Page 48

I’m sorry, Bruiser, but a horde of rats is too easy. You deserve something far worse.
I push myself up, legs shaky, but my resolve is iron-clad. I meet my gaze in the mirror, seeing not the scared girl I was but the survivor I’ve become.
Bruiser thought he broke me then. He’s about to learn how wrong he was. This time, I’m not running. This time, I will fight back.
As I stare at my reflection, at the damning evidence etched into my skin, I realize with sickening clarity: I’m more than a witness in this investigation.
I might be the key to bringing Bruiser down for good, but that kind of knowledge gets people killed.
SEVENTEEN
Blaze
Revelations and Vulnerabilities
The crashfrom the master cuts through the silence like a gunshot. My body moves before my mind can catch up, instinct driving me as I sprint down the hallway.
Privacy be damned. If she’s hurt…
I burst into the bedroom. “Ember? Are you—” The words choke off as the scene hits me.
She stands in front of the mirror, completely bare, the towel crumpled at her feet along with the shattered remains of a ceramic soap dish, but it’s not her nakedness that stops me cold. It’s the way she stares into the mirror, her reflection barely registering as tears spill silently down her cheeks.
The pain etched on her face is raw and gut-wrenching.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. Gone is the dirt-streaked girl with tangled black hair. In her place stands a woman—a vision that leaves me shaken.
Her hair, dark as midnight, clings in wet waves down her back, impossibly long, reaching past her waist. Her skin is pale, almost glowing in the soft light. And her eyes… Those eyes… Sea-foam green, wide with pain, framed by wet lashes, like twin beacons cutting through the darkness.
But it’s not her beauty that grips me. It’s the vulnerability, the agony radiating from her.
I’m a protector, always have been, but standing here now? It’s not just an instinct to shield her that rushes through me. It’s something deeper, something I can’t quite grasp.
It’s something I’m afraid to hold on to.
“Ember…” My voice cracks, barely above a whisper.
She’s the most hauntingly beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
For a moment, I’m frozen, unable to reconcile this ethereal creature with the street-smart survivor I’ve come to know. Then reality crashes back in.
She’s hurt.
She’s scared.
And she’s completely exposed.
I yank my shirt off, moving toward her in two long strides. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” The words come out rougher than I intend, my voice husky with an emotion I can’t quite name.
Ember flinches as I drape my shirt over her, covering her nakedness. She trembles, whether from cold or fear or both, I’m not sure. Without thinking, I scoop her into my arms. She weighs almost nothing, fitting against me like she was made to be there.
The thought sends a jolt through me, equal parts exhilaration and unease. This isn’t me. I don’t get rattled by beautiful women. I don’t feel this—this overwhelming need to protect, shelter, and…
Claim.
I cut the thought off, focusing on getting her somewhere safe. The bed looks inviting, but something stops me from setting her down. Instead, I sink into an overstuffed armchair with Ember cradled against my chest.
She curls into me, her face buried in the crook of my neck. Her breath is warm and uneven against my skin. It awakens parts of me that have no business being wakened—a ravenous hunger.