Page 8 of Don’t Let Him In

What—

How?

They can’t be gone.

My heartbeat patters out. The low churn of wind dulling in my ears as it moves through the branches, a twig snapping somewhere off to my right. I whip around, a pulse jumping in my throat. Black specks eclipse my vision. There’s not a flicker of movement in sight.

A thin crawl traces the back of my neck. I jerk, slapping it away, my shoulders hitching hard as I break into a run.

Leaves rush overhead, the winds nipping at me, pushing and pulling until my footing slips, the ground tilting. My pupils blow wide as I lurch forward, a strangled shout ripping out of me as I tumble down the sharp incline.

Something sharp jabs my shoulders, then my back before a cracking jolt slams through my head. A splintered gasp leaves from my throat, my lungs filling with dirt and debris before the world collapses into complete darkness.

My fingers twitch against damp soil. The feeling is distant at first, like my body belongs to someone else. My head throbs. I try to move, but nothing follows. A slurred cry slips from my throat.

When I force my eyes open, I wince, my spine arching as pain flares to life. I’m lying in a ditch, stagnant water pooled around me, seeping into my hair and clothes. Mud cakes my palms as I push myself upright, air hissing between my teeth.

Blinking hard, I turn my head, easing the strain in my neck. Off to the side, my phone and car keys lie scattered among the gravel, just inches from the shallow puddle I fell into.

Pain lances through my ribs as I lean on them, my nose wrinkling. I tip my head back and squint toward the dark opening above.

Steeper than I’d expected. But not too bad.

I glance down at myself. My shirt is streaked with mud and grime, the tears in my fishnets pulled wider from the fall. I could’ve really used pockets right about now.

Muttering a quick prayer under my breath, I toss the phone and keys up over the edge. They land somewhere above with a soft, distant thud.

Great.

Now I just need to haul myself out.

That shouldn’t be too difficult.

Moisture slicks my palms—sweat or puddle water, I can’t tell—and I wipe them against my shirt, rolling my shoulders back as I take in the narrow stretch of sky. My eyes catch on a rooted branch near the edge, half lifted from the ground. Something I can latch onto.

Alright…good. I can do this.

I back up, keeping my eyes fixed on top until my heels dig into the packed dirt behind me. Bending low, I brace myself.

The rooted branch juts from the edge. I lunge for it and haul myself up, muscles knotting with the effort. Teeth grit as I pull, dragging myself higher.

Something shifts above me.

My eyes snap up.

Muddied boots step into view at the edge, inches from my blanching knuckles. Not Dax’s.

A scream rips out of me, scraping raw in my throat.

My fingers slip. My stomach drops as I prepare for another fall. And then⁠—

A large hand clamps around mine.

Firm. Steady.

A lifeline. I cling to it, eyes squeezed shut as I silently plead for help. Every sense sharpens beneath his grip, cold threading up my arm and cinching around my chest.

He could drop me. Send me crashing back down.