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The searing pain that cut across his neck.

Heknew.

Rihanna rushed by him, and he was helpless to stop her. He couldn’t move from the front door. He couldn’t follow her, protect her from what he knew drew closer and closer to the house. Nothing but the wood-slatted sides of a wagon and tufts of hay hid the nightmare she was about to see.

Thierry was the one who caught her, an arm linking around her waist and forcing her feet off the ground as she fought and screamed. Shaye hurried past them, but the two men on the wagon’s bench led their cart closer and closer to the front of the cabin.

Bryce tensed, shuddered, swallowed back the revolting sour bile that threatened to make its way from his mouth. He didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see. Somehow, he’d separated from Shaye in this strange replay. Although he couldn’t see the man, he sensed where he was. Sensed his mood, the protective brother of the woman who was about to discover her worst nightmare.

The cart came to a halt. The two men clambered down from the bench, placing the reins on designated hooks beside the single step. The man closest to Rihanna and Thierry removed his hat and placed it against his chest.

A bone-chilling shriek filled the evening. Nothing Thierry did could calm Rihanna as she bucked and fought for freedom. At last, he gave way, releasing her to bolt to the back of the cart.

Like a scene change and a new angle recorded, Bryce found himself standing a few feet from the back of the cart. He suspected he stood beside Shaye, since he couldn’t see the man, but the resonating fury that shed from his spirit was enough to pummel his own. Thierry rounded the back of the cart, and a set of hands tried to pull Rihanna back.

God, she refused. She struggled. Shecried.

The man unhooked the back of the cart, lowering the side.

Rihanna collapsed, releasing a wail that could have split the heavens.

Thierry caught her before she hit the ground, pulling her away as the two drivers tugged at their haul.

A pair of dusty black leather riding boots, splattered with dried blood.

Black pants, one leg torn open at the knee, caked with dried mud and exposing a blood-smeared wound.

Soiled and torn black riding coat.

Soiled white shirt, splattered with blood. Soaked with blood. Deep crimson the higher up his eyes moved.

An arm flopped to the side.

There, on a dirt-smudged and deathly pale hand, the evidence of a healing cut. A sworn vow of forever. The promise of a lifetime of happiness.

The scream that pierced the evening shattered all hope, peace, and joy the world might have clung to.

The first drop of rain hit the dusty ground at his feet.

The clouds overhead crowded the sky, shutting out the last of the day with a rumble of thunder he felt to his marrow.

“Thierry, bring her inside,” Shaye demanded.

Bryce turned to Rihanna, or he thought he did. But all he could see was the limp body hefted out of the back of the cart by the two scrawny men. As they drew him out to his head,Bryce saw the deep, merciless laceration across the corpse’s throat.

Instantly, pain swelled along his own neck and he coughed, choking on nothing but the air he breathed.

“We came across the body on our way into town. Recognized the young lad. Our deepest sympathies,” one of the men said, giving the body one final tug.

Blood fell on the ground.

The skies opened up, releasing a torrential downpour upon the land.

And Bryce grappled for an invisible Shaye as pain enveloped his neck and he struggled to breathe.

Within a split second, the vision vanished and Bryce slammed his hand against the kitchen table as he coughed violently. He half expected to taste blood in his mouth, but after a few seconds, and Shaye’s firm grip around his wrist—followed by what he could only explain as a burst of some anti-anxiety magic—he calmed enough to swallow down a few gulps of his hot tea.

Shaye lowered his head, stirring the steeping mesh in thought.