Page 8 of Deadly Oath

“Here, I’ll walk you home.” The way Kian says it brooks no argument, and I nod numbly. His hand touches the small of my back again, urging me back up the path, and I feel that flush of warmth, the same way I did the first time he touched me. It startles me,because I can’t recall ever having that reaction to a man touching me before.

Sheltered and precious as I was before all of this, only a few menhaveever touched me before, and always in very socially appropriate ways. A hand on the back or the arm as I danced with them at a gala, at most. And while Kian’s touch isn’t all that different from the careful ways those men have touched me in the past, something about itfeelsdifferent.

There’s something about the way his palm flattens against the small of my back, guiding me up the trail. He has no claim on me, less than those men—who might have tried to court me with my father’s approval—ever did…but there’s something possessive in his touch. It sends a flush of uncomfortable heat through me, and I speed up a little, walking ahead so that his hand drops away from my back.

I don’t know why he makes me feel like this, and I don’t know what these feelings mean. But there’s something about Kian—his intensity, maybe—that draws me in as much as it frightens me away. And with all of my life in so much upheaval, I can’t begin to let myself think about trying to untangle that, too.

Fortunately, I didn’t get more than a half-mile down the trail, so it’s not too far of a walk back to my house. I dig my key out of the zippered pocket on my leggings with trembling fingers, batting Kian away when he tries to help. The last thing I want—the last thing Ineed—right now is his hand brushing up against my hip.

I manage to get the door open, and I’m a few steps into the entryway when I hear the heavy tread of his boots behind me.

“I’m fine.” My fingers are still trembling, which gives away the fact that I’m probablynotfine. But I don’t need Kian hovering over me right now. I need space. I need a minute to process everything that just happened. “Please. I don’t want anyone else in my house right now.”

My house. I can’t actually recall ever referring to it as that before. It gives me a tiny flicker of hope that maybe I’m starting to acclimate. Beginning to settle in a bit.

Kian hesitates, and I draw in a deep breath, trying to look as calm as I possibly can. “Look—I appreciate your help. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there—actually, I have a pretty decent idea of what would have happened, and it’s terrifying. I’m really grateful you were there. But I need to get cleaned up and find some fresh clothes for my book club tonight, and I don’t have a lot of time, so—” I trail off, hoping he gets the hint.

“Book club, hm?” Kian’s mouth twitches in the hint of a smile. “Well, I’ll leave you be, then. Be careful, if you decide to go out running on those trails again. I can’t promise I’ll be there every time.”

“What were you doing out there today?” I blurt out the question before I can think better of it, and Kian pauses, a slight flicker of something that almost looks like annoyance crossing his face. As if he doesn’t like me asking.

“Patrols,” he says, his voice a little more clipped than usual as the smile fades. “My job. Keeping an eye on things. And it’s a good thing I was out there—doing it. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened?” There’s that hint of a smile again, but it doesn’t seem as teasing as before. “You need someone looking out for you, city girl.”

“I can look out for myself.” But the words come out hollow, flat. The truth is, I don’t know if I can. My whole life before this, Ididhave others looking out for me. Bodyguards. Security. And I was still nearly kidnapped and sent off to an unthinkable fate. I’ve neverhadto look out for myself before, and I don’t have any reason to think that I’ll be particularly good at it.

But the last thing I want to do is admit that to the arrogant, handsome sheriff in front of me.

Kian chuckles. “Alright then.” It’s clear that he doesn’t believe me, and irritation prickles over my skin at that, but I let it go. “I’ll see you around, Sabrina.”

I watch him as he goes, feeling out of sorts and frustrated—and still slightly in shock over the whole incident. I think of texting Marie and telling her that I can’t make it to the book club meeting tonight, but Caldwell’s voice rings in the back of my head, reminding me that I need to fit in. Participate in things.Become a part of the community.

Surely, almost getting bitten by a rattlesnake is a valid excuse, though?

I let out a sigh, dragging myself to my bedroom and grabbing the laundry hamper. I have just enough time to wash and dry something and take a shower before Marie is supposed to come pick me up. And despite how I feel, sticking to my plans is better than holing up in my house for the night and thinking about yet another shock, right?

Right?

I manage to toss a load in the washing machine, before stripping off my running clothes and getting into the shower. I dip my head under the hot water as it sluices over me, slowly relaxing my muscles, wound tight after the encounter with the snake—and Kian.

I hate thecity girlnickname, but he was right about one thing—I’m not used to any of this. I’ve never seen a snake in my life before, outside of a zoo. I wasn’t prepared for that encounter at all, and I didn’t think hard enough about what I should be cautious of, running out in the woods like that.

Another shudder runs down my spine as I remember the snake’s beady eyes, the threatening rattle. If I never encounter anything like that again in my life, it’ll be too soon. It wouldn’t have even happened, if I hadn’t been so focused on the rustling in the trees?—

Shit. I bite my lip as I stand under the hot spray of water, remembering the sound of footsteps that I’d been so sure I’d heard in the woods, the distraction that had been the reason I’d tripped over the snake’s hiding place at all.Were those footsteps Kian?

They couldn’t have been. I’m no detective, but they were off to my left, when he showed up right behind me. And I’d heard them only seconds before I tripped, disturbing the snake—he was there moments later. Those sounds were something else.

A deer, probably. Some other wildlife running through the leaves. I tell myself that as I scrub soap through my hair, trying to calm myself down. I’m just not used to living in a place like this, so all the sounds seem strange. I’m overreacting.

I shove the thought out of my head as I finish my shower, drying off quickly and wrapping the towel around myself as I go to toss my laundry in the dryer. It should be done by the time I’m finisheddrying my hair, so I head back into the bathroom, digging the small, cheap plastic hair dryer that I bought at Target out from the cabinet under the sink.

Not for the first time, I miss my arsenal of expensive hairstyling tools that I had at home. My fancy brushes and expensive styling creams and foams. I have a bottle of heat-protectant spray that I snagged the last time Marie took me to Sephora, a flat brush that I bought there, and that’s it. My cut and color are good enough that my hair still looks fine even with the most minimal effort, but I still miss being able to do what I used to. I don’t have any natural curl to my hair, so with nothing more to add to it and no curling iron, it hangs smooth and straight around my shoulders. Shiny, and pretty, but I’m used to putting much more of an effort in. It feels strange not to. Just like it feels odd to grab my own laundry out of the dryer, toss it on my bed, and sift through the small pile to find a pair of dark blue jeans and a lightweight, open-knit sweater the color of pumpkins that I pull on over a grey tank top.

I shove my feet into my ankle boots and glance at myself in the mirror. I don’t recognize myself like this, still, and I wonder how long it will take for me to feel like myself. I find myself running down the list of the things that make mememore often than not, trying to remember who I am outside of the life I used to live, and the life I’m living now.

An address, a mansion, designer clothes, bodyguards, a full social calendar—those things don’t make aperson. They’re accoutrements, additions. Window dressing for a person.

I like fashion. I like to travel. I like trying new foods. I like reading—which is why I didn’t cancel on the book club tonight. A small part of me is excited about it, even if I’m anxious about my reception there.

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