Page 99 of Esperance

Then terror and agony stabbed her, and her breath caught.

Carver was lying nearby, and though he was asleep, there was nothing restful about his pose. His hands were fists, digging into the dark soil, and his shadowed expression was tight and twisted with pain. He was trapped in a nightmare, and the helplessness and despair he felt were gut-wrenching. The raw panic that clawed him made her flinch. His breaths came too fast, and a low whimper tugged at her heart.

It didn’t matter that things between them were still strained. No one deserved to suffer like this.

She crawled toward him. “Carver?”

A soft groan was his only reply.

She set a hand on his shoulder, and his eyes snapped open.

In seconds he had her pinned on the ground, her back hitting so hard it knocked the breath from her lungs. Pain shot across her shoulders, but it was the strangling grip he had on her wrists that made her squirm.

His knees dug into her hips as he straddled her and pinned her hands to the ground. He was trembling, and though she couldn’t see well in the darkness, she could feel his eyes boring into her.

She didn’t think he actually saw her.

His hold on her wrists spasmed, grinding her bones together.

Tears sparked in her eyes and her heart pounded. “It’s me,” she gasped, a quaver in her voice. “Carver, it’s me.”

His hold didn’t loosen, and his body remained tense on top of hers. Dark hair hung around his face, which was still obscured by darkness. His full weight wasn’t on her, but she still struggled to breathe.

“Carver . . .”

His fingers convulsed around her wrists. Confusion. Bafflement. Shame.

He shuddered and released her, then recoiled until his back hit the tree. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. He thrust a hand through his hair and curved in on himself. “I’m so sorry.”

Slowly, Amryn sat up, her fingers shaking a little as they ran over her bruised wrists. She shifted slightly away from him, her throat dry as she whispered, “You were having a nightmare.”

He scrubbed both hands over his face, his groan nearly lost in a distant roll of thunder. “Saints, I . . .” His shoulders stiffened, and his hands dropped so he could look at her. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

His emotions were chaotic—still half-locked in his horrific dream, yet also adjusting to the fact that he had attacked her. He eased forward on his knees, his palms open. “I just want to check, all right? I need to make sure you’re not hurt.”

It was only then she realized she was still clutching one of her wrists. She relaxed her hold. “I’m fine.”

He’d reached her, and his fingers brushed against her knuckles. “Please?”

His plea was soft in the darkness. Something about it cracked something inside of her. Slowly, she peeled back her hand and Carver leaned in, his fingertips brushing over her tender skin.

His careful touch raised every hair on her body, and her breath caught.

Carver stilled, his eyes flicking up to hers.

The intimacy of the moment—his hand paused against her wrist, their breaths mingling in the dark—was startling. It felt like they were the only ones on this mountain.

His gaze tracked to her mouth, and his lips parted.

Her own tingled.

A sudden tremor rocked him, and Carver pulled back. His fingers brushed across her palm as he withdrew. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Amryn swallowed tightly, her nerves gradually settling as she gained a little space from him. Not much, but every bit counted, especially around him.

They sat together in the dark. Rain fell, frogs croaked, and insects buzzed. Slowly, their breathing steadied.