Page 11 of Protected By the Ranger

“Tell me if it hurts,” he says softly, glancing up at me with concern.

The dressing comes off with ease, and Gideon studies the wound intently. His brow furrows in concentration. “It’s healing well,” he notes, cleaning the area with delicate precision. The antiseptic stings, and I flinch, but his touch remains calm, steady. He wraps a fresh bandage around my foot.

“All done.” He gives me a teasing smile. “Just be careful next time. I won’t always be around to catch you when you fall.”

His words hit me harder than I expect. The thought of him not being here knots something inside me. I force a smile, masking the sudden ache in my chest.

Gideon traces gentle circles over the bandage, his gaze fixed on me. “Ariel, last night… you were thrashing in your sleep. I’m relieved you didn’t reopen your wound.”

The fog of my nightmare floods back, that suffocating fear tightening in my chest again. I nod, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, looking away.

He shakes his head, his voice firm but soft. “You don’t need to apologize. I was worried.” His eyes search mine, steady and concerned. “It’s clear to me whatever you’re going through is taking a toll on you. I wish you’d let me in.”

The words knot in my throat. I take a deep breath, the weight of my secrets pressing down on my chest. “I don’t know where to begin,” I tell him honestly.

Gideon nods, his attention unwavering. He urges softly, “Why don’t you start with the nightmare, if you still remember it?”

The memory clings to me like a shadow, its cold grip tightening as I clutch the blanket in my fists. “It’s hard to forget,” I murmur. His hand remains on my foot, offering silent support.

I swallow the lump in my throat, my hands trembling. “In the nightmare, someone was chasing me. I kept running, thinking I could get away, but he caught me.”

Gideon shifts closer, threading his fingers through mine, his warmth easing the chill in my bones. “Who was after you?” he asks gently.

I close my eyes, the words catching in my throat. When I meet his gaze, I push out the words, “My stalker.”

His grip tightens on my hand, his eyes darkening with concern. “Go on,” he breathes, his voice laced with anger.

I swallow, my voice shaky as the words claw their way out. “It started with roses on my windshield.” The memory flashes behind my eyes—the sweet, cloying scent of the petals that had seemed innocent.

“Then the calls,” I continue, my pulse quickening. “Every day, multiple times. No one spoke. Just… breathing.” My chest tightens as if I can still hear the incessant ring.

My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, but when I open my mouth, the words don’t come. Looking around, I ask hesitantly, “Could you hand me my bag?”

Gideon tilts his head, confused, but he doesn’t question it. He retrieves the lavender bag and hands it to me silently. My fingers fumble inside, finding the smooth paper, and I pull out the thick envelope, anxiety prickling under my skin.

“Two days ago, I found this on my doorstep,” my voice wavers as I hand it to him. My heart races, thudding in my ears.

He takes it, sliding out a stack of photographs and a note. His jaw tightens immediately, anger sparking in his eyes. He flips through the pictures, his grip growing white-knuckled. The glossy surfaces crumple under the force of his fingers, but he says nothing, his rage palpable.

I pluck the last photo from his hand, my stomach twisting in dread. “I know he followed me everywhere, but this picture scared me the most.”

It’s a picture of my bedroom, bathed in the soft light of my night lamp, and there’s me sleeping on the bed. The tangled blanket around my legs does nothing to hide my tank-top and panty-clad body. My hair is disheveled and my lips slightly open. The thought of him watching me in such a vulnerable state sends a wave of cold terror through me.

Gideon takes the photo from my frozen fingers and his eyes narrow in unrestrained anger as he studies it. “Fucking bastard,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Do you know who it is?” he asks, his voice tight.

I shake my head, misery wrapping itself around my chest. The haunting image of that shadowy figure framed in the doorway is burned into my mind.

“His face was hidden under a hoodie,” I murmur, helplessness threading through my words. The warmth of the room feels suffocating now.

“He was in my home, Gideon,” my voice trembles, fear cracking it. “I didn’t even know. I’ll never feel safe there again. I’ll always be looking over my shoulder, searching the corners of my bedroom.”

Tears blur my vision, and I swipe them away in frustration. “This cabin was supposed to be my sanctuary. I didn’t think beyond escaping here. And now my mom’s sold it—without even giving me a chance to say goodbye.”

Gideon watches me, his face soft with empathy. “You’re safe here, Ariel,” he says, his deep voice reverberating through me.

But the fear is too close, too sharp. Every creak of the cabin, every gust of wind outside, makes me flinch. The bitter taste of dread won’t leave my mouth.

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