With a violent jerk and a terrified gasp, I sit up so fast the room lurches sideways. My eyes feel wide as I take in the dimly lit living room of my cozy little cottage.
Wait, I’m home?
Why does that surprise me?
Someone clears their throat.
I twist—and white-hot pain tears through my neck.
A jagged scream rips free, dragging fire and razor blades up my throat.
Then suddenly … warmth.
Comforting cinnamon and pine, and a body beside me.
The warm body stiffens, but something else shifts too, something softer. A tendril of shadow flickers across my shoulder, a whisper of movement, like it’s checking for damage.
Right. Cool. Sentient shadows doing a wellness check.
Love that for me. Definitely no trauma here.
When he moves, the sensation vanishes.
My mind is so fucked. Has to be my imagination … right?
“Aurora. Are you … okay? Do you remember anything? Do you remember what happened?” the male voice from earlier asks.
To avoid turning my head, I shift my eyes toward the voice.
Ezra?
What the hell is he doing here? I told him to stay away from me.
But then the memories from this evening consume me, and I tremble so violently my joints scream and my body cracks along every place Jameson touched.
The memories hit in jagged flashes—his hands, his breath, that cruel fucking laugh.
I can’t breathe.
Heat floods behind my eyes, the edges of the room starting to blur.
A broken sob shatters my throat. Then strong arms wrap around me, anchoring me in a world that’s spinning too fast.
But my body recoils before my mind can catch up.
Fuck being touched.
Ezra lets go instantly, tension thrumming through him.
Something lingers, though. Not him. Not his hands. Just the air, humming with restraint, like a second set of arms hesitating.
I exhale, and the sensation dissolves, nothing left behind except the echo of where it touched.
But the trembling only gets worse. Why am I so fucking cold? When my eyes meet his, silently pleading for something I can’t ask for, he seems to understand and pulls me close again, wrapping around me like he can quiet the static crackling through my bones.
I press my face into Ezra’s shoulder, sobbing into what is very clearly an expensive grey cashmere sweater.
Fantastic. Tears, blood, and trauma mucus all over his beautiful Todd & Duncan.
