Page 91 of Snowed In with her Mountain Men
Was this guy cursing at me in my own home?
The voice was deep, angry, even a little bit… familiar? I had no time to decide though, if I wanted to escape. I started by prying my arm free, and then whipping an elbow directly into his face. The intruder turned his head at the last second, absorbing the blow on one side of his thick skull, rather than getting his nose splattered.
He twisted, then twisted again, his great bulk surging and heaving like some giant, coiled snake. His moves were practicedtoo, and I could tell they had purpose. He was trying to mount me. If I let him get his leg over to the other side of my chest, he’d pin my arms with his knees and I’d be utterly helpless.
Fuck that.
Instead I did what I always did in such a grim situation: I fought dirty. The jacket he was wearing was thick, and made for the coldest of weather. I grabbed the snorkel hood, pulled it over his face, and twisted it shut. Then I began punching it repeatedly, grinning the whole time. His rage-fueled cries were muffled by the sealed hood: anger, pain, frustration. I was really teeing off on him, enjoying myself, when all of a sudden I was six feet in the air.
“FUCK! YOU!”
The asshole had lifted me, as easily as if I weighed nothing, while I was still raining down blows. Somehow he threw me over his head, flinging me backwards, sending me flying into the base of the stairwell.
Crack!
Something broke. I could only hope it wasn’t my back. Itfeltlike my back, but it was much louder and more violent sounding. I ended up on the stairs, covered in splintered pieces of the shattered railing. Something fell on me, the sharp corner skidding across my cheek before it landed in my lap. By the time I realized it was the framed photo of us with Sarge, blood was already streaming down my chin.
I glanced up. My attacker, shaking with rage, had yanked the hood back. His cherry-red face was covered by more blood than mine, so I chalked it up to a win and stood to lunge at him.
Only for some odd reason, I couldn’t stand.
I pulled harder, desperate to rise to my feet, but something warm and wet kept me pinned to the staircase. I looked down at the same time he did, and our shocked expressions were roughly the same.
One of the spindles from the banister was broken off, and jutted upward. It disappeared straight through the bottom of my leg, before reemerging from my thigh.
Practically helpless, I steeled myself against the coming rush of pain and waited for his next blow. I was totally immobile, now. For all practical purposes, defenseless.
Instead, the man just glared at me with his deep-set eyes, then took off through the open doorway.
The pain blossomed, threatening to overwhelm my senses even as I pushed it down. I tried shouting for Camryn again, but to no avail. Part of me wanted to throw my weight forward; a move that might snap the spindle off at the base. But there was the little matter of my femoral artery to consider. If I even so much as nicked it without a way to stop the bleeding, it would all be over.
Minutes ticked by; as I raged and shouted into the empty cabin. My gun, my phone, my radio — everything that could be possibly useful was still in the truck. My wounded leg was bleeding profusely now, but as far as I was concerned, that was the least of my worries.
Camryn!
I growled at my own stupidity. Leaving her behind had been carelessness, recklessness — especially with that asshole still skulking around the house. How could we have been so stupid? How could we—
Something made me look down, through the shattered glass of the photo that rested beside me. Sarge glared back at me through space and time; his expression frowning and square-jawed, his recessed eyes blazing with the usual intensity. And then, with the speed of a thunderclap, recognition dawned.
No…
My brain swirled with confusion and denial. Like my very reality had been shattered.
It can’t be.
The sound of an engine roared through the open doorway, and I recognized the lights of the Marauder bouncing outside. Ryder flew into the house two seconds later, followed closely by Jaxon, their eyes darting everywhere.
“Where—”
“It’s him!” I shouted, pointing at the photo. “He was here, I swear it! It’s—”
“Sarge’sbrother,”Jaxon grumbled, rushing forward to assess my leg.
My mouth was frozen in the open position. “His… his brother?”
“Yes. Now shut up for a minute and hold very still.”
Ryder casually pulled a scarf from the coat rack, while Jaxon grabbed both my hands and set them on either side of my leg. “Be ready for this,” he warned. “When it’s done, keep up the pressure here and here.”
