Her lips part, just slightly, and I see her breath catch. See the exact moment recognition hits. See fear chase hatred across her face.
My pulse kicks up, and my hands curl into fists.
She doesn't look away fast enough. Her lips part, and her pupils dilate… just for a second—a flash—before the fear slams back into place. But I saw it. That flicker of want. I've spent ten years imagining what fear looks like on Erin Kavanagh's face. I know every expression she's capable of. And that wasn't just fear.
I start walking toward her. She can answer my questions or run. I almosthopeshe runs. I hope she?—
The explosion tears through the silence like a goddamn scream of a banshee. One second, we’re standing under the gray winter sky; the next, it’s fire, noise, and chaos.
A blast punches through my chest like an open palm. The light is blinding, first white, then orange, devouring all color from the world. The ground jumps beneath my feet. People scream.
I hit the dirt hard, knees scraping gravel, ears ringing like a struck bell. Copper taste floods my mouth—I bit my tongue. Smoke burns my throat.
Jesus, Mary, and holy fuckin’ Joseph, someone bombed the lot of us.
My first thought:my family. My second thought:Erin.
Fuck. Why her? Of all the people here, why is my brain looking for her? I don't even like the bitch.
I don’t have time to question it—my body's already moving, eyes cutting through smoke and chaos before my brain catches up. Looking for that black coat, that blonde hair I've wanted to yank since we were kids. She’s gone.
Fucking instinct. Fucking Malachy drilling protection into my skull since I could walk.Protect the family. Protect the weak. Even when the weak is a stuck-up bitch.
My hands ball into fists. My jaw locks so hard my teeth ache. Shouts blur with sobs, and the sharp, metallic scent of blood fills the air as I lurch to my feet. The gravel tears at my palms when I push myself up. Smoke chokes the air, thick and acrid. Bodies everywhere—some moving, some not. Screams. Sirens in the distance.
I should leave her. Let her family find her. Let someone else play hero.
My feet are already moving.
Fucking hell.
I vault over a toppled headstone and sprint toward the angel statue where she was kneeling.
But she’s vanished. Didshehave anything to do with this?Goddamn.If her father put her?—
And then I see her—bent over on the ground, crumpled and unconscious, lying in the shadow of the angel statue. My rage dissipates.
“Erin.” I drop to my knees beside her, my hands hovering. I don’t know where to touch her. If she’s hurt. If she’s…
She moves. A small flinch, then her hand comes up to her head.
“Easy.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “Easy, lass. Don’t move yet.”
Her eyes flutter open. Unfocused. Dazed.
There’s blood trickling from her ear.
Fuck.
“Can you hear me?” I lean closer. “Erin. Can you hear me?”
Her lips move, but no sound comes out. Her pupils are blown wide. I can see myself reflected in them—blood on my face, dirt in my hair. I look like the monster she always thought I was.
Then recognition hits, and her eyes go wide. She tries to pull away.
“Don't.” I catch her shoulders, gripping hard enough to keep her still. “You might be hurt, and I don't fancy carrying your dead weight out of here.”
She’s shaking, her whole body trembling under my hands.
