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On red alert, I reached for my gun, but Savannah smushed her face into my throat and drew me back down to the mattress.
"It’s Aspen," she said sleepily, as if this were a common occurrence.
Maybe it was.
"Shouldn’t we check on her?"
"She has nightmares. Go to sleep," she whispered.
My hands tightened into fists at the scream that twisted into heart-wrenching sobs, and the promise I’d made Misha morphed into a vow—if he hurt her, I’d do more thanjusthurt him.
In my life, I’d ignored too many of my loved ones’ nightmares.
Not anymore.
