Page 12 of Guarded from Havoc

Stabbing into me.

I drop back on my haunches and raise my hands in a wordlessI won’t hurt yougesture. “I won’t,” I tell her gently. “I promise. I was just checking on you. To see if you were okay.”

From her expression, I can tell she still doesn’t recognize me. There’s still too much confusion there. Too much pain. Too much fear.

“I’m Erik,” I add in that same, low, soothing tone. “From the cabin. Next door. You came over to bring me food and supplies during the storm. And—” I cut myself off. Maybe I should wait another minute or so before jumping into the wholeattacked by four intruders and taken to a still-unknown locationpart.

Wait.Did I trigger the alert before they got me?

How could I have forgotten until now?

AmI still wearing my ring?

On a held breath, I feel for the silver ring I never take off. The same ring all my teammates at Blade and Arrow wear; the onewith a GPS tracker in it. And the ring that I can use to signal for help, so my team will know I’m in trouble right away.

Yes. It’s there.

Which means—yes. As memories filter in, I can remember pressing the little button embedded in the side. Calling for help. Which means my team—my best friends in the world—will already be on their way.

But for good measure, I trigger it again.

“Erik?” Tatum’s brows pull into a deep V as she looks at me. “From the cabin?”

“Yeah. I was renting the place next to yours. And there was a thunderstorm. My power went out, so you brought over some things for me. Sandwiches. Pasta salad. Some lanterns. But before that, we met while we were hiking. You told me how you’re the property manager for the rental cabins. And—” I reach back into my memory. “That you like to bake. And watch thrillers.”

She stares at me for another second, thoughts working in her eyes.

Then she jolts. Recollection flares in her gaze. Some of the tension dissolves from her features. “Erik? What are we… where are we…”

Tatum tries to get up again, and this time I reach my hand out to hers, half expecting her to ignore it. But she doesn’t. Instead, she slips her small hand into mine and lets me pull her up slowly. I hang onto her for a few seconds, letting her regain her bearings before letting go.

And it’s the weirdest thing, especially in these circumstances. But my hand feels empty without hers in it.

“I don’t know,” I tell her, still pitching my voice low. “I just woke up a couple of minutes ago. So I haven’t had a chance to explore yet. I saw you, so I came over here first.”

Her face squinches up. A beat later, a shudder shakes her body. “Those men. In your cabin. They… they attacked us. You. One of them hit me.”

Anger pulses hot; followed by suffocating guilt. Gritting my teeth, I reply, “I know they did. And I’m so sorry. I wish… Dammit. I should have done better. Protected you better.”

“What?” She winces as her voice rises. More quietly, she repeats, “What? How could you? There were four men. With guns.” A pause, and another small shudder. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to the bedroom sooner. Get the gun for you. I… I froze.”

Gaze dropping to the ground, she continues, “If I’d just gone faster, maybe I could have helped. So I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Tate, no.” I’m not sure why the nickname slipped out, but I’m not going back to correct it. “It was not your fault. At all.” Carefully, I graze my thumb across her bruised cheek. “I’m so sorry you got hurt. Can you tell me how you’re feeling? Are you dizzy? How’s your vision? Any nausea?”

“Um. A little dizzy, I guess. And my head really hurts. I feel like… like that time in college when my roommates and I decided to try moonshine.” A rueful smile tips her lips. “I think I actually felt worse back then.”

“Do you hurt anywhere else?” I ask, still concerned. “Your arms? Legs? Your…” I trail off, hesitant to mention the possibility that she could have been violated.

But from her expression, it’s obvious she gets it. A few seconds pass as she runs through a mental self-inspection, and then she shakes her head. “No. Nothing else. And—” Her gaze dips to her waistband for a moment before returning to mine. “Everything feels… normal. Other than my head.”

One of the many bands wrapped around my chest releases. “Okay. That’s good, then.” Casting a quick glance back at the trees, I search for a sign of a path, or something that wouldindicate a route back to civilization. But there’s nothing obvious, at least not from where I’m sitting.

“I think,” I continue, “It might be best if we find you a spot to hide. So I can check?—”

A series of gunshots cuts me off.

They’re quick. At least six in a row.

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