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I cowered, turning my face against Tamson’s chest and inhaling his sweet scent. It was different than Ryder’s or Calax’s. Something sweeter, like the man himself. I could relish in the pungent, yet wonderful, smell.

I didn’t ask for much. Hell, I didn’t even want much. But I could have this, right?

Right?

Just as that thought occured to me, the bathroom door banged against the wall. Tamson tensed, his muscles flexing beneath me. I heard a boisterous laugh followed by a slur of curse words.

I held my breath, waiting.

One.

Two.

Three.

It was a trick my old therapist taught me: hold your breath when you’re anxious or scared. Apparently, it had calming qualities. I didn’t know for certain if I agreed with that, but just then, it seemed applicable.

My teeth bit down on my lip so tightly that I tasted blood.

Why was he here?

How did he know?

I told myself that it was merely a coincidence. Maybe he needed to take a piss. Guys pissed. My days as Lil’ One Punch taught me as much. Maybe he had a baby that needed a diaper change. Thousands of scenarios danced through my head, each one more gruesome than the last. The general consensus was death. Death for me, and Tamson.

He paused right outside of our stall. I could see his thick, black boots poking through the tiny crack in the bottom of the door. My heart was racing, erratic butterfly wings pattering against my ribcage and demanding release.

For a moment, the man didn’t speak. He just stood there, his presence as ominous and heavy as if he had been screaming. Finally, after the tension was thick enough to cut through with a knife, he spoke.

“I know you’re in there.”

Tamson remained silent, but I felt his body shifting slightly to push me behind him. I was no longer wearing the baseball cap that hid my true identity as a female. Instead, my brown locks hung untamed down my back. I remembered Elena’s words from earlier.

The world was a dangerous place for a woman, now more so than ever.

I tried to channel my inner warrior, but I was scared. And, to be frank, Iwasn’ta fighter. I couldn’t kick ass, no matter how much I wished differently. Instead, I had to rely on Tamson and the small dagger resting heavily in my waistband.

Stab with the pointy end.

Shouldn’t be too hard.

“Are you going to come out?” the man thundered, and I flinched instinctively. The power he displayed seemed to innately command my respect. It was such a contrast to Fallon’s quiet demeanor or even Ryder’s eccentric presence. This was a man who knew what his place was in the world and demanded to be treated as such. “Or do I have to come in?”

* * *

Declan

The dream started off as it always did. My eyes fluttering open and facing a room with stark white walls and an overwhelming aroma of bleach. I glanced to the tiny needle protruding from my skin, leading towards a long tube. The heart monitor screen showed a steady rhythm of waves, yet no sound emitted. No beep beep beep that would normally drive me insane.

The room was utterly silent. Even with the opened door, I couldn’t hear any excess noise drifting from the hallway.

Numerous flowers adorned the windowsill, a sort of demented offering. My brows furrowed, and my frown deepened. I hated flowers. The false condolences they evoked. People sent flowers to act like they gave a damn.

It was comical, really. Only one person actually gave a shit about me. At the thought, I sat up further and glanced from the cracked-opened doorway to the garden of picked and artificial flowers. I strained to read the names, but none of them were familiar. Hell, one was from an Aunt Laura that I had never met before.

And where were my parents?

My thoughts were interrupted by a figure moving in my peripheral vision. I turned, startled, to see a familiar man. His salt and peppered hair was cut short, heightening an arresting face made of chiseled bones and dark eyes. Those eyes were currently trained on me, as if his mere gaze was capable of physically penetrating my skin. I gulped at the intensity. This man was someone who was born to be feared.

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