28
ROWAN
Flames crawled up the wooden beams of the barn, hungry and alive, crackling and spitting as they swallowed everything I loved. Smoke burned its way down my throat, thick and suffocating, while sparks drifted through the air like rising stars.
The horses were screaming.
High, terrified whinnies that ripped straight through my chest.
“Easy, easy… I’m coming!”
I tried to reach the doors, but the heat pushed me back, the metal latch glowing red beneath my fingers. Inside, the horses slammed against the stalls, their bodies frantic, their eyes wild with fear as their terror took hold.
“Please!” My voice broke.
A beam cracked.
Then another.
The roof groaned.
And then the whole thing collapsed inward in a roaring wave of fire.
Their screaming stopped almost immediately.
I jerked awake with a sharp gasp, my heart pounding violently, my breath coming fast as I tried to ground myself, to remind my brain that it wasn’t real.
There was no fire and no smoke—not here, at least.
Here there was only darkness, warmth, and the feeling of strong arms wrapped around me.
I lay still, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. His chest rose behind me, solid and reassuring, his arm draped protectively over my waist even in sleep.
We were in the safe house.
I slowly relaxed, letting the nightmare slip away, though the ache it left behind lingered like a bruise that might not heal.
Carefully, I turned in his arms, noting that Tex was still asleep.
Even like this, he looked dangerous and frustrated. His jaw was rough with stubble, his brow slightly furrowed like even in sleep he couldn’t fully relax. One hand rested near the gun at his side, like his body instinctively knew to be ready.
I studied him quietly, trying to figure him out.
He was a contradiction, both violent and gentle, gruff and unexpectedly thoughtful. He was a man who could, and would, kill without hesitation, but also a man who would cook dinner and light candles for me.
And the more time I spent with him, the less I understood where I stood.
Because I was feeling things for him. Things I shouldn’t have been feeling. Not with a man like him and definitely not when my life was falling apart.
But the way he held me and the way he looked at me, I had a feeling he felt it too. And somehow, that scared me more than anything else. Because what happened when this was over?
If it ever ended.
If I lived through it.
I didn’t know what the future might hold, and that had never bothered me before, but it did now.
I swallowed, pushing the thoughts aside. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking like that. I needed to focus on staying alive. Focus on figuring out how to help instead of just hiding, because I hated feeling helpless.
