Page 31 of The Ecstasy of Sin

Another bolt of lightning ignites the sky, thunder crashing overhead and nearly making me jump out of my own skin.

Wrathful green eyes meet mine, right before the light catches on the silver and black surface of a massive blade.

“Run, little lamb.”

Dominic.

Goosebumps erupt all over my body, a violent shiver following in their wake.

I knew it. I knew it was him. He found me somehow, and once again he’s saving me.

His words are a harsh command, one that threatens punishment if I don’t obey. My body responds, and before I realize what is happening, I’m scrambling to my feet. I stumble backward, away from the puddle of thick, dark liquid spreading out from my attacker’s battered skull.

Chancing one final glance at Dominic, my breath hitches when I see possessiveness in his beautiful eyes. His scowl turns vicious as he turns his attention away from me, and back down to the aggressor-turned-victim pinned beneath him.

The light of the furious sky glints off his blade as he lifts it high.

And I run. I’m an observer in my own nightmare as I run down the street, instinctively knowing which direction will take me to the shelter. The rain is pounding against my face, and I taste the bitterness of fear and blood on my tongue.

My aching lungs are struggling as the women’s shelter comes into view. My legs are so weak I feel like I’m seconds away from collapse. My frantic heart pounds wildly as I spot Kevin standing at the door, and his eyes widen in surprise at my approach. He quickly swipes his keycard and pulls the door open for me.

Without a word, without slowing down, I race inside.

I lose my footing the second my wet shoes hit the linoleum floor, sliding and slipping until I collide with the front desk, landing on my ass in front of it.

My tailbone explodes in pain from the impact. My lungs seize, and I gasp as I hunch forward, my palms braced on the cold floor. My breath comes in ragged bursts, adrenaline still tearing through my bloodstream like wildfire as I fight to steady my breathing.

“Wren? Wren!” Lorraine, one of the staff members I’ve come to know over the years, is calling out to me. Her tentative hand touches my shoulder, as Kevin rushes to my side to try and help me to my feet.

“I’m calling the police,” he says, reaching for the radio clipped to his belt after he helps me up off the floor.

“No! I’m fine,” I cry out, my voice so hoarse it’s barely recognizable. “I’m fine.” I repeat those words again and again while my breathing steadies. I can tell by the worried eyes of the two staff members that they don’t believe me.

I force myself to stand upright, brushing the soaked strands of long hair away from my face. My shaking fingers grip my drenched clothes, trying to straighten them as they cling to my body.

“Jesus, Wren, what happened?” Lorraine asks, her hand still on my shoulder.

“I was attacked, but I got away, and they ran. I lost my bag.” I hardly recognize my own voice, and the lie feels like ashes on my tongue. But I just know Dominic killed my attacker, and the last thing I want is for him to be arrested and thrown in jail for saving my life.

I don’t know what I'm going to do, having lost all of my medication and belongings, but what other option do I have? It’s not like I can go back out there now to try and retrieve it.

Someone will eventually report a murder when they find the body behind the church, and find my abandoned pack nearby. Will I be blamed? Will I go to jail for this?

My mind is racing, my heart beating violently, when Lorraine’s calm voice pulls me out of the spiral. “Wren, honey, let’s get you a hot shower and some fresh clothes.”

I nod. It’s all I can do. I assume that means they have a bed for me. I just need to sleep, to turn off my brain for awhile, then tomorrow I can figure out how to fix the colossal mess I’m in.

Almost five months worth of migraine prevention medication… all gone. There’s no way my pack will be there in the morning. Not in a city full of struggling people and a homeless population that takes whatever they can find.

Not that I can blame them.

I follow Lorraine into the communal showers, where she gestures for me to wait while she ducks into the locked storage room. When she returns, she places a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt on the bench beside me, followed by a downy towel she presses into my hands.

“I’ll go make sure your bed is ready for when you’re done. You’re safe now, Wren. Take a deep breath and get cleaned up.”

Stepping into the shower, I turn on the water until it runs hot enough to chase the terrible cold away. I feel as though I’m detached from reality as I peel my frigid, drenched clothes from my body and toss them into the corner of the stall.

I’m going through the motions as the steamy water runs over my chilled body, washing away the dirt and blood still clinging to my skin. I use the soap dispenser nailed to the tile wall to lather myself not once, but twice, trying to erase the phantom touch of the man who wanted me dead.