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More anguish sears through me, and I gag, the bunching and flexing of my stomach muscles only making it worse as he drags me back to the room I woke in.
He shoves me inside, slams the door closed, and throws the lock. The sound of it clicking into place echoes through the almost empty space.
Agony sears through me so hot and so intense that I can’t even cry.
Something that sounds an awful lot like gunfire erupts from somewhere above, followed by rushing footsteps pounding on the floor.
A moment of eerie silence follows before a scream and another round of gunfire.
More heavy footsteps.
I track them the best I can with my vision blurred by the blood and every movement of my head causing it to spin.
They move down the steps.
Coming toward me.
I try to crawl behind the bed, to give myself the benefit of the only protection the room offers, but I only manage to move a few inches through pain so intense it continues to make me gag and dry heave on the cold concrete.
Something slams into the door, and it flies wide, pieces splintering off and scattering through the room.
I cry out, raising my arms to protect myself, cowering as best I can.
“Beauty…”
That voice.
That single word.
They stall my heart and draw my gaze toward the open jamb and Weston.
His black eyes blaze with unadulterated rage, chest heaving, blood soaked, his shirt pulled taut across the muscle.
One hand clutches his axe.
He looks exactly like a madman straight out of Hell.
But all I can see is my salvation.
Chapter Seventeen
WESTON
My fingers catch in her hair as I try to thread them through it, stuck in the sticky, drying blood from the small cut at her temple. She shifts slightly against me, curled up in the passenger seat with her head resting on my lap like it has been for the past several hours on the drive back to the house.
Short of taking a few minutes to check Callista over to ensure she didn’t have any broken bones or serious injuries that would necessitate us detouring to a hospital, I wasn’t going to stop for anything.
We have to get back to the mountain.
It’s the only place I have any control, the only place I can truly protect her from what I just saved her from.
God knows they’ll come for her again.
And it’s all my fault.
Guilt claws at my chest, attempting to tear me wide open with each mile we drive. Even that sweet honey scent filling the truck cab and her in my arms aren’t enough to quell the tempest building inside.
By the time we reach the house under the pale moonlight starting to filter in through the dissipating clouds, my entire body vibrates with pent-up rage, frustration, anger, and worry—all of it threatening to consume me completely.
