Page 3 of Resurgent

“She didn't come back to my room, and she didn’t send her text."

My hesitation must show, because he swears under his breath and tries again, faster this time.

“We had Vanguard land navigation today and were split up into teams. Normally, I would hear from her once she got back if she wasn't already in my room, but she didn’t text me. I didn’t read too much into it for a bit, but then they said everyone made it back. Everyone.

"She should be getting ready for graduation, but she hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts."

His chest heaves. “We have this thing—when she’s out somewhere and we’re not together, she texts me the second she gets where she’s going. Every time. She didn’t send it.”

“Are you saying she checks in with you anytime she’s not with you?” I can’t hide the incredulity in my tone, “And are you sure she isn’t in her room taking a nap or showering or something and forgot to message you?”

“I’m not a fucking idiot. I broke into her room as soon as I got worried. And yes, she checks in, but not like you’re thinking. I'll explain whatever you want—just help me keep looking.”

“Yeah, let’s move.”

We spread out to cover more ground, but stay within earshot.

“Have you checked with her dragon? And what made you come this way?”

“Tyr is out hunting, and my dragon and I haven’t bonded yet, so I can’t have her talk to him. But this was the direction I saw her team head on the ATV this morning.”

“I asked my bonded to call for Tyr, maybe he’ll know something. Who was on her team?”

“Platt and Web. But it was weird from the start. Renwick looked surprised they were together even though she makes the teams, but she didn’t look into it. I didn’t think about it either until I realized she's missing. Kael said her group was checked in, but I’m telling you, she isn’t here.”

“Is it possible her phone broke during land navigation? Maybe she couldn’t—?”

“You don’t get it!” he shouts, voice cracking. “If that happened, she would have come to find me. She would have found a way to tell me she was safe.”

“You’ve said that before,” I answer, forcing myself to sound gentler. “What am I not getting, Matt? Tell me.”

He drags a hand over his face, the internal battle so painfully evident. When he speaks, the words sound like they’re costing him everything.

“Her dad is a real piece of shit,” he starts. “I can’t tell you how many of her bones he’s broken or how many times he's hurt her so bad that as I held her, I prayed to the gods, begging for her to just keep breathing. To make it through the night.

“She didn’t tell me every time it happened. I know she didn’t." His jaw clenches. "But even still, I was at her house helping her patch up her injuries more nights than I was ever at my own damn house.” His voice drops to a whisper, “Gods. I’ve seen her barely conscious, crawling through broken glass from the bottles he’d smashed against her head, trying to get to me."

His breath catches. "If there were any way for her to get to me after class today, she would have found it. She would have come to me.”

For a long moment, I can’t speak.

Then, finally, “Matt…why didn’t anyone report him?”

“She did,” his laugh is cold and humorless. “Three times. And wouldn't you know? All three reports disappeared. Poof. Gone. Sheriff Corvin has friends in every office. Doctors saw the reports—on the rare occasions he let her be treated—and they looked the other way."

His voice hardens, rage bleeding through the cracks. “Even my own fucking dad—and his buddies—chose their boss over doing their jobs. Over protecting a child and arresting the monster.

“I kept watch every night I could," he goes on, quieter, but no less intense. "In case he came for her in her sleep. I learned how to set broken bones and wrap cracked ribs before I learned how to shave. But she survived because she refused to ever stop fighting.”

He wipes his face with the back of his hand, breath hitching as we climb over a fallen tree.

“So, when I tell you that she would have come to me if she could have,” his voice catches, and I hold my breath, hanging on his every word, “I’m not guessing. I’m telling you. If she’s not here, if she’s not answering, if she’s not dragging herself into my line of sight…

“Something is wrong…So fucking horribly wrong.”

Suddenly, everything clicks.

His reaction months ago finally makes sense. His protective rage, his carnal need to tear me apart for hurting her—all of it born from years of watching someone he loves fight to survive.