Page 17 of Bound to the Guard

The newcomer is tall and broad-shouldered, with dark brown hair and a powerful figure. The familial resemblance to Damien is strong, but jagged, ugly scars twist his handsome features, running down the left side of his face and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

When he turns toward me, I drop my gaze, not wanting to be caught staring.

“Seven, this is Sebastian.” Damien clasps the scarred man’s shoulder. “He’s the head of our tech team and my cousin. He’s here to help. He’s going to sit in the chair and keep his attention on his laptop.”

The words sound like a command, and I catch Sebastian rolling his eyes at his cousin. He complies, though, taking the chair farthest from me and opening a laptop on his knees.

Damien settles onto the couch, his body a barrier between me and his cousin. He leaves enough space between us so that, if he reached out, we wouldn’t touch, but the blanket brushes his thigh, and it feels intimate. Like we’re sharing it. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I pull the blanket up to cover my face.

The cushions shift, and Damien rests his hand palm up on the cushion between us, as if in invitation. My fingers curl inward as I remember the rough slip of his skin against mine, the soothing warmth.

He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t force any interaction, just leaves it up to me if I want contact. Tingles rush through my body, and I inch my hand out the side of the blanket.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Sebastian announces as the TV turns on.

The sudden noise startles me, and I snatch my hand back, flushing at how close I came to touching Damien’s hand.

The Alpha casts a reproachful glare toward his cousin before turning to me. “Tell us what you remember.”

I force my attention to the map that appears, an aerial view of large houses with larger yards and outbuildings. It must be where we are now.

I clear my throat, wincing at the way my voice cracks. “I walked to Skyhaven from the Ashford Heights bus depot.”

“You’re doing great,” Damien praises. “Take your time, and tell us whatever you can remember.”

The praise washes over me like a balm, soothing the ragged edges of my nerves.

On the big screen, the map backs out, and a yellow line appears, showing the route I took.

My fingers twist in the folds of the blanket. “The 499 bus from Brickwell brought me to Ashford Heights.”

Sebastian’s fingers fly over the keys, another line snaking across the map.

“Before that, I rode the 563 bus in Brickwell.” I lick my lips, every moment of my escape burned into my mind. “It stopped fifteen times, after I got on at the waystation nearest the highway, on the opposite side of town.”

Sebastian’s brow furrows in concentration as he works to pinpoint the exact location.

Beside me, Damien places his arm along the back of the couch as he leans over, his weight dipping the couch enough that, if I allowed it, I could tip toward him. “You’re doing well. Just a little more, and then you can rest, okay?”

A wobbly smile forms on my lips. “I’m fine.”

He rumbles in approval. “Good.”

When he straightens, he leaves his arm in place, fingers so close that it wouldn’t take much to rest my cheek on them. The new position also leaves his side open. This, too, reads like an invitation, and the tingles return as I wonder how warm it would be to rest against his solid frame.

A throat clears, and my head jerks forward to find a new line on the map, tracing the winding path through Brickwell to where I caught the first bus.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Damien glaring at Sebastian again, and this time, his cousin glares back, a silent communication passing between them.

After a moment, Damian sighs, and his arm slips to his side.

A pang goes through me at the missed opportunity, but I ignore it. “I walked along the highway to reach Brickwell. Lunchtime just ended at the compound when I escaped, and I was still in the woods when night fell. I reached the road soon after.”

My throat constricts as the memories flood back. The terror of running through the woods with no idea how far I needed to go, the ache of my feet on the rough terrain, the pain of the wound in my arm.

“I walked through the night,” I continue, my throat growing hoarse from talking so much, “and I only slept for a couple of hours once the sun rose. Then I just… kept going. I knew if I stopped again to rest, I would never make it.”

A soft sound of sympathy comes from Damien, his hand twitching as if he wants to reach out and touch me, to offer comfort.

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