Page 68 of The Delta’s Rogue (Crescent Lake #4)

Lights flash. Music pulses. My heart pounds a syncopated rhythm with the beat. It’s loud to me, but the volume of the music and the voices drown out my heartbeat for anyone else.

I turn my head to better see the faces of those surrounding me, but it’s yanked back into its original position.

I stare at the ceiling, at the strobing and flashing lights in a rainbow of colors.

Bucking against the restraints, I try to move again but to no avail.

My bound limbs and collared neck are all attached to a table or a bed or some flat, horizontal device that prevents me from having control over my body.

The palpitating cadence of my heart picks up to an uncontrollable, unmatchable pace. My chest heaves with each breath I take to calm myself.

Faces swim in and out of my vision, each with non-distinct features. Except for their eyes. Their eyes devour and taunt, roaming freely over my vulnerable body.

“No.” I shake my head and tug at the bindings holding me in place. “No,” I repeat as more and more eyes blink into existence, lingering on the parts of me I’m unwillingly displaying.

As one, the faces loom over me, descending upon me in a synchronized attack. Hands stretch, reaching for me and floating above me. They never land on my skin, but they torment me, drawing closer with each pass.

It’s only a matter of time before one of them makes good on their unspoken threat .

A hand brushes loose hair away from my face, breaking the invisible barrier around me. It trails down my cheek before gripping it firmly, and I scream and flail, trying everything I can to break free from the chains.

“Please, no! I can’t! I can’t give you what you want!” With a screaming sob, I back away, kicking my attacker and scratching at their forearm. “?No puedo darte lo que quieres!” I clutch at the blanket and press my body into the pillows, panting and crying and shaking with each movement I make.

Worried gray eyes stare at me. Sebastian props himself on a forearm, his hair tousled from sleep.

“Sarina.”

He sits up straighter but keeps his distance, giving me the space to come back to him on my own terms. His voice is soft and heavy, like a heated blanket to protect against the chill of winter.

It wraps around me like armor and a promise, and I want to lose myself in it forever.

I want to wear his voice like a shield against the vision flashing in my mind.

It’s there one second and gone the next, so I can’t tell what is reality and what is in my mind.

Is this real? Is he real? Did he really save me? Or did I dream all of that? Did I dream it and now it’s leaking into my reality? Did I imagine him saving me and taking me away from that horrid place and those awful people so I wouldn’t have to face the cruel truth of my fate?

“Sebastián?” I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if it’s really him. “?De verdad eres tú?”

I repeat my question from last night. A question from a dream? From a hallucination? How can I be sure?

“Sí. Soy yo.”

He gave me the same answer last night, that it really is him. He responded to each of my questions with his own answers in Spanish.

He learned Spanish for me. He would do anything for me.

“Yo haría lo que fuera por ti, carino,” he said.

But how do I know it wasn’t all in my head? How do I know that, in my panic and agony, I didn’t create a scenario in my mind? How can I be certain I didn’t dream up this promise-keeping, Spanish-speaking version of Sebastian to protect me from the pain of being with anyone who isn’t him ?

It would be so like my brain to create that very specific illusion.

“How can I be certain you’re not a dream?” I flinch away from him as the eyes, faces, and hands flicker in my mind again.

A brief flash of pain flares in his eyes at my avoidance of him, and for a moment, I feel it. How his sorrow entwines with mine. How his pain morphs and meshes with mine.

And his love. I feel his love shooting through my soul like a comet spiraling across the night sky. I feel him sending it to me, feel him reaching out for me with a soothing, all-encompassing adoration.

The sensation is brief. I reach for it, grasping at the wisps of his affection, but they slip away from me, fading into obscurity.

It was real, though. It had to be real. Even if I conjured a vision of him into existence, how could I possibly conjure such a specific set of emotions? How could I conjure the momentary yet tangible glimpse of him sending strength and love to me through our mate bond?

“You can’t be certain”—his hands curl into fists as he resists his urge to reach out for me—“but I promise I am not a dream. Te lo prometo .”

Te lo prometo. I promise. Words that are more than just their surface value. Words that bind us together, like the bond between our souls.

I inch my hand towards his, sliding it along the smooth blush-pink sheets. He uncurls his fist, reaching for me but waiting for me to make the first contact.

