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I can’t take more fucking violence. More anger.
My chest feels like it’s being squeezed by a massive rubber band. I can’t breathe.
As they continue screaming, I clutch at the couch cushions, trying not to fall into the panic attack I know is coming.
Everything that’s happened to me in the last twenty-four hours is catching up to me—the fall down the stairs, seeing Doctor Patil, escaping my uncle, plunging into the ravine, waking up here in this strange cabin, and now this, these raised voices and the obvious animosity dangling in the air between my rescuer and Lawson.
What if Ridge isn’t a nice guy? What if this is all a ruse by my uncle to hurt me? What if these people are going to tear me apart and scatter my pieces in the mountains?
My breaths come faster, ever more painful as I gasp for air. My gaze darts between the people yelling and back to Ridge. I want him to make them go away. I want a chance to catch my breath, to figure out what the hell is going on.
Instead, I feel like I’m on the verge of a heart attack. My body is going to murder me before Clint or anyone else gets the chance.
Tensions soar higher, voices growing deeper and angrier, and suddenly, one of the men in the mob does something… strange. His body begins to morph, to change shape.
It only takes a second, but in my current state of mind, it feels like it takes a lifetime. When it’s over, where he stood on two legs before, a wolf stands in his place.
A large, growling wolf.
And I finally lose it.
The scream that comes from my lips is like nothing I’ve ever emitted in my entire life. Not even in the heat of Uncle Clint’s punishments. Not even when I was little and hadn’t taught myself to bear the pain, to go to another place inside my mind.
I scramble up onto the couch, still screaming, my legs tangling beneath me as I try to get my knees to work so I can run away. My heart pounds against my chest, frantic and demanding, trying to escape the terror inside me.
I see Ridge move. He reaches for me, but I can’t hear his words. Then his face goes hard and he whips back around toward the waiting group, his hands clenching into fists at his side.
The wolf takes a few steps forward, snarling.
What the hell is happening? Why can’t I wake up from this?
“Get the fuck out!” Ridge yells, his words the first sound to cut through my panic.
At his voice, I stop screaming, perched on the headrest of the couch, my fingernails digging into the corduroy. I gulp for breath, clinging to the sound of his deep baritone.
“Out!” Ridge snarls, shoving Lawson toward the door. The bigger man is thrown backward as if Ridge punched him, and he hits the wall hard, shaking the entire house. The wolf backs away with a yip as the other four people all cower a bit too. “And don’t ever fucking question my authority again!”
The entire group scrambles away into the daylight, and Ridge leans out behind them, snarling, “Next time, fucking knock!” before he slams the door on their exit.
Then he looks back at me, and the fury on his face melts away as he strides across the room. He comes around the back of the couch, cupping my face in his hands. “Hey, shh. Shh, it’s okay. They’re gone. You’re okay.”
I’m still sucking in air like a drowning victim. I have tunnel-vision now, black edges sneaking in around my eyesight. Even his voice can’t cut through this. I’m going to die of a heart attack, right here on the back of his couch like I’m a damn cat.
“Look at me.” Ridge says gruffly, breaking through the rush of noise in my head. I obey, clutching at his hands which still hold my face. “You’re having a panic attack. What helps you through this?”
What helps?
A part of me recognizes that he knows this is normal for me. He knows I’ve done this before, again and again, my mind attempting to deal with the abuse that’s become a normal part of my existence. And his perceptive gaze lays bare all of my secrets. It strikes me to my core. Someone knows the depth of my scars, and he wants to know what helps me deal with them.
My teeth chatter as I struggle to reply. “W-w-wat-ter.”
He doesn’t say anything else. Suddenly, I’m being lifted in his arms as if I’m just a child. I wrap my own arms around his neck, burying my face in his skin. There’s that scent, the same woodsy pine scent I woke up to. I breathe it in, my tears soaking his t-shirt as he carries me through the house.
I keep my eyes closed and my face against the warmth of his skin, focusing on his scent because somehow it helps with the panic. So I only realize we’re in the bathroom when I hear the snick of a shower curtain being opened. Then Ridge sets me down on my feet on a soft rug.
But I can’t step away.
The thought of moving away from him sends another rush of panic through me, so I cling tighter. I don’t even know quite why, but he’s become my anchor in this storm, and I’m certain that if I lose my hold on him, I’ll drown.
