Page 25 of Chasing Shelter

I was making my way down the street past the adorable shops when a shout caught my attention. I looked, trying to find the source, and saw a car speeding past. One second, I was trying to make out the words, and the next, I was stumbling back as something crashed into my chest.

I only had a moment to register the stinging pain before I was falling.

7

TRACE

The shout caughtmy attention as I stepped outside the station. It didn’t have a panicked edge, so most people would likely assume it was kids goofing off or some other shenanigans. But not me. It was as if every part of me was attuned to trouble, permanently braced for attack. Maybe because those instincts had kept me alive for so long.

The beat-up sedan that sped past was a cross between mustard yellow and a shade of brown that wasn’t appealing in any way. The angle meant I didn’t have a clear view of the license plate, but that didn’t stop me from instantly memorizing every detail I could.

Color: yellowish-brown. Make: Nissan. Model: indiscernible. Identifying marks: rust spot over a rear wheel well and a broken taillight.

But then everything in me stilled. The front passenger window rolled down, and something flew out the window. I didn’t hear the pop or crack that typically accompanied gunfire, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t.

I tracked the line of the projectile, and my blood went cold. Irecognized the olive green pants. The sleeveless white top that revealed a sliver of tanned torso. The hair in every color that hung in waves around Ellie’s face. But those pale green eyes had gone wide with shock.

Something hit her, and she stumbled back, falling to the pavement. I took off before I consciously gave my body the command, flying down the sidewalk faster than I had run since high school football.

The second I reached Ellie, I dropped to my knees, some part of me registering the lack of blood on her chest. Instead, a sticky yellow substance spread over her top.

“Ow,” she groaned.

“Careful,” I barked.

“Don’t yell at me,” Ellie shot back. “I didn’t egg myself.”

Egg.Not a bullet. Nothing that put her in danger of dying. A stupid prank.

Ellie struggled to sit up.

“Easy.” I battled to gentle my voice. “Did you hit your head?”

My hands reached out on instinct, feeling her scalp for bumps or cuts.

She batted me away, her gaze jerking around, complexion paling as she saw the people looking at us. “No. I’m just going to have a nice bruise on my ass.”

I sent Mr. Grigg a pointed glare that had him turning around and heading back into the tourist shop he owned. Ellie didn’t need people staring right now. “Can I help you up? I can get you a T-shirt at the station?—”

“That’s okay,” Ellie said, her cheeks flushing. “I just need to get home.”

Fucking hell.I wanted to shank whoever had thrown that egg. “Please,” I gritted out. “Let me help. You don’t want to walk home like this.”

Yolk bloomed across Ellie’s chest, and she winced as she looked down. “Okay.”

My hands wrapped around her slender, delicate wrists, the skin there just as smooth as I’d feared. “On the count of three, okay?”

She nodded.

“One, two, three.” I lifted Ellie to her feet, not letting go until I was sure she was steady. “Come on.” I placed my hand on her upper back, guiding her toward the station.

Ellie quickly scanned the street before dipping her head. “Everyone’s staring.”

“People around here have a hard time minding their own business. But they’re not judging you, just the pricks who threw the egg.”

Ellie’s gaze flicked up to me for a brief second. “Careful. In some circles, prick could be considered a swear.”

My jaw clamped shut, and a mixture of annoyance and relief washed through me. If Ellie was giving me shit, then her fire was returning.

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