Dane’s arms tense around me, but his hold remains gentle. “What did this shadow do to you?”
I draw in a shuddering breath. “Nothing. He just scared me. And there was…”
My stomach twists violently at the thought of the anguished child.
Dane strokes my hair and waits for me to continue.
After several sickening seconds, I manage, “There was a little girl. She was desperate for my help, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t save her.” Then I force myself to admit, “She scares me more than the man.”
Dane freezes, his hand stilling in my hair.
When he finally speaks, the words are so gravelly that they’re barely intelligible. “What did she look like?”
“Me,” I say, voice small. “She looked like me.”
Dane remains unnervingly still, and although his jaw works, he doesn’t make a sound.
His distress shreds me. I reach out and trace the taut line of his anvil-hard jaw.
“It was just a nightmare,” I reassure him. “I’m safe with you.”
He draws in a deep breath and resumes stroking my hair, but his eyes are still dark with an emotion I can’t name.
“You are,” he swears. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here for the rest of the night.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, brushing my fingertips over his furrowed brow.
He turns his face into me and captures my hand so that he can kiss my palm. “I’m fine, my sweet Abigail. Don’t worry about me. Sleep, little dove.”
Exhaustion saps me all the way to my bones, and his tender touch soothes me like nothing else. I close my eyes and am dragged back down into sleep in a matter of minutes, completely wrung out from the night terror.
As long as Dane is holding me, nothing bad can touch me.
63
ABIGAIL
Ispin around the empty room, arms outstretched to encompass the space. “It’s perfect!”
“I’m glad you’re satisfied with it,” Dane says, voice rumbling with mirth at my shenanigans.
I shake my new set of keys so that they jangle, making a happy song to go with the little dance I can’t resist.
“Satisfied?” I repeat. “This is my dream come true! My own gallery. I can’t believe it.”
“You deserve it,” he says, tone dropping to something deeper and more serious. “The world needs your art.”
I beam at him and bound into his arms. He catches me, and then we’re both spinning. My delighted laugh echoes through the empty space, bouncing off the blank walls that will soon display my paintings.
It’s surreal. This seemed impossible only a few months ago.
But Dane believes in me. No one has ever believed in my art like he does.
Not even me.
But now, when I see him studying my paintings like they’re altering his entire worldview, I dare to think that I can actually succeed at this.
“I’ll pay you back as soon as I can,” I say breathlessly when I finally stop laughing.
