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He closed his eyes. “Think you’re smart, don’t you?”
Her laugh was light. “I’m not just a pretty face.”
“No, you’re much more than that,” he muttered. There was a reason why subs—and Doms—gathered around her like chicks under a broody hen. She was the epitome of comfort and wisdom…well, unless she was in Mistress mode. “There won’t be any cutting and running. I’m in this for the long haul.”
He swore he could feel the Mistress’ smug smile radiating down the phone line, see those lips of her curve devilishly. Damn woman was as smart as any lash off Jasper’s wicked sjambok.
He cast his gaze back to the bed, noting the lines of the blanket had shifted while he was talking. Natural movement as Caera slept, or possibly something more sinister, like the first stirrings of the nightmares.
With the phone to his ear, he rose and wandered over as Connie said something that was more buzzing than words, watching Caera’s hands and legs. Her breathing had changed, coming faster, strenuously. “Connie, I gotta go. It’s starting.”
Luckily, she didn’t need any further explanation, wishing him luck before ending the call.
Saul crawled onto his side of the huge bed, staying on his knees as he said Caera’s name and wobbled her shoulder. He’d learned that it usually took a few times to rouse her this way, but it was the gentlest. It didn’t shock her awake the way a slap did, and he was loath to raise his hand to her in violence, even for this.
He shook her again, just a few seconds later, but the jerky movements of her fingers told him she was deeper than he’d thought. Another shake, harder, more insistent, with no response.
“Fuck.” Taking both slim shoulders in his grasp, he damn near bounced her upper half off the mattress. Her panicked whine made his throat tighten. Her distress echoed in him, bringing back that horrible sense of helplessness. “Caera, you don’t belong there. I’m here, waiting for you.”
Her body spasmed. One brutal snap of her muscles as though a jolt of electricity passed through her, sharp and swift. She started babbling nonsense, her voice that of a child’s, so high-pitched and fearful it broke his heart and scattered the pieces far and wide.
He tried everything—more frantic shaking, shouting at her until his vocal cords strained with his efforts. Stooping several levels, he resorted to slapping her, hating himself every time his palm connected with her cheek.
The babbling continued, the octave rising.
Her eyes popped open, wide and vacant.
Cursing the monsters who’d done this to her, Saul did the last thing he could think of. The one tactic he’d never imagined having to use. Clenching his jaw until his teeth ached, he covered her mouth with his palm, pinching her nose closed with his thumb and forefinger.
Dangerous. Such a fucking dangerous game to play, but he wasn’t playing.
He needed to win.
Pressing the fingertips of his other hand to the pulse point throbbing madly in her throat, he monitored her heartbeat.
“Come on, little rabbit. Realize you need air. Snap out of the nightmare and realize you need to fucking breathe.” He felt her chest lurch as she tried to suck in a breath, despising himself as he held on despite her instinctive attempts to wrest herself free. “Wake up, goddamn it!”
Her arms flailed, the slim length of her twisting pitifully to dislodge him, but he couldn’t let go. Not until she woke, or her life was in danger. Beneath his fingertips, her pulse picked up speed as she struggled, then turned sluggish.
The moment her eyes cleared, fear flashing in the green depths, he yanked his hand away as though his skin was burned. Carefully, he eased her upright as she wheezed in a breath, gulping down air with noisy exhales.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He pulled her into his chest, stroking her back as she shuddered fitfully. Her shirt was damp, the panic sweat already cold.
“It’s okay. I’m okay.” She nuzzled her face against his shoulder, finally taking a slow, measured breath. “Guess it must have been a bad one if you had to smother me, right?”
“Jesus, don’t joke about it, Caera.”
“Why not? If I don’t laugh, I’ll just cry.” Her hands gripped his waist, kneading firmly as though testing he was real. “If I have a choice between you stealing the air from my lungs or spiraling into hell, I’d rather be breathless. Every goddamn time.”
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Chapter Six
Monday came around too quickly, leaving Friday’s stressful episode—and their quiet movie night with homemade pizza—to be a distant memory.
Saturday had been tense, once Saul saw the faint bruises around her mouth and nose from where his hand had cut off her air, and the ones on her cheek where he’d slapped her. He’d gotten broody and, after ensuring she ate enough breakfast to make her sink if she stepped in a puddle, had closeted himself away in the office under the guise of work.
Caera didn’t care about the bruises. Part of her warned her to be careful, but the other part understood that he’d done what he felt necessary, and under the circumstances…well, she agreed with him.
