Page 15

“Shut up, woman!” the baker yelled at his wife, not looking at her as his eyes danced across Saints’ Road, and Bryn wished she could reach out to throttle him. “You knew the demons would rebel as sure as I did. Now hush up and shut that damn baby up!”

Leaving the window, he checked the rifle before running to push the bakery door open, aiming at whatever was outside. The moment the door fully opened, blood splattered the walls of the bakery.

His wife was screaming, but Bryn was unable to focus on her or the baby. A cloaked figure walked in, and somewhere deep down, Bryn knew she was looking at a wraith.

Something rolled across the floor and stopped near the toe of Ted’s boots. Bryn looked down to see the glassy eyes of the baker looking up at her from his severed head.

A sharp pain cut through her side, and she came out of the fit, gasping for air, and her lungs seizing as much as her body, while Niamh held a damp cloth to her head.

Bryn needed air that her lungs were unable to pull in. Pushing away Niamh’s arms, Bryn stumbled like a newborn colt as she ran from the room someone had moved her to. How long had this fit lasted?

Stumbling down the stairs, she held on to the railing as her knees buckled a few times, but she finally made it to the front of the Sanctuary to see the door and windows gone, glass and wood strewn everywhere.

Focused on the world outside of the Sanctuary, she made it to the porch, the steps destroyed. Ignoring the debris, she fell onto Saints’ Road before dry heaving.

Her mind reeled at the image of the death she had just seen in her mind’s eye. Something she never could grow used to no matter how often it happened.

Rolling onto her back, she took in huge gulps of air.

The sky was growing brighter as the sun made its way higher in the sky, the storm having hit in the early hours of morning. The rays penetrated through the hazy sand still floating through Ifreann in the aftermath.

“Brynnie!” a man yelled, heavy footsteps making their way toward her, but she didn’t have the energy to respond or move. One moment she was staring at the sky as the clouds of sand dissipated around them, the next she was pulled into Declan’s arms, a spark of electricity moving between them as his face pushed into her neck. Tensing, she braced for a vision, relief flooding her when none came.

“You’re okay. Thank fuck,” he rasped against her skin. Pulling her into his lap, he took her face in his large hands, looking her over with those whiskey eyes she missed so much that it physically hurt.

“I’m fine,” she rasped, her voice gritty from inhaling so much of the sand still floating along the air currents.

Placing his forehead against hers, they shared breath. She missed little moments of touch, the relief he was going to live another day, followed by the intimacy of it.

The intimacy she coveted, and yet he shared with another.

“Please, Brynnie—” he started, but she pushed out of his arms. She was too weak right now and would capitulate to his pleas if she were to listen further. Maybe, one day, she would be strong enough to listen to his why of what had happened between him and Ava, but this day was not it.

“Maybe later,” she stated, the same standard response she had given him for weeks now.

Declan stood as well, his hands holding her elbows to steady her.

He was one of the few she’d allowed close to her since shutting people out had come far easier for her, and she hated he couldn’t understand how deep his betrayal cut at her when she looked into those familiar eyes.

Shaking away those thoughts, she gave Declan a small smile.

“Thank you, but I need to check on my apartment.” As she withdrew from his hold, he narrowed his eyes.

“Now is not the time, I understand that, but we need to talk. Soon.”

Turning and walking away, he had the last word, but she agreed. It was going to have to be soon.

Bryn walked down Saints’ Road, taking in the destruction, and feeling a sense of sadness. The town may not have ever welcomed her with open arms, but this place had been her home for as long as she could remember.

This sandstorm was on par with the stories she’d heard of the disasters brought on during the Collapse. When the oceans rose, earthquakes decimated, and the seasons changed dramatically.

Long ago, she’d read the world had four seasons. Now, there were two. Burning and freezing. One extreme to another, and they came on quickly. One day it might be burning, and the next it was freezing without warning.

Never, in all the time the town had been standing since the Collapse, had they found themselves in the center of such natural chaos like this, though.

No, natural was wrong. Bryn could feel an undercurrent of something that had nothing to do with the world around her, but as much as she dug deep down inside, she couldn’t put what the feeling meant into words.

The sensation of being watched was back, and this time it had her inner-prey drive going crazy. Spinning, she noticed nothing out of the ordinary. A shadow moved, and she held still, wondering if it were some trick of the light.