Page 49 of The Rogue

I put a hand on her arm, wary of scaring her awake. “Tessa.” It’s a whisper, but I’m ready to shake her until she’s alert and knows she’s safe.

Her breathing accelerates and she jolts with a sharp gasp, sucking air into her lungs like she’s been stabbed.

Her head snaps to me and she screams. I grab her face between my hands. “It’s okay. It’s alright. It’s me. You’re okay.”

Tessa's breaths come rapid and heavy. Her chest, forehead, and neck are damp. “Indie.”

“Yes, it’s me.” I swipe back loose strands of her hair.

She nods and then covers her face. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. What time is it?”

“Not time to wake up yet. Go back to sleep.”

She lowers her hands, staring at me like I’m crazy. “What? No. I can't.”

“Tessa. It’s the middle of the night.”

“No.” She looks away, curling into herself. “I won’t fall asleep. I’ve tried.”

“Stay here.” I lift the old throw over her shoulders and push to my feet, returning a few minutes later with warm chamomile tea. Tessa’s knees are pulled up to her chin, watching me warily. “Drink this.”

She takes the mug, staring at it.

“Don’t worry, poisoning is your thing, not mine.”

She glances around awkwardly. “Sorry I fell asleep here. Did I wake you?”

“No.” I watch her take a sip, treading carefully. “Bad dream?”

“Yeah.” Her gaze flicks to the plush dolphin with the nose light.

“Lie down.”

She hesitates.

“I’m not asking. You need rest. More than four hours.” There’s an unmistakable edge in my voice. And I’m no longer reluctant to use it with her.

Her eyes lock with mine, and she bites the corner of her lip. “I’ll try.”

I give her a curt nod. “I’ll be here.” Taking her mug, I settle back across from her and sip slowly.

For someone who claimed it was impossible, Tessa’s asleep within minutes.

And stays asleep for another few hours.

Between studying her features and drinking what’s left of the cold tea, I’ve been trying to come up with an appropriate way to deal with what happened last night. The danger she put my kid in.

The lie.

Nothing but ‘What the hell does she dream about?’consumes my mind.

This isn’t new.

Something in the way she rose. There was no panic in her eyes—just a weary acceptance that expressed familiarity.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been haunted in her sleep. Whatever that was, Tessaliveswith it.

I press my finger to my mouth, shushing Jackson when he comes down close to eight o’clock.

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