She crouched beside the bed, one hand clutching the leg of the frame, the other pressed to her chest. Her heart beat against her palm like it wanted to flee without her.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
She wasn’t meant for this kind of fear. She wasn’t strong like the women she admired in the novels she read. Or the women who so confidently entered her shop. Calliope’s way had always been toendure. To wait until the storm passed.
But what if this storm didn’t? What if this storm was the very end?
Of her.
Prince.
By blazes,no. She refused to let this be her end! However, her body wouldn’t move. Not even the hand clutching her heart shifted an inch.
Her gaze caught on something beside Prince.
One of the boots she’d tossed aside after she’d settled in for the night.
The image of her slipper popped into her head, and the memory ofhimholding her slipper, casually sliding it into his coat like it belonged there. The memory gave her a reckless sort of courage. She forced her limbs to obey and rose on unsteady legs, crossing space and collected the boot. Not the best of weapons, but she could slam it against the wall that separated her from her neighbor, from him, and hope he heard.
Prince’s growl changed, softer now. Lower.
Not a good sign.
A noise exploded from below. Glass shattering? She stumbled backward, her legs striking the bed frame. What on earth was happening down there? Weren’t intruders stealthier?
Hide. You know how to hide.
Her skin crawled with the thought, the memories it drew to the surface.
Not that way. Not anymore.
She hurried over to the door, plastering herself against the wall beside it, clutching the boot tightly.
And waited.
Prince padded to her side silently, his body pressed close. “Good boy,” she murmured, patting his head.
Footsteps creaked.
So the intruder intended to intrude upstairs as well. She had hoped... never mind. She glanced at Prince. Two against one.
The sound came again. Patient. Steady. Closer.
Calliope pressed her back harder against the wall, clutching the boot like a lifeline. Her entire body was ice and fire—numb, but burning. She had never before fought.
Hide. Be silent. Wait to be spared. Not defend.
But this was her shop.Hers.And Prince...What would happen to him if something happened to her? Nothing! Because she refused to allow anything to happen to her.
No more hiding.
No more freezing.
No more letting the storm swallow her whole.
By blazes—no.
She had come too far to allow her sense of peace to be stolen in such a manner. Fear had always taught her how to endure, how to wait out the storm, how to make herself small until it passed, but this washershop. Her life. And Prince’s. Whatever waited on the other side of that door, she would not greet it hiding in the shadows or frozen in place. She drew in a careful breath and held fast to it, bracing herself.
