Page 27 of Where Broken Wings Fly

“And what exactly is your name?” I say over my shoulder. “Why should I trust you?”

Overtaking me to block the door, he pins me with a fearsome scowl. “It’s Killian. Trust works both ways, you know.”

Gulping, I duck my gaze. “I’m Melody.”

“Melody,” he tests, like it doesn’t sit right.

“Uh-huh, that’s my name. Please move out of my way.”

Killian steps aside and motions for me to go ahead. I seize the bronze doorknob and step outside into blazing sunshine that burns my retinas. Darkness has abated, giving way to a crisp, blossom-scented morning.

An expansive wraparound porch hugs the entrance to the cabin, stained a dark shade of cherry red. Wicker furniture sits atop, offering a perfect, undisturbed view of the mountain range surrounding the valley on all sides.

Squinting in the daylight, I stumble a few more steps before dread nearly runs me over. From the grassy clearing in front of the cabin, dozens of eyes are locked on me—including my bare legs on display and the huge shirt barely covering my modesty.

“Asshole,” I curse under my breath.

Killian chuckles behind me. “You wanted to come outside.”

“Could’ve warned me.”

“Welcome to breakfast time. You might want to cover yourself up.”

Tugging his shirt even lower to make sure it’s covering as much of my body as possible, I stare at the huge clearing stretching out in front me. Two long tables have been built into the ground, carved from slabs of roughened wood.

At each table, a small group of people has gathered, chatting as they share steaming mugs of coffee and trays of breakfast sandwiches. Every single one of them is staring at me with varying degrees of shock.

“After you,” Killian invites with a grin.

I remain frozen on the spot. “Uh.”

“Problem?” he taunts.

Interrupting his little game, someone rises from the table on the left. He has a headful of luscious, light-brown hair the hue of rich, molten caramel, and a rough scruff of stubble covering his jawline. His curious green eyes burn a path over me.

He’s a little shorter than Killian but built with the same stockiness afforded by their rural home. Ropey lines of muscle threaten to burst through his V-neck white t-shirt and jeans, all the way down to his generous, rounded butt.

“Mummy! Mummy!”

A blonde angel shoots up next to him, dressed in another child’s clothes. Her hair has been neatly braided in two, and the streaks of tears and dirt are gone from her sweet face.

“Arianna!” I shout back.

She races across the grass, flying up the wooden steps with a squeal. Before she can collide with me at high speed, Killian steps in and grabs hold of her to block the collision.

He swings Arianna around in a circle, causing her to happily bellow his name at the top of her lungs. She’s never been one to let other people touch her—especially not men.

“Careful, peanut.” Killian places her back on her feet. “You don’t want to hurt your mama now, do you?”

“No, Killian,” she recites obediently.

He casts me a smug look before releasing her. “She’s all yours.”

Arianna throws her arms around my waist and buries her face in my stomach. I cuddle her close, letting the exhausted tears roll down my cheeks.

“It’s okay, beautiful girl. I’m here now.”

“You s-scared me,” Arianna cries.

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