Page 71 of Niall

ANNA

Ikept waking up, disjointed images and feelings swirling around me. Fear as I opened my eyes. Pain. Fragmented thoughts of being cold, terrified.

But every time I lifted my eyelids, he was there.

Niall.

Reassuring me in his low, rich voice.

Comforting me with his scent and gentle touch.

Watching me with his dark-brown eyes, caring and filled with love.

I was warm, my body cradled by softness and often his arms.

Sometimes I heard music. A sweet, familiar voice singing quietly. Gentle hands holding mine.

Still, I hid in the darkness, too scared to wake completely and find that I had been dreaming.

Until I heard it.

His whisper. His plea.

“Come back to me, mo mhuirnín. I miss you. I need you.”

I slowly opened my eyes, blinking at the light, grimacing at the brightness.

“I turned the light down,” Niall’s voice murmured. “Open your eyes for me.”

I did, his face slowly coming into focus. He looked exhausted. Drawn. Anxious.

And he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

“Niall?”

He cupped my cheek, bending over me. “Mo mhuirnín.” He pressed a kiss to my brow. “Thank God.”

I peered around. I was in a hospital room, machines whirring and beeping. There was a sofa by the window and a large chair beside the bed where Niall had been sitting. Coffee cups were scattered on a table.

He smiled at my confusion. “You’re in a private hospital. We brought you here after—” he swallowed “—after we got you out.”

The whole ordeal rushed back, and my eyes widened, a flood of tears pouring down my cheeks. I gripped his wrists, panicking.

“No, Anna, hush,” he soothed. “You’re safe.” He leaned close. “They are dead. They can’t harm you again. No one will ever harm you again.”

“But he…she… He was alive.”

He pressed his lips to my ear. “I killed him. I made sure of it.”

Something in his voice, his adamant words, made me relax.

“He said a bomb—your car,” I babbled, feeling panicked.

“No. You already said something to Finn, and it’s been checked. We’re all safe, Anna.”

I exhaled a shaky breath, another memory becoming clearer.

“Finn shot her,” I whispered, recalling the closet.