No outlets.
No phone.
I swallow hard. “I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go.”
I hate how my voice cracks.
“There’s nowhere to go. You must trust me,” he pleads in a whisper. “I swear what Donag says is true. The year is 1622. Aye, it sounds mad. I barely believe it myself.”
His lulling tone, that gentle whisper—it’s just wrong.
Animal instinct claws through me, my body moving before my brain can think. I rip at the door. “Let me out!”
My hands tremble, my breath coming in shallow, sharp bursts.
I’m trapped. Callum is an unyielding wall of granite at my back.
“You’re safest here. I’d never hurt you. I swear it.”
My knees buckle, but Callum is there, his body curling around mine. His arm anchoring my arm. His leg bracing my leg.
I shiver at the warmth of it. At the unexpected flash of comfort.
Wrong.
A shriek rips from deep in my gut. I give one last, desperate tug, jerking so hard I think my elbows might dislocate.
He braces harder. “Be calm,” he says, reaching a hand around me.
His palm settles low on my belly, gently pulling me from the door. The touch is so intimate, so unexpected, for a moment, my vision wavers.
No.
My will surges back, stronger than ever.
“Get off me.”
I release a guttural cry, snapping my hips back.
Theoofsound he makes fills me with a flash of satisfaction—but he only wraps his arm more fully around me.
Spooning me against him.
I go still.
For the barest half second, I consider giving up. Surely, there’s an explanation for this insanity. Surely, this isn’t happening.
I could just let go. Sag into him.
Maybe he’d catch me.
But Donag says, “Let her leave.”
Then, louder: “Release her.”
Callum hesitates.
“Please,” he whispers, so piteously. “I only want to help you.”
