Page 67 of Heart of Frost and Scars

“Frankie, it’s okay.” I take a step toward her, reaching. “It’s not your fault.”

She flinches violently, her whole body recoiling as if I’m the threat, cutting me deeper than any knife.

“No, no, no, no.” She blinks rapidly, tears spilling from her eyes and breaking my heart.

“Hey, hey, shhh.” I can’t touch her. She despises me, and I’m covered in blood. I don’t know what to do.

Her hands cover her head, fingers tangling in her hair as she rocks back and forth.

“Stop! Stop! Let me go!” Her eyes are wild, lost in a memory I can’t see.

Is it the trauma of her abduction? Or the sexual assault? Her journal described everything in detail. Denver took her from behind when he kidnapped her and later when he forced himself on her.

A shudder tears through me, and my thoughts scatter, unable to grasp the magnitude of what I’ve done.

The helplessness, the fear—I brought it all crashing back, hitting her like a tidal wave and pulling her under.

“Breathe, baby.” I flutter my hands around her, not touching, utterly useless. “Listen to my voice. You’re in Sitka. You’re home. Safe. No one can hurt you here.”

She lowers to the floor and curls into a ball, her quick, shallow gasps flooding me with panic.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I remove my phone, my fingers flying over the screen, smearing blood with the urgency of my message.

Leo, Kody: Come to the kitchen now. Be calm. She’s scared. PTSD?

I hit send and pocket the device, unsure if they know how to open a text. They’ve only had their phones for three days.

Sinking to my knees beside her, I reach out a hand, then pull it back, afraid to touch her. I’ll only make it worse. But my mind screams at me to do something, anything, to bring her back from the edge.

Her chest heaves as she struggles to breathe, each inhale a desperate gulp for air. Her skin takes on a clammy sheen, beading with sweat, and she shakes uncontrollably in the grip of a full-blown panic attack.

“Frankie, please,” I whisper, heart pounding. “You’re safe.”

She can’t hear me. She’s too far gone, lost in the depths of hell. The sight of her like this, so vulnerable and broken, it shatters me. It makes me realize just how deep her wounds truly go.

“Frankie,” I say again, hoping somehow my voice can reach her, bring her back to me. “I’m here. You’re not alone. You’re safe.”

She doesn’t respond, her eyes wide and unfocused, still caught in the throes of panic. Her breaths come in rapid, shallow gasps, and she clutches her head, rocking in the fetal position.

I can’t fucking bear it.

Footfalls approach from the hallway, heavy and determined. I release a sigh of relief.

Leo bursts into the kitchen, his eyes instantly locking onto her trembling form on the floor. His expression hardens, and he rushes to her side, kneeling beside me.

“What happened?” He glances at my bleeding neck, reaching for her.

“Wait. Go slow.” I stop him with a hand on his chest. “I triggered something, a memory, and she pulled a knife on me. How often does this happen?”

“Never.” He looks shocked, his brows knitting. “Kody does this sometimes, but not her.”

“How long does it last?” I whisper. “With Kody?”

“Sometimes minutes, sometimes hours, depending on the severity and trigger.” He bends over her, his movements slow and deliberate. “Frankie, it’s me. I got you, love. You’re safe.”

He leans in close to lift her.

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