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She Walks with Broken Things

Page 58

by A.K. Rose

They were still out there.

The men in the cars.

The moment they drove away I’d see them and know… I wasn’t imagining any of this.

I pressed back against the arm rest and pulled my feet up. A shiver coursed through me as I looked up to the window. The rain pounded against the glass. The thunder a soft rumble now, lulling me. My eyes drifted closed. I wrenched them open. But it was no use.

The sound.

The dark.

The storm.

Pulled me under once more.

This time I was helpless to stop it.

No dreams.

Just darkness. Flashes of white light. Shadows of men.

And amongst it all was him.

Alaric.

My eyes fluttered open. Breath caught. Desire burning.

It wasn’t night.

But it wasn’t bright either.

Fragments of last night slipped in. The nightmare. The storm. And them.

The memory of headlights pushed in as I lifted my gaze to the window. Grey skies waited behind the soft sheer curtains. Cold crept in. I stretched, yawned, then pulled the soft, black blanket higher. Warmth wrapped around me until I froze⁠—

Then looked down.

Inky black throw was so plush my fingers sank deep. But I wasn’t covered with it last night. No. I’d never seen it before.

My pulse spiked.

Realization descended.

Alaric.

Something tightened low beneath my ribs. I swallowed hard and slowly rose. But I couldn’t get it out of my head. I headed for the bathroom, pulled my nightgown free, then stepped into the shower.

Warm water hit my skin. Steam rose. I tipped my head back and let it run. It was a mistake. The dream came back the moment my eyes closed. Not the nightmare—something else. Something warmer. Hands that didn’t crush. A voice that didn’t raise itself to be obeyed. Something that hadn’t asked permission and hadn’t needed to.

Heat bloomed low and hidden before I could stop it.

My breath caught.

I pressed my palm flat against the cold tile and held it there. Held myself there. The water ran down my spine. My fingers spread against the wall.

Don’t.

The word surfaced without a sound. Old. Practiced. The kind of no that lived in the body. The kind that kept me safe.