Page 135 of In Shadows We Dance

"Where are you?" The words come out harsh, more growl than question.

"Marshall Cross." She sounds breathless, frightened. "I'm so tired. I can't?—"

"Stop." I force down the urge to hunt down everyone who's made her sound this way and peel them apart piece by piece. She needs me to be calm. She needs the version of me that won't shatter her further. "Breathe for me. Are you safe?"

"No."

The word is barely a whisper, but it cracks something looseinside me. Images of her—alone, afraid, where I can't reach her—flash through my mind like photographs I never want to take. But I can't let her hear the madness clawing its way up my throat. Not yet. Not when she needs me to be stronger than the rage burning through my veins.

"I've been hiding in abandoned buildings, but I can't keep going like this. They'll find me."

Not before I do. Not ever again.

The thought pulses with my heartbeat, a drumbeat of possession that drowns out everything else.

I dig my nails into my palm until blood wells up, using the pain to focus. "Listen to me. You're smart. You're resourceful. You made it this far. You need real shelter—somewhere to rest without being seen."

"Where?" Her voice breaks. "I have no money left."

"Churches. Side entrances are usually unlocked. No one looks twice at someone seeking sanctuary. Or diners—places open all night, where no one pays attention to one more person nursing a drink. You find shelter. I’ll find you."

She's quiet, her breathing uneven through the line. "Are they watching you?"

I glance at the monitors. Shadows move through my woods—federal agents playing at stealth while they wait for me to break. The need to make them suffer for every second they've kept her from me burns like acid in my throat. I want to carve their eyes out for daring to watch what belongs to me.

"Let them watch." My voice drops lower, letting a hint of the monster show through. "They think they know what I'm capable of. They have no idea what I'll do to get back to you."

"I'm scared."

The fear in her voice tears through me like barbed wire. For a heartbeat, the rage is so intense I can barely breathe through it. But I force it down, lock it away where she can't hear it. She needs the Wren who owns her, not the one who'll tear the world apartto keep her.

"You don't have to be." I make my voice velvet-smooth, a caress through the phone line. "You'remine, Ballerina. And I protect what belongs to me."

"Promise?"

That single word winds around my throat like a collar, choking me with need. Her voice—small and desperate andtrusting—ignites something primal in my blood.

"When I find you, this ends." My voice drops lower, darker. "No more running. No more hiding. No more of their pathetic attempts to take what's mine. Do you understand?"

Her breath catches. "Yes."

"Good girl." The praise comes out rough and possessive. It steadies her, and something inside me purrs at the way her breathing evens out. She needs this, needsme, as much as I need her.

The line goes dead.

I stay frozen, the dial tone buzzing in my ear, static crackling through my veins. She's alive. She's waiting. And now I know where to find her.

Something shifts inside me, the last thread of restraint snapping clean. The rage I've been holding back rises like a tide, but it's different now. Focused. Every violent impulse, every dark desire narrows to a single purpose: getting her back.

My reflection catches in the darkened monitor screen—eyes wild, smile twisted. I've been wearing a mask so long I barely recognize myself without it. But this? This feels real. This feelsright.

The monitors show the cameras catching movement at the edge of my property. Another black SUV joins the others.

Time to give them what they want.

My fingers fly over the keyboard, pulling up every traffic camera between here and Marshall Cross. They'll expect me to take the main roads. They'll watch the highways. But Iknowthesewoods. I grew up learning every hidden path, every forgotten track that leads away from this place. Every escape route I've mapped obsessively, never knowing I was preparing forher.

I grab my phone and call Monty. He answers on the second ring.

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