Page 61 of This Haunted Heart

My next scream caught in my throat. The thuds resounded, urgent fists striking the wood. I ran for the kitchen, sprinting as fast as my legs would carry me from the voices at my back and the heavy footsteps that pursued me.

I made it out onto the grass, when the shadows caught up to me. Strong arms encircled my waist and spun me about,back toward the house. I fought and kicked and cursed.

“Let me go! By God, you let me go!” I turned on the figure and struck out at it rapidly, fingers curled like claws.

“Rynn! Rynn it’s me!” the figure said.

It was a while before I realized my nails were digging into fabric and flesh, not an ethereal spirit.

Lost, I blinked up at Lochlan.

“I . . . the ghosts . . . Gertrude . . .” Words failed me. “They were everywhere!”

Dressed in a dark housecoat, Lochlan wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pressed me against his side. I accepted his comfort for a moment, then he tried to guide me back toward the house, and I dug my heels in.

“Absolutely not,” I groaned. “I’m not going back in there!”

“You can’t stay out here, hellcat. It’ll be full dark soon.”

“Oh yes I can!” Every instinct in my body was screaming at me to run. Get away! Flee and never stop running.

I kicked and carried on, but he dragged me inside anyway, the bastard.

Lochlan hefted me up the back stairs, then wrestled me into my room. I put up one hell of a fight, even managed to pull away once, but he won in the end. He picked me up off my feet and tossed me onto the bed. He used his strength to pin me to the mattress on my stomach. Angry, violent heat turned me molten. I bucked and cursed at him, but he sat on me anyway.

“I hate it when you do that,” I hissed, cheek pressed to the bed linens.

“Oh, I know you do,” he said drolly. “But you still have that same spitfire temper you had as a girl, and I don’t want to have the rest of my face scratched off. So I’ll take your wrath for the sake of my remaining skin that isn’t already scarred.”

The reminder of his scars triggered my guilt, but even that monster felt dull and distant, too far away to reach me fully. My rage was like a heavy, prickly blanket that made me hot and irritable and dulled everything else.

“If you don’t want me to scratch you more, then getoff!” I clawed at the bedding beneath me.

I continued to fight the cushions, trying to reach him until I exhausted myself. As the desire for violence leaked from my body, the pressure of his weight changed from something aggravating and daunting to something solid and settling. He put a hand on the back of my neck and squeezed, and the pressure was perfect.

He kneaded the tense muscles at my neck until they loosened. Then the guilt monster returned in full force. Its weight was an anvil, pressing me from all sides.

“I can’t stay here anymore,” I moaned. The molten heat inside of me cooled, and my chin trembled. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. We can’t. I want us to go!”

“Yes, you can, hellcat,” he said sadly, brushing fingers through my curls, moving the tresses out of my face. He rubbed my shoulders with his big hands, and something in my chest gave way a little. “Just give it a minute. You’ll feel better again soon.”

His gentle tone eased the fight from my body.

Lochlan climbed off me to gather supplies from my dresser. He used thick woolen stockings to secure my hands, and I was too spent to battle him further. Another set was used to tie my ankles to the bedpost.

“You’re safe now. Stay put,” he said, then he left me.

I listened for that haunting thump the ghosts made when they were near, but I felt nothing in the room with me. Justthe monster on my back.

When he returned, I was hopeful that he’d let me go like he usually did. I wanted to stew in peace. Perched at the foot of the bed, he rolled out a leather pouch that contained a grooming kit, ignoring how I scowled at him. It didn’t look like he intended to untie me at all.

“Is this still necessary?” I demanded, holding up my bound hands.

Lochlan’s tawny eyes narrowed to dagger points. His face was so full of red marks, he looked like he’d lost a fight with an angry bobcat.

“Yes,” he drawled, “it’s necessary.”

He removed a pewter nail file from the kit. Taking my hand in his, he turned it over, pressing his thumb into my palm gently until I opened my hand to him. With care, he worked the course metal gently across my nails one at a time, rubbing the oval ends down to just below the pads of my fingers.

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