The tips of my fingers brush his, and stars burst to life beneath my skin. They ripple up my arm and dance around my heart, embedding their sparkling dust into my soul. Then they fade, twinkling with less and less intensity until all that’s left is a shadow of their existence.

They were there. I felt them. I felt our bond.

Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe my hallucination isn’t visual but sensory too.

But Goddess, why would it feel so right if it was just a dream? How could my mind create this exact, picture-perfect combination of sensations and visions?

Does it matter if it’s real or not?

I inhale with a choked, gasping sound and dive forward.

Sebastian catches me and wraps his arms around me, and I bury my face into his chest. The whimsical, overwhelming, joyous stars of our mate bond wink in and out of existence at the spots where our skin meets.

Each time they reappear, I cling harder to them.

Each time they fade, I cling harder to him , hoping to bring them back to life.

His fingers weave into the hair at the base of my neck, and his other arm winds around my waist to rest on my hip. Beneath my ear, his heart thunders in his chest, matching the uneasy, panicked pace of mine. Tears flood my eyes and overflow onto my cheeks, landing on his warm skin.

Another sob shakes my body. Another shuddering inhale rattles my chest as I try to fill my lungs with his scent.

Like the bond connecting our emotions and the sensations when we touch, his scent is almost imperceptible.

The precise combination of lemon, cedar, and mint isn’t as pronounced as before. But it’s there. It’s him.

My mate.

My life. Mi vida .

“I’ve got you.” He squeezes me tighter as if his arms could prevent me from falling into the darkness in my mind. As if, by embracing me, he could keep me from disappearing from his life again, keep me safe from any harm, and keep the nightmares from returning every night with a vengeance.

Goddess, how I wish that was possible.

“There were eyes.” I snuggle further into him, manifesting the safety and the protection his actions promise. If I can get close enough to him, it will make it all true. “And hands. And…”

A sob stops me from finishing my sentence, and I shake my head. No lo puedo decir en voz alta . I can’t speak it out loud, can’t speak it into existence.

Sebastian swallows and rubs my lower back in a slow circle. “You’re safe, remember? We got you out.”

I don’t respond. There’s nothing to say.

Safe. What is safe? I’m out, I’m free, and I’m with him. But will I ever be safe again? Will he want me when he realizes how broken I am? When he realizes I let them break me? Will he understand it was the only way for me to survive?

I shiver and clench my eyes. Sebastian’s grip on me tightens, and he lifts and tucks the covers around me. He wraps me tight in his arms and the blankets, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety—a cocoon in which I wish to exist forever.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He leans back against the pillows. They sink beneath our combined weight, enveloping us and welcoming us into their plushness.

I tilt my chin high to meet his thundercloud eyes. “The dream?”

“Any of it.”

Everything in my body freezes. My muscles tense, cinching as taut as over-tightened shoelaces. My eyes widen, and my jaw clenches. Even my heart forgets to beat for a second.

His reaction is immediate. He brushes my hair away from my face and shakes his head, eyes glistening with an unspoken apology.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me about it yet if you’re not ready. You don’t have to tell me about it ever .”

I blink at him. My mouth opens and then closes, my surprise from his declaration overriding my ability to speak.

“I won’t force you to relive it if you don’t want to,” he adds. “That won’t help anybody.”

I dip my head in response.

I have nothing to say back to that. There is no way for me to know when or if I’ll ever be ready to tell him the full extent of what they put me through.

There are details I know he needs to be told, important tidbits that will help us capture these assholes and put an end to their terror, but beyond that?

Only time will tell what else I’ll reveal to him.

My fingers trace across his collarbone, and my eyes follow their path. The barest flicker of the bond sparks to life beneath my touch, but it’s nothing compared to what it should be.

His scent is there too. It’s right there, like a word you know but can’t remember when you need it.

“What do I smell like to you?” I rest my head on his chest once more.

I know his scent. I’ve had it memorized since the moment I first saw him, all those years ago. But mine has remained a mystery. I want to know what I smell like to him. I want to know every detail of how he perceives me.

“Honeysuckle.” He lowers his nose to the top of my head. His lips tip into a smile and brush against my hair as he continues speaking. “Honeysuckle, mango, and pomegranate. ”