GAGE

CHAPTER TWELVE

After running for what feels like hours, but was in fact mere minutes, I spot the lights of the apartment complex.

The relief is so immense that it's a battle to stay upright and not sag to the ground. Emotions override panic and fear, forcing me to bite down on my lip to keep the relieved sobs from escaping.

I get to live another day.

Running the last few blocks, I enter the apartment through the back door and trudge up the stairs, not wanting to run into any residents in the lift and chance them getting an eyeful of my bloody body.

As the last bit of adrenaline wears off, I register the searing pain in my shoulders and feet, however, the most distinct is the throb in my head, the sensation feeling like millions of nails pricking my skull.

My knees shake with every step, adding pressure on my battered body and threatening to take me down. My breaths come out in uneven pants as I clear the first floor landing, the strain on my aching muscles wearing me down; the agony too much to bear.

Just a few more steps, Kiera.

Reaching the apartment door, I let the tears fall, unable to keep the leash on my emotions any longer. Tears of pain, relief and horror commingle, and flood down my cheeks, acting as mirrors to the emotions swirling in my mind.

I ring the bell and think of a way to explain my appearance to Ava without having her freaking out and calling 911.

After waiting for a good two minutes, I twist the lock and find it secured. Frowning, I retrieve a spare key from under the flower pot by the door.

Unlocking the door, I step inside, calling out to Ava.

Not receiving a response, I shut the door and head straight to the kitchen.

Seeing a piece of paper stuck on the refrigerator door, I quickly scan it.

Trevor asked me out on a date. I think I might be late. Don't stay up waiting on me. I'll see you tomorrow.

Your bff!

P.S. Pray it gets hot and steamy!

I chuckle and immediately wince as a sharp pain courses through me from the movement. Only Ava has the powers to bring a smile on my face even in these terrible conditions.

The ache in my body brings me out of my reprieve and I drag my injured feet to the bathroom to check on my wounds and do some damage control.

Peeling off my blood stained tee I stare at the five punctured holes on my shoulders caps. The bleeding has reduced to small trickles but the wound is still a nasty sight. The skin around the claw indentation has swollen and looks an angry dark red. Looking down at my injured feet, I find them to be in the same state as my shoulders.

Not being able to examine the depth of the gashes from all the dried blood, I strip and get in the shower, crying out as the hot water cascades down the torn, sore flesh.

Cleaning out the wound on my head first, I proceed to my shoulders and feet. I thoroughly scrub my body, desperate to get rid of the sweat and grim. Washing every inch of my body, I vehemently hope to get rid of the fear and anxiety still clinging to the pores of my skin.

But no matter how long and hard I scrub, and stand under the assault of the scalding water, I cannot wash off the deeply rooted terror. It runs through my veins, claiming me under its monstrous grasp, chilling my body from the inside; the hot water not standing a chance to soothe me in front of its potency.

Only when I feel wetness on my cheeks after getting out, do I stop drying myself and dare to look at my reflection.

Tears fall one by one on my cheeks, from the pain of the wounds, from the fear creeping inside my soul or from both, I do not know. Nor do I want to know.

Stepping fully in front of the mirror I see the true depths of the wounds. The punctured holes run more than an inch deep. The width corresponds to the depth in its volume. While scratches and bruises mar the skin of my arms, and legs.

Fresh, hot tears spill down my face as I dab antiseptic on the wounds. The white cotton balls turning a deep red after each swipe on the claw indentation.

Unable to bear the agony, but not really having any choice in the matter, I clean up the bruises as fast as my shaking arms allow.

Throwing away the bloody cotton balls, I study my reflection for a long minute. The person staring back at me though looks like me, is not me. She appears different, unfamiliar. What used to be bright brown eyes now look haunted. What used to be bee stung pink lips are now hard white lines. And once rosy cheeks are pale. The person before me is no longer the person I was a few hours back. The image is a ghost of myself.

I look like death warmed over.

Shaking off the vision ingrained in my mind, I head to the closet and carefully don sleeping shorts and a large baggy tee. Even though it falls past my thighs, the soft fabric can't bring the warmth and comfort I crave; can't shake off the tremors running through my body.

The bedroom has always been my sanctuary, my humble abode since moving here, but for the first time it fails to give me the solace I'm seeking. The lonely room only increases the havoc in my mind; torturing my already fear induced mind mercilessly.

Sitting on the bed, I draw my knees up and clutch my arms around them tightly, hoping to control the shakes.

It doesn't work.

I pray for numbness. To become numb to the agony, numb to the dread, to not feel.

But, like all my previous prayers, it goes unanswered.

Resting my forehead against my knees, I open the lock on my mind, letting the flashbacks from the evening flood me.

The black beast. Knife like canines. The void eerie eye. The haunting scar ...

What was that animal? It seemed black ... Was it a panther? A panther's black. It has yellow eyes too ...

Holy mother of God! I just encountered a panther. And actually lived to tell the tale.

I don't know if I'm the luckiest person in the world or the unluckiest!

I didn't know that panthers lived in these parts of town, let alone so close to people.

God, I should really learn about my surroundings before venturing out into the woods.

Swallowing past the lump lodged in my throat, I come to terms with the bone chilling fact that I could have died today.

