Page 21 of Corrupt Me

I was alone.

Cold.

Shivering.

Heartbroken.

Desperate.

Broken.

The list went on and on, strangling me like I had an imperceptible noose tied around my neck.No!I screamed.No.Not like this. No... No... No...The cries wobbled from my lips, growing weaker and weaker as the rope tightened. Tightened. Tightened...

And then...someone whispered my name.Everly. Everly.They shook my shoulders. But I was in shock, and the darkness refused to release its hold. I swore it laughed in my ears, a menacing, cruel laugh that seemed to sayI got you now, and I’m not letting you go.

Strong arms wrapped around me. Familiar. Warm. And stronger than the darkness. They yanked me out of the nightmare, the darkness shrilling in protest like a tormented soul.

Who had saved me? Preston? But no. The embrace wasn’t Preston’s. I’d been held by him too many times to mistake the way he felt; his scent and even the tempo of his beating heart was off—different.

I didn’t need to open my eyes to know who gathered me into their arms.

Tristan.

And I didn’t care. I clung to him, holding on tight as if he were my lifeline.

nine

“Ever,” Tristan’s soothing voice enticed. “Ever,” he murmured again when I didn’t respond.

My fingers pressed into the firm muscles of his back as a shudder rocked through me. I was afraid to speak, the images still too fresh and raw in my head. I needed another few moments in the protective shield of his arms.

Inhaling, I drew in more than air and his sinful scent. His strength gave me courage. The steadfastness of his arms held me up when I wanted to crumble. I wasn’t ready to let either go.

“You’re all right,” he assured, his warm voice chasing the chill that had imprisoned my body as his fingers ran gently up and down my spine. “I got you.”

And he did.

Which made no sense...and yet made perfect sense at the same time at least to my body.

He didn’t say things like it was just a nightmare or it wasn’t real because Tristan knew damn well what haunted my dreams. And it had beenvery realthat night six months ago.

“Tristan,” I whispered, the horrors in my dreams slowly receding. Part of my brain couldn’t fathom he was in my bed holding me.

It had been weeks since I had a proper nightmare of that night. They never really went away, but the vivid memories were less frequent now. I hated the fear that gripped me, clawing inside me like a terrorized beast trying to get out. I thought I had conquered the nightmares, but every now and then, when I felt vulnerable or overly emotional, my defenses dropped, and the memories slipped in like an unwanted, dark ghost.

My face buried into Tristan’s neck. I didn’t want to move because, the moment I did, his arms would drop away, and I’d lose his safety and warmth. I wasn’t ready to be alone—to let go of this feeling.

Tristan kept me in his arms, not saying anything until my breathing evened out. It was as if he’d done this before.

Hadn’t he?

Another time. Another place.

I barely remembered the days—weeks —after that night.

Another minute passed, and my common sense came back along with a dose of shame. Pulling my head back, I blinked at a shirtless Tristan. Making the mistake of glancing over him, I bit my lower lip. How the fuck did I find myself alone in a bed with Tristanagain? At least he was wearing shorts this time and wasn’t naked. “What are you doing in here? In my room?” My voice came out sharper than intended, and I blamed his damn abs.

He tilted his head to the side, a dark strand of hair falling across his forehead. “I heard you crying.”

---