together until the storm stopped. But it didn't do any good. He could feel the darkness, feel its cold, icy breath on the back of his neck, feel the brush of its fingertips along his arms. It was coming.
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Thunder boomed through the night, echoed through the too still house like a volley of cannonfire.
A scream of pure terror wrenched up Jack's throat. He had to protect his family.
He lurched to his feet, not bothering to find his shoes in his panic to flee. Only half-awake, he lumbered to the kitchen and grabbed his coat, plunging his arms into its sheepskin-lined warmth.
Panicked, desperate, he wrenched open the door and raced onto the porch. Rain hammered the overhang above his head and ran in sheets of silver, rattling the floorboards. The wind whistled, screaming, through the night.
"Oh, God," he moaned, feeling the darkness get closer. Closer.
He closed his eyes in a hopeless prayer, then stumbled down the rain-slicked steps and ran.
He had no idea where.
Tess woke with a start. Something was wrong.
She pushed to her elbows and gazed around the room through bleary, unfocused eyes. The first rays of dawn were pushing through the glass, but otherwise the bedroom was dark and quiet. Nothing looked wrong.
She flipped back the coverlet and reached for her robe. Shrugging into the warm flannel, she went to the cradle and checked Caleb. The baby was fast asleep, sucking on his fist.
She hurried down the hallway and peeked into the girls' bedroom. Relieved to find them both asleep, she headed for the living room.
