“There!” Fran shouts. “Right there!” She turns to face me as another explosion goes off right beside us. Flames leap up around us, and in a split second, I see a large beam from the ceiling engulfed in flames, teetering right above Fran.
“Fran! Watch out.” I dive for her, knocking her to the ground, just as the enormous, flame-riddled beam topples. Fran shrieks, something hits the back of my head, and my world goes dark.
Mumbled words,fingers entwined with mine. A kiss to my cheek and a soft touch.
Dreams, nightmares, devastation, and pain.
A cool cloth. A soft, velvety voice. Fingers in my hair, brushing it off my forehead.
Words from a familiar voice I can’t place. Crying. Islan? Fran.
And then one morning, I wake, my eyes so heavy I can barely open them. They feel as if they’ve been glued in place, and it angers me I can’t do the simplest task of opening my bloody eyes.
Finally, one. The lid feels heavy and sandpapery, my vision blurred. I settle for just one eye open as the other seems too difficult. I see a pretty little lassie bent over my bed, and realize she’s holding my hand.
“Fran?” My voice is rough and ragged, but it gets her attention. Her head whips up, her eyes bright.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “You’re awake.”
I close my eye and release a pained chuckle. “Barely.”
“But I’ll take it. Oh my God, Tate, I’ll take it.”
I lift her fingers to my mouth and give her a weak kiss.
“What happened?”
And she tells me everything, while my eyes are still closed. I nod so she knows I’m listening.
She tells me there was an explosion and a massive fire at the warehouse. I shake my head, still not able to open my eyes.
“Survivors?”
“Nearly everyone,” she says quietly. “Keenan lost one of his newer recruits. The Welsh were taken into Keenan’s custody, but I believe rumor has it they’re presumed dead.” She leans in. “They aren’t dead, but Keenan felt it convenient to allow that rumor to circulate for now.”
I nod. I’d have done the same. I don’t bother to ask her how she knows all this. By now I’ve gathered that she has her methods.
I sigh and shake my head.
“Islan?”
“She’s fine,” she says vehemently. Her voice lowers. “And I know Keenan brought her man in for questioning.”
Her man.
Bloody hell, do I have questions.
“Where am I?”
“Keenan’s private rooms, his private doctor taking care of you.”
I nod. “Sebastian.”
“Aye.”
She squeezes my hand, and her eyes grow moist. “Thought we lost you, Tate. You were hurt so badly.”
I look down at my body, half-expecting to find it mangled and bruised, but all I see is bandages and an IV.
