by Kris Norris
Dylan shouted her name, levering onto one hand as the thumb of his other found her clit, giving it a firm flick. She came, yelling his name as she writhed beneath him, the world dimming into the firm press of his body and the hard feel of his cock as it emptied inside her. She felt every spurt, every contraction as he went rigid above her, every muscle clenching tight. He groaned through three more jerks of his hips before collapsing on top of her, his weight making her feel safe. Loved. She breathed out the last of her release, palming his back, wondering how long they could stay wrapped in each other’s arms before the real world intruded and they parted.
Annie exhaled as she scratched her nails down his back, loving the way his muscles twitched beneath her touch when her fingers scraped over a ridge. She paused, running the tips along the raised skin until an image flashed in her mind. She drew a shaky breath, cupping his chin as he pushed up, his gaze boring into hers.
She tried to soothe the panic welling in her chest as she traced his cheekbone with her thumb. “Is that what I think it is?”
The lines around his mouth creased as he pursed his lips together, his eyes narrowing. “It’s just a scar, like the ones you saw on my arm.”
“No. It’s not just a scar. It’s from a knife, but it’s not deep enough to be something you got during a fight. This was designed to inflict pain without killing you.” She coughed as she tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, failing miserably when she traced five more wounds identical to the first. Her heart thrashed against her chest. “Were you tortured?”
His jaw clenched. “Annie.”
“Good god. Dylan.” Tears slipped free of her lashes, burning a path down her cheek as she fought the roll of nausea in her gut. “Is that how Colin died? Were you two prisoners?”
The muscle in his temple pulsed as he eased out of her, rolling onto his back as he stared at the ceiling. Her heart clenched at the loss of his touch, but it was the sudden distance that hurt more. Though his arm still grazed hers, he felt a million miles away.
She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest as she wrapped her arms around her legs. Her heart told her to back off, to give him the space he so obviously wanted, but her head wouldn’t let her. This is what drove men to acts of violence and self-harm. This is what she’d missed in Rolland. Mistaking strength for dissociation. He’d been a master at it. Reassuring her with his smile, his successes, all the while burying the resentment deep inside until it’d seized control. She’d realized too late that he’d been telling her exactly what she’d wanted to hear, and she’d be damned if she allowed that to happen again. Dylan could run, push her away, refuse to be a part of her life, but if it gave him just a small measure of relief, that’s what mattered.
Annie turned her head toward him, preparing herself for the anger she knew would be directed her way. “How long were you held?”
He didn’t look directly at her, merely shifted his eyes until they stared at something over her left shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. I lived. He died. That’s all it boils down to.”
“If it were that simple, you would have framed that flag, or found something equally honorable to do with it. Hiding it—it means you’re still harboring guilt. That you can’t bear to let others know what really happened.”
His gaze met hers this time, anger glittering in his eyes. “Is that your professional opinion, doctor?”
She braced her shoulders, praying her tactic worked. “You’re angry. That’s good. You should be, after all he let you down. He gave up and made you face it all alone. If I were you, I’d be furious. It’s all his fault. He should be the one to suffer, not you.”
Dylan growled, pushing to his feet as he stalked toward the cell door. She followed suit, crossing her arms on her chest as he paced to the entry and back. There was no mistaking the look he flashed her as he stopped just shy of her.
“You don’t have a clue about what you’re talking about. Colin didn’t give up. He died saving my sorry ass when the unit staged a rescue.” He inched closer, forcing her to back up a step. “I was the one who wasn’t strong enough. I was the one who couldn’t walk out the fucking door! I told him to go, but the bastard insisted on carrying me out, muttering about the code, about how we didn’t leave our brothers behind to die. He was shot in the back just as the cavalry stormed the camp. He never saw it coming. So it wasn’t his fault, it was mine. I let him down.” He curled his lips in obvious disgust. “It should be me buried in that damn box, not him.”
He turned again, this time stopping at the door and wrapping his hands around the bars. His back flexed as he clenched his fingers until his knuckles turned white, and she wondered if he might actually bend them.
She gave him a moment to finish cursing under his breath before she walked over, keeping enough distance between them he wouldn’t feel threatened.
She leaned sideways, wanting him to know she was there as she took a deep breath. “Now that I believe.”
He glared at her over his shoulder. “Is that what your little show was about? You wanted me to admit I was to blame?”
“This isn’t about blame. It’s about the truth.”
“Well, the truth sucks.”
“No. The truth hurts. There’s a difference.”
“Is there? And what, Doctor Dunnigan, is the difference?”
She didn’t miss the sarcasm dripping from his voice, but she wasn’t backing down, not when she’d seen how the story ended in vivid color. “Admitting it hurts means you’re allowing yourself to feel. Everything else is just burying the pain.”
“Burying works well for me, so let’s just let it go.” He turned and tried to push past her.
