“Rhys!” I push the blanket away.
“Oh great, a little pet I can fuck and torture after I kill you and—” The man looks at me, and his face crumples. “Oh, Man-bun, do you know what you’ve done?”
Rhys doesn’t answer him, just yells, “Get down, baby.”
I hide under the blanket again.
Several chilling thuds, a garbled choke, and then the sound of flesh and bones crunching against a metal blade is the last thing I hear before a final strangled scream.
Seconds pass in silence.
One. Two. Three.
Then a thud on the floor.
When nothing else happens, fear steals my breath. Who… Who died?
Rhys?
If he’s dead, the man who broke in will hurt the plants. Or me. I can defend myself. Not my babies.
A stench, thick and metallic, sticks in my nose. I can taste it in the back of my throat, coppery and bitter, like when I’ve bitten my lip too hard.
I should be afraid. I should be screaming, clawing to get out the window I came in through. But I don’t. I throw off the blanket, not wanting to be that scared girl again.
I sit up and see Rhys standing there, chest heaving, his dark hair dangling and damp with sweat. He’s got one fist clenched like he’s ready for more, the other… There’s a machete in his hand.
Where did he get that?
‘That’s your question? Don’t you see the mangled body?’
“The body, Rose. Right.” No, I won’t look at that, I can’t.
My eyes fix on Rhys instead.
“Oh no,” I squeak.
Covered in blood, he jerks his head around to face me so fast, he’s nearly unsteady. “Fallon.”
Shuddering breaths make me dizzy, and I crumple to the floor. Perhaps I’m not strong enough for this. Strong enough for him.
‘He’s going to get us all killed!’Little Basil cries out.
The blade clangs on his marble countertop, followed by heavy footsteps until Rhys’s face looms above me. With a tight jaw, his eyes have gone as black as the violence I heard. Blood streaks his knuckles, and the splatter colors his forearms.
Killing someone with a machete makes a mess. I put that one in the vault.
“Breathe, Fal.” Rhys crouches low, voice gentler now. “In. Out. You’re all right. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Focus on me. On my voice.”
I obey, toxic air sawing through my lungs. The plants whisper comforting thoughts in my head. I hear their softleaves brushing, their tender voices only I can hear murmuring:
‘He protected you.’
‘He will always save you.’
‘I hope that guy’s not wearing a wire.’
I roll my eyes at Little Basil, ever the pessimist, like his brother.
