Page 43 of Thorns of Lust
I still couldn’t shake off that feeling. The same feeling that came every night. Someone was watching me.
The glass and bottle from my night stand shattered all over the floor. My heart cracked. My breaths came out panting. I brought my legs up to my chest and curled up into a ball. I squeezed my eyelids shut hard, hoping to erase all the images in my mind.
“Sleep, sleep, sleep,” I murmured as I rocked back and forth on my bed. Pipsqueak. Moya luna. Pipsqueak. Moya luna.
Why was my mind whispering the stupid words on repeat over and over again?
Glass was everywhere. I hung upside down. Voices argued. Blood covered my face. Adrian was gone. I looked around for him, he was nowhere.
Did he just leave me?
A hand stretched towards me. A man’s hand. A strong hand. Not Adrian’s hand. But he smelled like my husband. Citrus and sandalwood.
My heart was in my throat.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” It wasn’t my husband’s voice. But I knew that voice. I knew it, damn it. But from where? “Grab my hand.”
I cried. The pounding in my heart grew louder, competing with the screams and buzzing in my head.
“Please don’t let me die.” I wasn’t ready to die. Tears flowed down my face. The saltiness of them stung. Burned. Something burned. It felt too hot. It hurt.
“Just an inch,” the stranger’s voice demanded. “Give me just an inch and I’ll keep you forever, Tatiana.”
Who are you? I wanted to ask. But all that came out were whimpers and cries. I had to get to him. The man ducked down and now I could see him. Our eyes met and blood simmered in my veins. It circled around me like a tornado engulfed in fire.
Or maybe that was the burning of the car I was trapped in.
I reached out my hand. Glass cut into my skin. The shattered windshield cut into his forearm, but he ignored the gash and blood seeping out of his wound.
“I’m here,” he said, his voice deep. The Russian accent. “Just a bit more.”
Our fingers touched and it was all he needed. He gripped the tip of my fingers, pulling me. My bones cracked, but I didn’t care. He’d save me.
Flames licked at my back.
“Please,” I sobbed. My fingers slipped out of his grip and my hand fell down onto glass. Exhaustion, heavy and overwhelming, drowned me. Black dots swam in my vision. I forced myself to lift my head, searching his darkness.
His eyes flashed, darkening in fury and determination.
“Don’t you fucking give up,” he roared.
Pieces of glass stuck to him and me. Warm, sticky blood ran down my skin.
His. Mine. Ours.
Pain sliced through me, exploding in my head. My hands were coated in blood. My insides were on fire. Every muscle in my body ached.
“Tatiana, give me your hand,” he demanded. “Don’t you fucking dare close your eyes!”
Blackness kept coming, tunneling my vision. I could barely see him. I tried to move my hand; I really did.
His eyes remained on me. Dark. Consuming. Demanding.
I woke up with a piercing scream traveling through the air and jerked upright in bed, my entire body soaked in sweat. My heart pounded, and my eyes darted around the dark room as my chest heaved up and down, taking in gasping breaths of air.
Inhaling deeply, again and again, I kept telling myself it was just a nightmare. A dream.
My fingers curled around the blanket, forming fists and I curled back into a ball. My eyes squeezed shut as I heard the faint voice. I sat up, listening. I heard it again. And again. It kept repeating the same word. Like a broken record playing over the speaker.
