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The dog was heading in the direction of Iris’s car, which gave him hope. The rain was getting so bad he could barely see five feet in front of him, and he worried that they could walk right past her and not catch so much as a glimpse of her.
“Iris!”
He would never forgive himself if something happened to her. She could die out here. Get lost never to be found again. He couldn’t live with that.
They’d been walking for nearly half an hour and the pre-dawn sky was starting to lighten. It was, thankfully, becoming easier to see. Luna abruptly veered away from the path that would take them to the car and headed in the direction of the river instead.
The river which had been little more than a stream when Trystan had first arrived, but was now a raging, roiling, furious force of nature.
Trystan heard it before he saw it, the whooshing roar of the turbulent waters. But when he took the turn that would bring the river in sight, his blood froze in his veins.
There she stood, right on the verge of that murky, gray, fast-moving, angry beast. God, she looked so tiny standing there, a fragile little thing wearing too few layers, and a jacket that was nowhere near waterproof enough for this weather.
She was too close to the water—the bank was muddy, unstable—all it would take was one misstep to send her tumbling into that mess of tree trunks, branches, and other debris. She would be swallowed up, and she would disappear immediately and be forever lost.
All that vibrant energy. That wide, beautiful, slightly naughty smile, that delightful high-pitched giggle, the irreverent sense of humor. Her annoying, insatiable curiosity. Her talent, her beauty, her pure, bright light—it would all be snuffed out in one terrible instant.
“Iris, please!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with fear. “Get back!”
She didn’t—couldn’t—hear him above the noise of the river. She shifted from foot to foot and even from this distance he could see her anxiety.
She wanted to cross—she was clearly desperate to cross—and he worried that the same illogical fear that had sent her fleeing into the darkness and the storm would drive her to attempt it.
“Iris, baby, please, step back. Oh God…” The last emerged on a terrified whimper. If she decided to go, he’d never get to her in time. Horror and fear, like living panicked things, clawed at his throat, setting off his gag reflex.
Images of Trish Nesbitt’s cold, bloodied, and lifeless face moments after the accident that had claimed her life flashed through his head.
Not Iris. Never iris. He couldn’t fucking stand it.
“Luna. Sit. Stay.” He didn’t check to see if the dog obeyed, but he was confident her training would kick in and she would sit and wait for them.
He zigzagged down the embankment, half-stumbling, half-running and losing his balance in the mud several times to land on his hands and knees. Each time, he pushed himself back up and continued resolutely forward. He was desperate to reach her, and get her back to warmth and safety.
It felt like forever, during which he prayed to every god he could think of to keep her safe for him. Just until he could reach her and take over the job from them.
He sobbed in relief when he finally got near enough to close his hands around her elbows and wrench her back from the river.
He felt her body tensing in shock at his unexpected touch and—once he’d dragged her a safe distance from the water’s edge—he whirled her around and closed his arms around her trembling body.
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything more than hold her close, one hand tightly fisted in her wet curls, and the other clamped around her waist.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he gasped when he finally found his voice. “I’ve got you. You’re okay, Iris.”
She was shaking violently, her small hands fisted against his chest. He lifted his head to peer into her pale, terrified face.
“Trystan. N-No! Please. I can’t… I can’t go back. Please don’t make me go back—” The abject terror in her eyes broke him. How had he not seen this before? How could he have been so blind and indifferent to such absolute, raw fear.
“It’s okay, sweet.” His voice was hoarse with emotion, and shaking in reaction to her severe distress. His hand left her hair to palm her cheek and she flinched away from him, which just about tore his heart from his chest. “You don’t have to be afraid, okay? I swear to God, Iris, you never have to be afraid again. I promise you that. But we have to go back. We need to get you home and warm, okay? We’ll talk later.”
He wasn’t sure she could hear him above the noise from the river and the rain, and even if she had heard him, he wasn’t entirely certain she was able to understand him right now. She looked like she was in shock, her mental and emotional state altered. He doubted very much she was able to form a coherent thought.
Trystan was consumed by the urgent need to get her out of the rain, warm, dry, safe… her well-being was inextricably linked to his right now.
She pushed at his chest, straining her body toward the river.
“I have to go. Please, let me go. I have to leave. I’ll go to town, I’ll be fine.”
That she actively fought him in her desperation to cross that deadly river, rather than return to a locked room, spoke volumes. There was no faking this level of fear. Trystan had effectively been torturing this sweet, vibrant woman every time he’d turned the key in that door. And he wasn’t sure how to cope with that knowledge. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to forgive himself for that.
