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My senses slow to a snail’s pace, and I don’t think, just react. My foot connects with the door, swinging the soft wood inward so hard it thumps against the wall. My kukri is in my grip as I storm into the cabin, sweeping the space for the sign of a threat.
I’m ready for it. Ready to protect, to defend, to teach a lesson to the people who prey on the weak.
Never again.
But where I’m expecting to find a group of invaders, there’s nothing but a kitchenette, a small table, and Sasha sitting up in bed, chest panting, as he scrubs at his eyes.
“L-Lynx?”
I ignore him, looking around, sure that I’ve missed something. I’m still on high alert, entire body slowed and focused, conserving the energy that’s ready to be unleashed.
On … nothing?
Sasha throws his covers off. “I thought you were Antonio!” And with a giant sniff, he launches himself at me.
I brace for an attack, but instead of going for the throat, instead of my machete being in his hand, he slips past the knife I’m holding, and his body smacks against mine.
Arms strangle my waist, too weak to be intended to cause harm, and as Sasha stands there, trembling against me … I have no idea what the hell is going on.
“Where’s the threat?” I get out, still not able to believe that we’re alone in here.
Sasha doesn’t answer, just presses his face against my chest, leaving a wet patch on my shirt.
“Why are you crying?”
“I had a nightmare.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because I’m scared, obviously.”
My eyebrows knit as I lower the kukri. “But it wasn’t real.”
“It doesn’t have to be real to be scary.”
Through murky memories, I remember the nightmares I used to have. The ones that would wake me in a cold sweat, that would make me so nauseous I’d almost throw up. The hopelessness that hollowed out my chest right after.
The difference was that those nightmares actually happened.
“What are you so scared of?”
He shakes his head against my chest. “It doesn’t matter. Just hug me.”
“Hug … you?”
“Yes. Put your arms around me.”
“Why?”
“To comfort me, obviously.”
I blink down at the top of his curls. “What good will that do?”
With a huff, he forcibly pulls my arms around his neck, close to getting himself stabbed in the process. “Now, squeeze.”
“Squeeze?”
“Just do it.”
