Page 102 of Wicked Dove

Nothing but his to hold.

He came for me.

Time turns, the world spinning as I welcome the darkness. I can’t speak, and he doesn’t bother to say a word; his presence is more than anything I could hope for.

The vehicle rolls to a stop. The only way I know is because he carries me into the bitter air a moment later. My adrenaline doesn’t keep me warm this time, that’s all him. Bundled tightly into his hold, I keep my eyes closed, trying to will away the tremble from my limbs when I feel the touch of cool stone beneath my feet.

My lack of shoes becomes the farthest thing from my mind as I lose his touch in the next breath. Confusion tightens my features as I pry my eyes open. There’s a hint of something in his gaze, something I can’t quite place.

Guilt? Remorse? Indifference?

I press my palm against his cheek, unsure where to even begin with what my life has become, and completely unsure whether I have the strength to tell him. I don’t even know whether he’ll believe me, but I have to try. Before I can attempt a single word, footsteps echo from behind me and I lose his attention.

My heart burns in my chest as I twist my neck, despite the pain, to follow his line of sight, regretting it the moment my eyes latch onto those approaching.

A sneer promises vengeance.

A smirk promises torture.

A snarl promises retribution.

I don’t understand.

I’m back.

I clawed my way out in a desperate search for my lifeline, and the moment I found him, my life hanging by a thread, he brought me back to the gothic towers I’ve grown familiar with.

Institute Thirteen.