But the moment she opens her beautiful blue eyes again… I have to ask her what the hell she’s running from.
And I already know that I won’t like the answer.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lyra
The darkness isn’t empty.
It’s thick and heavy, pressing on my chest, on my lungs, on my eyes, until I’m sure I’m trapped under something massive and cold.
Breathing hurts.
God, everything hurts.
A pulse throbs at my temple, slow and uneven, and for a moment, I’m convinced I’m still in the snow. Still on my back. Still hearing gunfire. Still seeing Remy?—
No.
I jerk my mind away from the memory as if I’ve pressed my hand to a hot stove.
When I try to lift my head, it feels like it’s glued in place.
Then a gentle warmth spreads across my hip. Not heat—warmth. Human. Solid. Anchoring.
A hand.
The realization hits in slow waves, trickling into place like thawing snow.
Stryker.
“You’re okay. I’m here.”
I try to swallow, but a pathetic sound slips out—something between a sigh and a whimper.
The weight beside me instantly shifts. Fabric rustles. Then…
“Allie?”
His voice is low and reassuring, chasing the demons from my darkest corners.
Slowly I force my eyes open.
The light stings, and the room seems to swim.
There are wood beams above me, a soft amber glow from a lamp, and shadows dancing across the wall.
I’m not sure where I am or what time it is.
Stryker is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing tactical gear, still armed, still watching me like the world might explode if he looks away for even a second.
His forearms rest on his thighs, hands clasped loosely, but there’s nothing relaxed about him. His muscles are coiled tight, like he hasn’t moved in hours. His eyes—God, his eyes—are rimmed red, maybe from exhaustion, but he’s focused entirely on me.
“Welcome back.” His voice cracks, the break barely audible, but I hear it.
I shift, and pain flares up my arm, white-hot and sharp. I gasp.
He’s instantly leaning toward me, one hand rising instinctively before he stops himself—like he’s afraid to hurt me or afraid I’ll flinch.