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It wasn’t the wind, though. It was Death. And Death swooped down on her father, fangs bared, face twisted with malice.
“Nothing you can do little girl. Nothing at all.”
She wanted to fight, to pound, to kill, but all she could do was stand there, feet planted, body cold. Death rippled and changed. First Stemmons. Then something faceless and formless. Something that latched onto her father’s neck, releasing a fountain of blood. Warm and sticky, the liquid poured over her, and Sara did the only thing she could do—
She screamed and screamed and screamed and—
“Sara!”
Gentle hands. Holding her close. Murmuring her name.
“Wake up, Sara. It’s a nightmare. A dream. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Luke?
She knew that voice. Knew that touch, and without thinking, she clung to him, pressing her face into his solid chest, losing herself in the strength he offered.
Luke was there.
She was safe.
* * *
“Sara, hush. Hush, it’s safe. You’re safe.” Her hands fisted in the thin cotton of his shirt, her body heaving as she sucked in air, growing calmer as he whispered soft words, even as he wanted to lash out in impotent fury at whatever horrible thing inhabited her dreams.
Remnants of sleep clung to her as he stroked her back, her hair, every touch sweet torture. The scent of fear that had engulfed her was fading, replaced now with comfort and faint tendrils of desire, and he knew it would be easy—so easy—to take exactly what he desired most.Sara.
His body thrummed with the knowledge that he could have her, the allure all the more powerful because he knew that she still wanted him. Wanted his touch, his caress. Wanted to forget the nightmare from which she’d awakened and lose herself instead in pure sensual pleasure.
So easy.
He couldn’t have planned it any better if he’d tried. Yet he hesitated, wanting to savor this moment, this one snapshot in time where she was once again with him, without guile or pretense, but because in his arms was where she wanted to be.
Her hands relaxed, her palms splaying out across his chest, her fingertips brushing bare skin where he’d ripped the shirt down the middle in his cell. The shock of her touch sent ripples of pleasure through him, and he tensed, fighting the urge to thrust her back onto the mattress and claim her mouth with his, not because that was what he had planned to do, but because right then he would go utterly mad if he couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t taste her. Couldn’t lose himself inside her and pretend that nothing else existed and it was simply Luke and Sara, and screw all the rest of it.
“Luke…” Her voice, soft and dreamy, teased his senses. She nuzzled close, sighing, and something he identified as happiness bubbled up inside him, only to burst as she pulled back, the sweet fragrance of desire drowned out by the bitter stench of fear.
Her fingers, once soft, hardened as they shoved him away, and she scrambled backward until she was crouched on her pillow, the panic box from her bedside table now tight in her hand. The hem of her T-shirt barely covered her, and he could see her bare thighs, muscles tense and ready to leap.
She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling in an effort to control her fear, and he held up a steadying hand, hoping to calm her down.
“Sara.”
“No,” she whispered, and right then he knew that he would have preferred that she scream at him. A scream was anger and rage. But this soft whisper held disappointment. And fear.
This time, the fear was directed at him, and the knowledge that he was the thing that now made her cower was almost enough to make him forget his mission and leave.
Except Luke never walked away from a mission.
More than that, though, he couldn’t bear the thought that she was afraid of him. Whatever else there was between them, he didn’t want it to be that.
“Why are you here?”
He needed to move closer, to try to calm her. Needed to do all those things he’d planned before he’d stepped into her apartment.
He stood up, determined to do exactly that, yet somehow unable to find the will to take the first step. In front of him, he caught a glimpse of red and looked down to see a dozen tulips dumped carelessly into her wastebasket.
In his long life, he’d suffered many an injury, and yet none cut so deep as the knife that Sara had just thrust into his heart. He bent to pull out a flower, then caressed the soft petal with his thumb.
