At the blood-curdling scream, Nash bolted upright, promptly crashing to the floor in the dark. For a few seconds, he didn’t remember where he was or what was going on, but he scrambled to his feet, lifting his hands in a defensive position and listening. Had he dreamed it?
“No!”
Rowan.
Nash ran for the hall, his bare feet slipping on the hardwood floor. She was still screaming as he burst through the bedroom door. But there was no shadowy figure crouched over her on the bed, no man fleeing through an open window or hiding in a corner. There was only Rowan, thrashing in the covers.
Nightmare.
Shifting gears, Nash circled the bed, grabbing at her flailing arms to try and shake her awake. She lashed out, a fist catching him against the temple.
“Ow, s**t. Rowan. Rowan, wake up. It’s me,
