Page 72 of Heart of Frost and Scars

Her gaze finally meets mine, and I see the gentle easing of recognition and relief. It’s a small comfort, but I’ll take it. We’ve been through hell and back, and we’ll keep fighting, no matter what it takes.

Slowly, she relaxes as she takes in her surroundings. But when her eyes drift back to Monty, she gasps. “Monty! You’re hurt!”

“It’s nothing.” The pain he’s ignored now pulses with renewed intensity, trickling fresh blood and twitching his eyes.

“That’s not nothing.” She reaches for him, gaining strength. “It’s a deep cut. What happened?”

He grimaces and looks to us for help.

We can’t lie to her. At the same time, we want to protect her from the truth.

“That’s a stab wound.” She climbs to her knees and positions him to sit beside her as she examines the injury. “Who did this?”

Her glare goes straight to Leo.

He coughs and stares at his boots.

I empty my expression.

She shoves back her shoulders. “I swear on the fires in hell, if you don’t tell me what happened, I’ll make sure you end up on life support, begging for every breath while I control the plug.”

“She’s back.” Leo’s lips twitch.

I grunt, hiding my amusement.

Goddamn, I love her viciousness.

“Woman, listen…” Stepping forward, I try to formulate the best way to tell her.

But Monty saves me from the task. “I sent you into a panic attack. It might’ve been a PTSD episode.”

“I don’t have PTSD.”

“We don’t know that.” Pressing his palm against the cut on his neck, he walks her through what happened in the kitchen.

When he finishes, she sits back on her heels, looking stunned, embarrassed, and ashamed.

“I’m so sorry.” She cups a hand over her mouth and slowly shakes her head. “I don’t remember. I don’t know why I would’ve—”

“Shhh.” Monty tugs her arm down, uncovering her face. “It’s not your fault. I triggered it. I shouldn’t have crept up on you. Blame me.”

“No. I won’t blame you.” Shadows of sorrow cloud her eyes as she peers closer at the wound. “You need stitches.”

He nods, knowing better than to argue with her in this state. “All right, but no hospital. We can take care of it here. There’s a first aid kit—”

“I know where it is.” Leo fixes me with a look, a wordless order to watch her, before leaving the room.

He’s familiarized himself with every inch of this estate, every item in every cabinet, including the attic space.

“I don’t remember any of it.” She stares at her hands on her lap, her eyes hazy and unfocused. “It’s a blur except for this feeling of…of being trapped.”

“Hey.” Monty sets a knuckle beneath her chin, lifting her face. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll call some psychiatrists in the morning and find someone who can make house calls to the island. We’ll get you the help you need.”

“I want Doyle.” She moves his hand. “No one else.”

“Who’s Doyle?” My brows knit.

“The psychiatrist she saw when her mom passed.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I don’t like him.”

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