Page 8 of Vengeful Melodies

Grey. Shit.

And he’s not alone. A tall, lean guy stands beside him—tense, like he’s ready to fight. Which, to be fair, he might be. We’re strangers, after all.

Maybe it’s the way Wren’s yelling. Maybe it’s the scene in general. Either way, they approach fast.

God, I don’t need this right now.

But I fight through it. I fight against my body, against the tightness in my chest, the weight crushing my ribs.

I am not weak. I am not fragile. Even the strong break sometimes—but I will not break here.

“I’m… okay,” I croak. “I’m okay, Wren…”

My voice is shredded. My throat burns. My head throbs with the coming migraine.

“Is everything okay?” Grey asks, concern lining his voice. “Do you need an ambulance?”

I duck my head, ashamed. I can’t let him see me like this. Not again. Not twice in one day.

“She just needs food,” Wren answers quickly. “Her blood sugar dips sometimes. We’re going to get her something now.”

He turns to the other man, fumbling a little as their eyes meet.

“Alix,” Grey says. “Go grab the trail mix from the front. It's new. She needs something stable before you feed her real food.”

Then, to me: “Are yousureyou don’t need an ambulance? I’m just taking him to the arena to meet the others.”

His voice is soft. Reassuring.

I lean toward Wren, whispering just loud enough for him to hear.

“If you don’t get that man’s number, Iwillhold it over your head forever.”

I nudge him forward, then lean back, taking shallow breaths as the cool air hits my skin again.

I won’t slip back. Not now.

This isn’t the end. It’s just a detour. A bump in the road.

“Here,” a deep Australian accent says as a hand extends a pack of trail mix toward me.

I brush my hair from my face—and freeze.

It’s him.

The man from Grey’s shop earlier. The kiss.

His eyes widen as they land on me.

“It’s you,” he says. “From the shop. Are you okay? Was it that guy? Did he hurt you? Where is he?”

His voice gets sharper as his gaze flicks to my things in the truck bed, to the urn in my hands.

He clenches his fist and starts to round the front of the truck, but both Wren and Grey block his path.

“If you get in trouble out here, the guys’ll kill me,” Grey warns, pushing him gently back toward the SUV. “Sorry about him, Dreya. Eat those. I gave Wren my number. If you need anything—anything—call me.”

“Thank you,” I murmur. “I will.”