Page 52 of Revenant

He was protecting his family.

They are my family now—they said so—which means it’s my turn to protect them the best way I know how. Determination settles in my chest, and I straighten my spine. They have to survive, or everything I suffered would be for nothing.

Failure is not an option.

A quick glance shows there are no chairs in the room. I purse my lips in annoyance, then nod toward the bed. “Sit.”

I’m pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t hesitate to obey. He perches at the end of the mattress, watching me intently. He is so calm, he could be sitting behind his desk, calculating the odds on his next business deal.

I would believe he isn’t worried, if not for the white-knuckled grip he has on his knees. The tell is small, something I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been trained to look for even the tiniest nuances of a person’s mood.

It would often save me a beating.

I twist my neck from side to side, my bones cracking as I psych myself up. I approach him cautiously, shaking my hands out, wishing my nerves were so easy to dispel.

When I step toward him, he widens his knees, then hooks his hands around the back of my thighs, and pulls me closer. He’s tall, maybe six-one or six-two, so even with him sitting, we arealmost at face level. I should feel in charge looking down at him, but I don’t make that mistake. The only control I have over the situation is what he grants me.

Maybe I should be pissed, but I find his presence comforting, like if anything goes wrong, we’ll deal with it together.

“Explain to me what you’re going to do.” He runs his fingers up and down the back of my thighs, and I’m not sure if he’s conscious of the action.

Who knew that part of the body could be so sensitive?

Though I clear my throat, I don’t tell him to stop. Call me selfish, but I like the intimate connection. “I’m going to call on the afterlife, then scan your body. My hope is that I’ll be able to tell what’s wrong and fix any damage from the serum.”

He exhales, rolling his shoulders as if settling himself, then peers up at me with a commanding nod. “I’m ready. Proceed.”

I’m aware of the others watching, but I am surprised when I find their presence a comfort instead of invasive. I know without a doubt that they are only there to catch us if we fall. Not wanting to wait any longer, unsure my nerves can take another delay, I close my eyes and call on the afterlife.

A comforting chill surrounds me, as if welcoming me home. I carefully dismantle the walls around my mind, ones I built to keep out the voices of the dead. I try to do it slowly, but as soon as the first block is removed, the afterlife surges in like a dam bursting.

Power floods my veins, burning and twisting through my body like it’s desperate to fill up every nook and cranny. It doesn’t take long before the pressure becomes uncomfortable, yet I don’t try to stop it. More and more power fills me until I feel bloated and stretched like an overstuffed sausage. I try to slow the rush, which only seems to piss it off, and it increases its effort to stake its claim on my body until I fear it’s trying to drag my soul into the afterlife.

My lungs seize, my muscles tense, and my insides convulse. My skin aches like someone took sandpaper to my flesh. My scalp is so tender that every strand of hair is like thousands of needles piercing my skin. My teeth ache, my gums throb, and my brain feels like it’s seconds away from boiling inside my skull.

I’ve been conditioned not to feel pain, but I’m so overloaded that all my nerve endings light up like they’ve been set on fire. Just when the pressure becomes too much, when it feels as though my organs are ready to pop and my skin might split, something shifts inside me.

The agony cuts off like a switch thrown, replaced with an icy chill that eases the pain, and my body greedily absorbs it. By the time the last bit fades, I’m left a trembling mess, my muscles so sore that I might as well have been turned inside out.

I’m panting, resting against something warm, and I burrow into the strong arms holding me, not wanting to move for fear that I might trigger another attack.

“Rue?” A hand gently cups the back of my neck, fingertips trailing up and down my nape. I melt, arching into the touch, and practically purr in pleasure. “I need you to come back to me, Rue. The guys are seconds away from losing their shit. I worry what will happen if they lose control.”

That has my mushy brain snapping to attention. I reluctantly push away, then groan when my body protests the movement. I take a shuddering breath, and my eyes widen when I discover I’m in Hicks’ lap. He cradles me close, like I’m something precious. Though his expression is calm, his eyes are a neon yellow.

And are those fangs?

I still, afraid to move, like I might somehow avoid drawing his attention, despite him staring right at me. While he looks seconds away from attacking, I don’t feel threatened. Following my instincts, I reach forward and brush my fingers along his jaw.“I’m okay. I’ve always fought my abilities, only using a fraction of the power out of fear. I think embracing my powers without reservation was like giving it permission, and it unlocked something inside of me, preparing my body for what needs to happen in order to help you.”

My voice is raspy, like I’ve been screaming for a while, and I grimace at the familiar sensation.

“We’re stopping this now!” Gunner roars the demand, and my eyes widen at the vicious snarl that reverberates through the room.

I peer at him over my shoulder, not ready to move yet, and my mouth drops open. Gunner stands sentinel next to the door, but he’s not the Gunner I remember. Though he’s a big man, intimidating for those who don’t know him, he has always been gentle with me. His voice even softens when he talks to me, as if afraid I might scurry away.

The man before me is no longer my gentle giant but an intimidating goliath with his humanity completely stripped away. His blue eyes are washed out, almost gray in color. His muscles bulge under the strain to remain still and his veins pop with his aggression. His chest moves like bellows, like he can’t get enough oxygen into his lungs. His hands are clenching and unclenching at his side, knuckles cracking with the movement. He’s searching for an opponent to fight…and he doesn’t once look away from me.

Then I notice the dent in the metal door in the shape of a fist. The whole panel is warped, the metal stretched under the strain, cracks streaking out from two areas where the door actually buckled.

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