Page 46 of Only Mine
I scramble out of bed, tangling myself in the sheets, my bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor.
My hands fly to my shoulder, nails digging through the thin cotton of my shirt, seeking an anchor.
The sound of splintering wood and a door almost swinging off its hinges has me swiveling toward it in time to see a dark shape filling the doorway, silhouetted for a horrifying instant against a flash of lightning.
A scream rips from my lungs, bloody and animalistic. I stumble back, tripping over my own feet, my hands flying up to shield my face.
“Wrenley!”
Saint’s harsh command cuts through the thunder’s rage. He’s inside in two strides, wind and rain swirling behind him and instantly soaking the floor. Saint’s bare chest is slick with rain, and that eternal part of me that will always appreciate the male form regardless of circumstance wriggles with glee when she realizes that dream-Saint and real-Saint match uppretty good.
Relief, so potent it makes my knees buckle, washes over me, immediately followed by a fresh wave of adrenaline-fueled terror at his violent entrance.
“Jesus, Saint! You nearly gave meanotherheart attack!” I gasp out in ragged spurts.
My shoulder throbs where my nails had been.
He’s across the small room in three long strides, reaching for me in the dark.
When his fingers close around my arm, he says, “The power’s out in the main house, too. But it’s much safer there. You’re coming with me.”
“I … okay,” I manage, my teeth chattering.
“Grab something warm. Quickly.”
I fumble around in the dark for the oversized, button-down cardigan I’d left on the sofa chair. But I’m clumsy and shaking too hard to find the sleeves.
Saint makes an impatient sound, then his hands are on mine, guiding my arms into the cardigan.
His fingers brush my skin as he tugs the sleeve into place, and a jolt entirely separate from the storm shoots through me.
It’s a direct echo of my dream, and I have to force myself to swallow.
“You’re trembling,” he states.
“This storm, it’s a bit much,” I reply through clenched teeth to keep them from chattering harder.
He lingers at my neck when he fastens the cardigan’s top button, that small comfort causing me to question even needing clothes during this emergency.
“Better?” His voice is low and almost on par with the building thunder.
I manage a nod.
“Good. We need to move. Now.”
Saint doesn’t wait for my verbal reply. His hand slides from my shoulder down my arm, his grip firm and reassuring before engulfing my own.
“Stay with me.”
The door groans open again as he pulls it, the wind snatching at it and trying to rip it from his grasp.
Saint steps out into the maelstrom, pulling me with him. The rain is a solid wall of water, instantly plastering my hair to my face, my thin shirt clinging to my upper thighs. The wind howls, tearing at us.
Lightning splits the sky again, illuminating the churning chaos around us, the trees thrashing like tormented spirits.
I stumble on the slick grass, my bare feet searching for purchase, a small cry escaping me. Saint stops, his body a shield against the worst of the wind.
“Can you make it?” he yells over the roar.
