9
Chiara
Dogs bark in the distance, but I don’t open my eyes. I can’t figure out what’s going on, but I’m no longer freezing to death, and that’s all that matters. My cheek rests against a slab of muscle. Whoever this is, they smell fucking amazing. Of pepper and musk.
I feel safe and cared for.
An irritating voice in my head keeps prodding me to open my eyes, but I ignore it. Surely, I reason, if this person cradling me like I might break wants to hurt me, they’d have tossed me onto the floor by now.
I’m jostled around as the man hands me over to someone else temporarily, and then I hear more voices. Lilting Irish voices.
The voices get louder, and there’s some kind of argument, so I crack open my eyelids. It’s a tortuous process. They feel like they’re glued together with something sticky. In fact, all of me feels gross. And I can smell blood.
“Fuck, Ronan, did you really have to string up those men from trees?”
“What? It’s an art installation.” The second man huffs while the first looks pissed. Then he notices me watching.
“Little rabbit’s awake.”
The phrase little rabbit has me tensing. It’s a reminder of the hunters. Fuck, is this guy one of them? I peer at him, but his beard is black, and he has a skull mask pulled up over his messy hair. He’s also fucking huge. Way bigger than the men I saw back at Castle Dracula.
“Let’s go.” I’m gently lifted and deposited on someone’s lap.Kane. He holds me tight while the other man who held me climbs in next to him. For the first time, I focus on his face, and then I freeze.
Angelo stares down at me as the engine roars to life and we bump along a rutted track.
“You’re safe now,” he tells me. I blink. Is this a dream? Am I stuck out in the forest, hallucinating because I’m dying from the cold? I’m pretty sure it can happen when a person’s body temperature gets too low.
“You’re real?”
“Yes, princess. I came for you.”
“Wecame for you,” Kane mutters.
“We broke the game!” chuckles a manic Irish voice from the front seat. “Fuck Panem!”
Now I’m confused.Panem?
The car speeds up as we reach an actual road. Snow buffets the car windows, but in here, I’m warm and snug.
I close my eyes.
Water cascades over me. Hot water. Each droplet stings my chilled skin, but I welcome the heat. It reminds me I’m safe.
Gentle hands massage shampoo into my tangled hair as the water runs down the plughole, pink, stained with the man I stabbed a million times. Honestly, I have no regrets about that. He was a rapist bastard who deserved it.
I’m still wearing panties and a bra. I don’t care about being naked with Kane, but surprisingly, it’s not Kane cleaning me like he cares about my safety.
No, it’s my husband.
He’s being very careful not to cross any lines. Under different circumstances, I’d have punched him, but I can’t summon the energy. The trauma of recent events has wiped me out, physically and emotionally. I don’t have the spoons to kick off.
He’s still dressed. The long-sleeve tactical top he wears molds every delicious dip and plane on his body. Not that I’m checking him out. No, not at all.
Another set of hands scoops me from the shower and wraps me in a thick, fluffy towel. Kane carries me into a small bedroom and places me onto a soft bed covered in a quilt. Floral paper covers the walls. There are matching flower-patterned drapes, and paintings of roses in vases hang on the walls.
It’s…very floral.
Kane catches my horrified expression and smirks. “It’s a rental. Declan made a last-minute booking for us. He needs a couple of days to sort you a new passport.”
