Chapter 452
[ 605 words ]
Chapter 452:
A hand, cold and invisible, squeezed Caroline’s heart. The air in her lungs turned to ice. She had been focused on her own survival, on Sterling’s life, on the fear and the darkness. She never once considered the agony he must have been going through on the other side of that silence. The weight of it, the sheer scale of his suffering, crashed down on her, a wave of guilt so powerful it made her stomach clench. And Sterling—Jarrod had said everyone made it out safe, but she hadn’t asked for details. Was he truly alright? The question surfaced and then was swallowed by the immediate, crushing reality in front of her.
Brenna opened her mouth to say more, but the tent flap was ripped open with a violent motion.
Jarrod stood there, his large frame filling the entrance, blocking the light. His eyes, cold and hard as chips of flint, landed on Brenna. His right arm was still locked against his chest in the heavy medical brace, the rigid frame cutting a brutal line across his torso. His left hand hung at his side, swollen and bruised, the fingers held stiffly as if even curling them hurt.
A small, terrified squeak escaped Brenna’s lips. She snapped her mouth shut, gave Caroline a wide-eyed look that screamed I’m leaving now, and practically scrambled out of the tent, disappearing into the noise of the camp.
Jarrod stepped inside, letting the flap fall closed behind him. The space, already small, seemed to shrink around him. The air grew thick, heavy with his exhaustion and a simmering, tightly controlled anger.
Caroline looked at him, truly looked at him for the first time since she’d woken up. The dark, bruised-looking smudges under his eyes were stark against his skin. The lines around his mouth were etched deeper. He carried an aura of profound, almost dangerous fatigue. The brace made him look even larger and more damaged at once, all that contained violence strapped down by metal and canvas. He looked like a man who had been to hell and hadn’t quite made it all the way back.
“Were you really awake all night?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She tried to push herself up on her elbows, the movement sending a dull ache through her ribs.
He ignored the question. He walked to the edge of the cot, his presence looming over her. With his left knuckle, careful and stiff, he gently tapped her forehead, the same gesture she had just unconsciously used on Brenna. His touch was light, but his voice was low and laced with menace. “Having a nice chat? I see you’ve learned my moves.”
The accusation in his tone, the possessiveness, made her push his hand away. “Answer me,” she insisted, her own voice gaining a stubborn edge. “Is what Brenna said true?”
His patience, already worn thin by a night of fear, pain, and sleeplessness, finally snapped. He moved in close, not fast enough to hide the stiffness in his ruined body, but with enough force to make the cot creak under his weight. His braced right arm stayed pinned hard against his ribs. Instead of planting both hands on either side of her, he braced his left forearm against the cot beside her shoulder and lowered himself over her, using his body, not his broken arm, to trap her beneath him. His face was inches from hers, his eyes burning with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.
“That doesn’t matter,” he growled, the words a low vibration against her skin. “What matters is that you’re here. You’re mine. And you’re not going anywhere.”
𝖣о𝗇’𝘁 𝘮i𝘀ѕ ո𝖾𝘸 r𝗲𝘭𝗲𝘢𝘀𝖾𝗌 𝗼𝘯 gаlո𝗈𝘷e𝗹𝘀.со𝗺
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