Page 24 of Guarded from Havoc

I have to bite back a laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

No shit.Obviouslysomething’s wrong. We’re in the woods, surrounded by fucking traps, there’s a dead guy with a spear in his chest, and I still have no fucking clue where we are. Or how long it’ll take for my team to reach me.

Soft sniffles come from behind me. The back of my shirt is damp.

Shit.

Tatum’scrying. Quietly, trying to hide it, but she’s crying. And I can’t blame her for it.

I turn and pull her into my arms, hiding her face in my chest. Her small body shakes with stifled sobs as she presses against me. Her arms twine around my waist.

I know we need to keep moving. I know it.

But this need to comfort her is like nothing I’ve felt before.

When my friends’ partners were hurting, I felt terrible for them. Seeing Dante’s Sarah in pain, or Xavier’s Lucy… I would have done anything to help. Ididtry to help as much as I could.

But with Tatum? It’s different. It feels like my heart is physically aching for her. Like nothing in the world can be okay when she’s crying.

I know we need to keep moving. Dammit. Iknow.

“Tate,” I murmur as I rub her back in small circles. “I know it’s awful. And I’m so sorry. But?—”

On a shuddering breath, she lifts her head from my chest and meets my gaze. Her eyes are pink around the edges and shiny with tears. “I know.” Then she takes a step back and slips her hand into mine again. “We need to keep going.”

Fuck.

Where’s my team?

Why aren’t they here yet? It’s been hours since I first triggered my ring. Surely they must be close. There’s no way they wouldn’t come. Not in a million years.

As we continue working our way west, I roll different possibilities through my head. That we could be way up north in Canada. Or someplace on the west coast. We could have been kept drugged and unconscious for hours, taken by plane to practically anywhere.

Except the trees. They look familiar. Like the ones I grew up seeing whenever I’d visit the Adirondacks or Maine with my dad.

Could my team have been taken on a wild goose chase, following me to one side of the country and then the other? Are they minutes away or hours?

And the most important question. Will I be able to keep both Tatum and myself alive until they get here?

Just as we’re cresting a small hill, a scream splits the air.

Tatum lets out a tiny yelp of fear before clapping her hand over her mouth to stifle it.

The scream isn’t close, not like the first one we heard. At my best guess, I’d put it at a quarter mile from here, maybe more.

But really, anyone screaming is too close.

Clutching Tatum’s hand more tightly, I keep moving forward. Hoping to put distance between us and the source of whatever made that person scream.

And fortunately—for us, but I fear not for them—the woods descend into silence again.

After another thirty seconds or so, Tatum says quietly, “Erik. Do you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“Salt.” She pauses. “There’s a hint of salt in the air. I didn’t smell it before, but now… I think we might be near the ocean.”

After a quick inhale, I realize she’s right. And I’ve been so intent on looking and listening, I’ve neglected one of my other senses. Smell. And yes, there’s definitely a distinct tang of salt in the air. Which means?—

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