She grabbed his arm, refusing to budge. “But for how long? How long before it gets so full down there it starts bubbling out? How long until nothing you do is good enough?” She released his arm but didn’t move out of his way. “You risk your life. You save lives every time you go out on a call yet it’s not enough, is it? You tell yourself you’re dealing with it, but it’s all a lie. Trust me, Dylan, you can’t live like this. It’ll eat you up inside until one day, that gun you’re carrying looks like a reasonable way out, and then someone you love will find you, your blood pooled on the floor, bits of your brain splattered across the wall.” She shook her head. “You can pretend all you want. Fuck as many women as you can get your hands on, but it won’t stop you from pulling that trigger when your demons convince you there’s nothing left worth redeeming.”
Her voice cracked, the waver echoing through the room before cutting off into a disturbing silence. She sucked in a quick breath, the full force of her words hitting her. Shit, what the hell had she just done? She’d only meant to convince him he wasn’t to blame. To help him understand that Colin had chosen to make the sacrifice, but she’d allowed her emotions to get the better of her, and she’d told him everything.
Dylan didn’t speak, just stood there, eyes narrowed, lips pulled tight. Some of the anger had lifted from his expression, but what replaced it scared her more. She took a nervous step back before spinning on her heels and collecting her clothes. Somehow being naked now frightened her more than when she’d faced the ghost. She heard him mumble something a moment before his hand closed over her shoulder, stopping her with his sweats tied around her waist and his shirt pressed against her chest.
Annie closed her eyes, aware that it was the only action that would stop the tears from cascading down her cheeks. She swallowed hard, knowing she owed him an apology if nothing else.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“No. But then you wouldn’t be so good at what you do if you didn’t push people.”
“That wasn’t pushing. That was using what just happened between us as a means of getting inside your head, just like you accused me of earlier.”
“As I recall, you were bang on then, too.”
She sighed, not fighting when he spun her around. She felt exhausted. Complet
ely drained of any emotional response. “Sometimes bad things just happen. It’s not anyone’s fault, and in the end, all we can do is learn to let go. And it kills me inside to think you could…”
Her stomach heaved at the thought, and she broke free of his hold, marching over to the wall and leaning against it as she braced her hands on her knees. Shades of gray clouded her vision as she forced herself to take several deep breaths. Dylan’s ragged sigh sounded close as his feet ambled into view. She didn’t look at him, realizing any kind of contact would be too much.
“That I’d do what? Kill myself? I might be cold and distant, honey, but I’m not the kind of man who takes his own life.”
She snorted, risking a glance his way. “Believe me. No one ever is until they find that one thing that changes them.”
“Is that what your patient did? He found that one thing?”
She clenched her jaw. “It isn’t that hard when your psychologist turns out to be the trigger.”
Dylan’s features hardened slightly as he took a step closer. “That’s not funny, Annie. And I doubt it’s the truth.”
“No, it’s not funny, but it’s also the truth. Rolland left a note. Turns out he’d fallen in love with me, and when I didn’t return those feelings, he took the next logical step.” She choked back a sob. “I didn’t even know he saw me that way. I thought he was just being attentive because he was getting better. He’d never so much as asked me on a date. But I missed it. And nothing will ever change that fact. So don’t say you’re not that kind of person because we all are. We simply haven’t found what matters that much to us, yet.”
She looked away, slipping her arms in the sleeves of his shirt before holding the sides together as she motioned to the blanket. “If you think it’s safe, I’d like to get a few hours of sleep…unless there’s something else those instructions say we should do?”
“I think we’ve covered it.”
She nodded, all but falling onto the blanket. This wasn’t how she’d pictured their encounter ending, and she cursed the fact she hadn’t just let it go. Curled into him and fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, his heartbeat playing in her head. Instead, she curled into a ball and closed her eyes. Maybe, if she was lucky, the ghost would try again, and they’d have something other than the distance to focus on.
Chapter Seven
Dylan leaned against the steel bars, watching Annie retreat into herself as she tucked into a ball, tears staining her cheeks, her pain hunching her shoulders. A visible shiver worked through her body before she drifted off, the soft sound of her breathing staking his heart.
He swore under his breath, using a water bottle to clean himself off before slipping on his jeans and sinking to the floor, resting his back against the bars. He reran the events, wondering how he’d gone from shouting her name in release, to shouting at her in anger. Everything had been going so well until…
He sighed. Until she did what came naturally and tried to fix him.
Fix. As if that was possible. He’d always chalked it up to not being able to fix what wasn’t broken, but he realized now that it’d just been a lie. A way to justify hiding away in his house, never taking chances, at least not the kind that really mattered. Sure, he could put his life on the line without hesitation, but risk his heart?
He scrubbed a hand down his face. He should have just answered her damn question. It’s not as if he hadn’t recited his version of the story a hundred times over anyway. If he’d simply told her enough to soothe her fears, he’d be lying beside her, feeling the gentle weight of her head on his shoulder as she curled into him, instead of watching her hold herself, her hands wrapped so tight it looked as if she feared she might fall apart.
Dylan leaned his head back, rubbing the bridge of his nose as a slow ache took root. Maybe he’d see things clearer if he got a bit of sleep. After all, he’d taken all of Avery’s precautions. He’d salted the perimeter and encased them iron, not to mention the fact he’d found one hell of a good hiding spot. With any luck, his little brother would solve the mystery, burn the fucker’s grave and life could go back to how it was…just him and his excuses.
No complications. No worries. No love.
