Savage Hearts

47

I start to cry again, hating myself with every tear that falls.

Sloane wouldn’t cry in this situation. She’d already have made an escape vehicle from the moose head and burned the cabin down.

When Mal returns to the bedroom, I’m lying with my arms flung over my face, dragging in big, shuddering gulps of air.

He pulls my arms away from my face and stares down into my watering eyes. Then he says something that sounds gentle and soothing, but I can’t understand a word of it because it’s in Russian.

“You know I don’t know what that means.”

“Yes. Which is why I didn’t say it in English.”

“That’s not nice.”

“You wouldn’t think that if you knew what I said.”

Biting my lip, I stare up at him. His wet hair is slicked back off his face. The white terrycloth towel wrapped around his waist is the only thing he’s wearing. He smells like clean skin and healthy male in his prime, and holy Ghost of Christmas Past, I can’t look at him for one second longer.

I close my eyes, turn my head, and whisper, “Why did you bring me here?”

He gently folds my arms over my chest and sits beside me. I can feel him looking at me, but refuse to open my eyes. After a moment, he asks his own question, ignoring mine.

“Why did you take a bullet for me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Tell me the truth.”

His voice is low and urgent. I imagine those beautiful green eyes gazing down at me with their usual penetrating intensity and wish with all my heart that I didn’t currently look like I’ve been sleeping under a bridge.

I take a deep breath, let it out, and tell him the ridiculous truth in a voice so small, he probably can’t even hear it.

“Because I didn’t want you to die.”

His silence is long and intense. He exhales. Then he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it, brushing his mouth softly across my knuckles, turning my hand over and pressing his lips against my open palm.

He rises from the bed without another word.

I hear him moving around the room, opening and closing drawers. His footsteps recede. When they return, I open my eyes to find him fully dressed, boots and all. He lowers himself into the big brown leather chair in the corner.

He folds his hands over his stomach, tilts his head back, and closes his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to sleep. So should you.”

“You’re gonna sleep in that chair?”

“What did I just tell you?”

“How can you sleep sitting upright? Isn’t there a sofa in the other room that you can lie down on?”

He lifts his head and looks at me. “Stop worrying about me.”

“But—”

“Stop.”

When he can tell I’m about to start pestering him again, he says gruffly, “Yes, there’s a sofa. No, I’m not going to sleep on it. I need to be in this room. I need to hear if you cry out. I have to know if you’re in pain or you need anything. Don’t ask me why, because I won’t tell you. Now go to f*****g sleep.”

His eyes blaze at me for a few moments longer, until he closes them again and I’m released from their burning power.

27

Riley

T

he dream is horrifically violent.

It starts with gunfire and gets worse, with blood and body parts flying everywhere. I hear screaming and smell smoke. The building I’m in is on fire. I’m trying to run, but my legs are powerless. The walls catch fire, then so do my clothing and hair. My skin turns black and curls off my body like burning paper.

I jerk awake with a strangled scream, my heart pounding.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Mal pulls me up and against his chest. He rocks me and murmurs soothing words in Russian as I shake and gasp for air. Clinging to him as the dream fades, I bury my face in his chest.

He says gently, “Next time you have a nightmare, remind yourself that you’re dreaming. It’s not real. Then tell yourself to wake up.”

“That makes no sense. How can I tell myself anything if I’m asleep?”

“Your subconscious will remember I told you. From now on, you’ll be able to wake yourself up from a bad dream. It won’t stop you from having them, but it will help.”

I ponder that, wondering if he has bad dreams, until he says, “I’m going to run a bath.”

“Didn’t you just take a shower?”

“It’s not for me. It’s for you.” He pulls away and smooths a hand over my hair. “You stink.”

I say drily, “That is so not helpful.”

“Helpful or not, it’s the truth. Drink some water.”

He leans over to the nightstand and hands me the glass he retrieves from it. He watches in silence until I’ve gone through half the water, then rises and goes into the bathroom.

I feel around on the nightstand for my glasses. When I get them on, I realize the terrifying moose head is gone.

I find that very, very disturbing. Did I imagine it?

When Mal returns to the room, I point at the blank spot on the wall where the hideous thing used to reside. “Wasn’t there a moose there?”

“No.” Before I can freak out that this is definitive evidence I’ve lost my s**t, he adds, “It was an elk.”

“Oh, for f**k’s sake.”

“I took it down.”

I consider that for several seconds. “You took the elk head off the wall after I went to sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t like it.”