she should’ve let me die. Attempting to leave in the middle of the night. Fainting and having to be hauled back into Camryn Rein’s bed. My body burning up so bad I was certain Dominic Rein had chosen to take his revenge. Forcing his daughter to help me, only to set me alight while I slept.
The scream happens again. The hysterical sound piercing the otherwise still night. It’s a hell of a lot more haunting in full consciousness; being forced to bear blind witness to something that agonizing for another human being.
I scramble out of the bed, ripping at the damp sheets to find my footing. Soft sobs echo through the tenebrous house, my skin crawling with the despondency in the sound.
I limp toward the stairs, hand brushing the wall to guide me through the unfamiliar surroundings. I struggle through my descent, my body protesting violently with every staggered step. I force myself forward, the distress in the tortured cries too heavy to ignore.
My heated skin chills with every step I take. I feel as though I’m walking willingly into my own afflicted dreams.
I expected a real-life victim. Anticipated live torture to be unfolding in Dominic Rein’s sitting room. What I didn’t expect was Camryn Rein, caught in a nightmare so brutal, her body looks ready to break into a million pieces; even in sleep.
Her eyes, clenched together tightly, look ready to bleed. Her fingers, pulled into white-knuckled fists are no doubt ripping at the skin of her palms. Her entire body twists aggressively, jerking violently against the horrors in her mind.
“Fuck.”
I step up to the couch, standing over her in uncertainty. “Camryn,” I whisper loudly.
I shake her leg. She doesn’t wake, her body only shuddering at the feel of my hand against her skin.
It’s not lost on me that I’m the only one here. The woman currently living in her own nightmare having stayed, resentfully, to keep an eye on me. How pitiful that I’m the only potential safe harbor she could wish for at this moment.
My heart tightens in my chest. I can see the panic coursing through her veins. Her mind is forcing her to relive something so traumatic from her past, it haunts her in her sleep.
Rubbing a hand down my face, I pull at the hairs of my beard in frustration, kneeling beside her. Taking her hand slowly in mine, I let my thumb rub slow circles over the soft skin. She attempts to rip it back, a pained whimper breaking from her cracked lips. I keep my grasp firm. The tears, balancing delicately at the very corners of her eyes, fall, setting salty, wet tracks across her temples.
“I got you,” I soothe, wanting nothing more than to pull her from the hell she’s caught in. “You’re safe.”
Her breathing stutters.
I want to shake her. Wake her up immediately and ensure she doesn’t exist another second in the world she’s forced to live in. I refrain, barely, knowing it would only cause her further distress.
“Shut it down, beauty.” I move closer to her ear, letting her feel my words against her skin. “You’re safe,” I repeat.
Her body jolts, her cries trickling off on a hesitant breath.
“Safe?” she murmurs, the disbelief in the jaded word both heartbroken and hopeful.
“Safe,” I echo, letting her hear the fight in my quietly spoken promise.
After a drawn-out minute, her eyes open with a pop, her hand squeezing mine tight enough to make me wince. I watch her chest heave, her heart beating so violently, I swear I can see it attempt to escape the confines of her body. Short sharp breaths only exaggerate her panic, her frenzied gaze skating over the room.
“Gotta fill your lungs up, beauty,” I instruct. “Whatever’s cutting off your ability to breathe, it can’t touch you here. You’re safe. I got you.”
Her mouth opens, a thick choking sound catching itself in her throat as her desperate need to breathe suffocates her.
“Fuck,” I spit, moving from my position on the floor.
Lifting her into a sitting position, I push in behind her, shifting her so we’re sitting flush. Her back to my front, her straight legs nestled comfortably between my bent ones. “Don’t gulp it in. Slow. Deep. Feel me. Copy.”
She stutters on a breath. Then a second. But her body eventually finds rhythm with mine. Our chests move in unison, the thick intake of air expanding our lungs and deflating with a shaky exhale.
“Good girl,” I praise. “That’s it. Slow. Take control. You’re in control. You.”