to my feet and sprang from the shadows. Gathering my floor-length dress in my hands, I hurried into the body of the church, rushing forward until the bright sun from the open entrance lit up the dark wooden floor.
“I won’t say it again. I need you to leave or I’ll call the police.” Pastor James was talking when I arrived at the large doors. The man from the choir immediately saw me and tapped her on her arm.
Pastor James turned round and paled. “Maddie, darlin’, stay in the church and call your sister, or even better, Mr. Nash.”
Her face betrayed her fear, but her protests quickly turned to white noise in my ears as I reached the exit and saw, waiting below, at the edge of the busy road was him… Flame. He was pacing back and forth. As always, I counted his steps. Eleven to the right, eleven to the left.
As I drank in how he looked, I feared my legs would collapse. That confusing sensation of my stomach swooping hit me, as my eyes focused on his leather-clad legs and the Hangmen cut partly covering his bare torso.
His strangely cut dark hair was in its usual state of disarray. His skin was pale and he had lost weight. I frowned. His muscles were twitching more than usual. His hands clenched into fists more than normal. His lips were muttering something inaudible from this distance, yet… he was still Flame. He was still the man who protected me. He was still the silent shadow that kept me safe.
The man I had missed with the most incredible fervor.
His friends, Viking and AK, stood off to the side. Viking, the enormous red haired brother, looked distressed as he talked to the dark-haired AK, and when he ran his hand through his hair, he turned, and his attention locked on me.
Viking’s large chest deflated in what looked like relief and he said something to AK. AK looked toward me and threw a small tired wave.
But I did not have the time to spare for them. All I could concentrate on right now was Flame.
I winced as I caught sight of white gauze on the side of his neck. The gunshot graze. The bullet that should have hit me if he had not thrown himself in its path...
... to protect me.
Flame’s pace increased. I could see his hands shaking as his fists became impossibly tight. Then, with a corded neck, he began to scream. His croaked and rough voice made it to “MADD—” before his eyes whipped to the top of the stairs…
… where they collided with mine.
Flame’s bellowed call caught in his throat and his body came to an abrupt stop. He staggered on uneasy feet as though he was too tired to be standing. But that midnight stare remained. His hands stopped shaking, his wide bare chest pumped at a heady speed, yet a strange kind of calm seemed to flow over him.
I wanted to speak to him.
I wanted to take his hand in mine and thank him. Thank him beyond words for saving my life.
But I could not. I did not have the courage. So instead, I lifted my trembling hand to my neck. I placed it in the same spot as his injury. Making sure I had his undivided attention, I bowed my head in thanks.
Flame stilled at my gesture, then, with his nostrils flaring, and his chest heaving, he stepped forward. My heart raced when I thought he was about to climb the stairs and meet me. But after only one step, it was as though something stopped him dead in his tracks.
My heart fell.
I could tell he wanted to come to me.
I could tell that he wanted to speak to me. But like me, it was not that simple.
Feeling someone come up behind me, my stomach rolled when Flame’s calm demeanor suddenly snapped as he looked over my shoulder. The tortured man I witnessed controlling his rage each night broke back through on a graveled growl.
“Maddie?” Pastor James called. The sound of the Pastor’s voice and her presence at my side seemed to send Flame over the edge. His eyes clouded with rage. His feet carried him forward. With a threatening menace, his harsh demeanor held the promise of pain.
Barely breathing, I followed my instincts and ran down the church steps. Flame coming back from wherever he had been in his tortured mind with every step I took towards him.