* * * *
Dylan rolled his head to the side, wincing when a bar connected with his cheek, rousing him from sleep. He blinked, waiting as the room blurred into view, the wavering glow of the candles casting shadows across the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut, wondering how the hell he’d actually fallen asleep leaning against the bars.
He ran a hand through his hair, opening his eyes to stare at the woman still curled on the blanket. She’d barely moved, evidence of her obvious exhaustion. One side of her shirt hung open slightly, revealing the gentle curve of her breast. She was stunning, even in her sleep, and he wished he could take her in his arms, offer her some form of comfort. But after their conversation, he wasn’t sure she’d accept it. Seemed he wasn’t the only one harboring demons, though he doubted she’d acknowledge she was just as far in as he was. What was that old saying? Doctors made the worst patients?
He clenched his jaw, remembering the pained look on her face when she’d talked about her patient, Rolland. Dylan could only imagine what it’d been like to walk into her office, find the man dead on her couch, his blood staining the floor and walls. She’d painted a pretty vivid picture, one that had made Dylan’s skin crawl.
He lowered his head, resting it on steepled fingers. He’d wait until she woke. Maybe then he’d have some fancy words to bridge the distance, even if only for the remainder of their lockdown together, though just the thought of not seeing her again left a hole inside him no amount of sacrifice could fill.
“I’m insane. This is it. My slow descent into utter madness.”
And he’d go willingly if it meant getting another chance to love her.
“Fuck.”
He pushed his hands through his hair again, enjoying the slight sting, when a burning sensation seared across his back. He raised his head, arching away from the bars just as a hiss of fire sounded behind him and the scent of sulfur filled the room. Invisible hands clenched around his neck, the vice-like grip cutting off his breathing. He clawed at the air around his shoulders, but the pressure only increased, fading his vision around the edges as his body protested the lack of oxygen.
“Die!” The same grating voice from earlier resonated through the air, the single word dripping with malice.
Dylan yelled to Annie, but nothing more than a gasping rasp made it past his lips. He kicked at the hard stone beneath him, twisting against the crushing hold when his fingers brushed across the line of salt. He opened his hand and scooped up a small amount of crystals, careful not to fully break the line, before tossing them over his back.
The ghost howled in agony, its grip on Dylan’s neck loosening. Dylan collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath as the room tilted then spun. He rolled onto his back, black dots occupying most of his field of view when the ghost bellowed.
Dylan pushed onto his elbows. He needed to get to the bag before the damn thing found a way through the salt line. Pain burned along his back and neck as he managed to get to his hands and knees. He’d never felt so weak, as if every ounce of energy had been sucked out of him.
“She’s mine!” it spat at him, drawing out each word, making it sound like some sort of holy benediction.
“Like hell she is.” He staggered to his feet when Annie appeared beside him.
“Not a chance, asshole.” She raised her hand, blowing some kind of gritty dust at it.
Sparks crackled to life across its body, drawing another cry of pain from its twisted lips. It glared at her, swirling into a black cloud as material from beyond the cell eddied into the air. Dylan pounced on her, taking her to the ground as the debris shot through the bars, crashing against the far wall before clattering to the floor. Chunks of wood and tile rained down on them before the ghost vanished, leaving nothing more than charged air behind.
&
nbsp; Dylan glanced up, searching the room before easing off of Annie. His skin still burned where the ghost had touched him, but at least the immediate threat was gone. Annie pushed out from beneath him, muttering under her breath as she surveyed the room. Pieces of wood covered the floor, and the acrid scent of sulfur lingered in the air.
She turned to him, cursing loudly as she stared at him. “Holy shit! What the hell happened to your neck?”
He waved her off, wanting to stand, but too tired to do more than fall onto his ass. “It’s nothing. That damn ghost grabbed me from behind while I was leaning against the bars. I guess I was just beyond the salt or something. Maybe in that spot where there’s a gap to pass food through. Hell, at this point, I don’t even know.” He nodded at the bars. “What the hell did you hit it with?”
“Silver shavings. I found a couple vials of them in Avery’s bag. I thought that maybe it’d have more of an effect on our creepy friend than just more salt or holy water.”
“Looks like it worked. For now.” He tried to get his feet under him, but only succeeded in landing on his ass again when the world spun sideways.
Annie huffed and grabbed his shoulder. “Just stay put. I’ll fix that line of salt and get the first-aid kit. You’ve got what looks like burn marks on your skin. They need to be cleaned.”
“Annie, that’s not necessary. Really.”
“Would you stop being so damn stubborn for one minute! Have you taken a look around this place? Infection is the least of your worries if we don’t bandage that raw skin. Now just sit still and let me do something I’m actually trained for.”
Dylan sighed. “Fine.”
He muttered some thanks when she placed the bag behind his back, giving him something to lean against as she took the salt and ran a thick line along the bars where he’d been attacked. Then she disappeared behind him, only to kneel at his side, his medical kit tight to her chest. She gave him a look that dared him to challenge her as she opened it, placing a few supplies on the lid. She didn’t speak, just dabbed at his skin with some of the water, her mouth pulled tight, her brow slightly furrowed.