Tears gather in my eyes as I imagine my parents grieving me; a constant cloud of sadness surrounding them forever.

Lord, my recklessness today would not only have cost dearly to me, but also to my loved ones.

"I'm sorry mom and dad. I promise to be more careful from now on. You've my word." I whisper to the silent room.

Riing.

The shrill sound of the doorbell going off nearly makes me jump out of my skin.

My heart slams violently against my ribcage, as my mind works overdrive.

What if it's the panther?

As soon as the thought hits me I roll my eyes.

Really? A panther ringing the bell? Classic, Kiera. Classic.

Slowly getting out of bed I approach the door cautiously.

Oh, I'm just being silly. Maybe it's just Ava coming back early or one of the neighbours wanting something.

Riing.

The bell goes off again and I jump a foot in the air.

"Jesus Christ! I'm coming," I grumble to whoever's at the door and walk faster, ignoring the sting in my feet from the sharp movements.

Peering through the peephole, I slam my hand over my mouth to contain my shocked gasp.

Sweet mother of God! How did he find me?

Yeah, he dropped me off in front of my apartment building that day, but I don't recall telling him my door number.

I backtrack from the door, hoping he'll go away.

"Love, I know you're in there. I heard your voice." Gage growls, voice laced in agitation.

I hold my breath, hoping to convince him otherwise of my rookie mistake.

"Kiera, please open the door." Gage murmurs softly, his usual deep timbre sounding almost desperate.

Hearing his vulnerable tone, my heart kick-starts again. Only then do I realise that the erratic thumping had ceased upon seeing him.

Stepping forward, I get on my tip toes and gaze through the peephole again. This time, my eyes land on his corded neck as he appears to be resting his forehead on the door.

And just like that, he pulls on my heart strings. The image of him leaning against my door enough to bring me to my knees.

Twisting the lock, I pull open the door and he barrels in. Not wanting to be crushed, I quickly step back as he swiftly closes the door with a swing of his bare foot.

He looks delicious as always. Clad in dark jeans and a black sweatshirt, he's the epitome of dark, deadly and dangerous.

I'm not the only one running my eyes over him like a starved beast, he devours my body through his gaze too, but while they usually used to turn dark in hunger, this time they turn an almost black in anger.

One look at my eyes and he knows something is wrong. He roams his gaze over my face and down my body, his eyes lingering on the scratches dotting my arms and legs before coming to a quick halt on my feet.

"What happened?" He growls deep and dark. The deadly tone to his voice a first for me.

His fists clench and unclench, the veins in his neck and fists bulge, revealing how tightly his body in coiled.

Gulping, I open my mouth but what comes out are not words, it's a choked sob.

His arms come around me in an instant. He loops his arms tight around my waist and lifts me with ease before carrying me to the coach and taking a seat, with me on his lap and my injured feet draped over the cushion beside us.

I wind my arms around his neck and bury my face in his neck. Clinging to him with everything I am. Uncaring of the throb in my shoulders from the stretched movement.

Sobs rack my body and he runs his hand up and down my back soothingly, whispering repeatedly that he was here now and I was safe in his arms.

Sitting there, with his warm body against mine, with his strong arms secured around me, his scent of pine, Earth and something uniquely his surrounding me, and the pleasant tingles running through my body; I realise what I've been craving for from the moment of the attack: safety.

And I found mine in Gage.

I knew in that moment of time, without a speckle of doubt that no one could make me feel as safe, as secure and as protected as Gage could.

I might have stumbled upon this man by chance but I knew, it was a chance bestowed upon fate itself; it was a chance of a lifetime.

My tears subside, wanting to capture this moment in my mind and treasure it forever as one of rapture, and not of pain.

When he places his palm behind my head in a comforting gesture, a whimper leaves my mouth and he goes still.

Slowly he sifts his fingers through my hair and feels the sore bump.

His still frame from a minute ago, hearing my pained whimper, goes rigid, and his breathing stops all together.

Clutching his arm firmly around my waist, he pulls me back. With his nostrils flaring and his eyes turning a stormy blue, he says savagely, "I smell blood, love."

While the metallic smell of blood had been pungent before showering, now, there were no traces of it.

His arm tightens further on my waist as he questions calmly, "What happened, Kiera?"

The too calm eerie tone sends a chill down my spine and forms a lump in my throat.

His eyes promise death to the reason behind my damaged state.

Little does he know that he can't fight off a panther to avenge my injuries.

I don't speak. I can't. I just continue to stare at his dark depths.

Not waiting anymore, he takes a hold of the hem of my tee and slowly drags it up my body, almost appearing as if he's afraid to cause me any more pain.

His cautious actions melts my heart and I lift my hands over my head, assisting him.

Throwing aside the shirt, his eyes lock on my mangled shoulders. A ferocious growl rumbles up his chest, as the air around around us thickens by his untamed rage.

However, his touch is a complete contrast to his livid temper.

He trails his fingers delicately over the swollen punctured wounds, his touch feather light, almost like how one would treat a porcelain doll.

His tenderness and the pain in his blue depths takes my breath away.

This man truly cares about me.

I rest my forehead against his and cup his face in my hands drawing his pain filled eyes to my moist ones. With my lips hovering over his, I whisper the words I know in my soul he's yearning to hear.

"I'm okay."