Page 4 of The Enemy Protector

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Someone crouches over me. That scent reaches me again—cedar and something cold underneath. Sharp. Definitely expensive.

“No,” I whisper.

“Easy.” The voice is low. Soothing. “Easy. It’s over.”

I try to push my eyes open, but I barely manage slits. I can see my rescuer is enormous. I can’t see details with the light behind him. But he’s not one of the three.

“I’m going to cover you,” he says. A second later, I feel cloth brushing my tender flesh.

“I’m going to lift you.” His voice is calm and deep.

Strong arms slide under my body, and I’m suddenly floating and then I’m against his hard chest.

I try to get a better look at him and find myself staring into emerald green snake eyes. I blink and try to clear my vision. It’s a tattoo on his neck.

I stare at it because my brain can’t process anything else.

“You’re safe.”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

We’re moving. I tell myself I should fight, but I have nothing left.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is harsh, like he’s been shouting for days. “I should have been there. I’m sorry.”

I don’t understand the apology. I don’t understand any of this. My brain is working too slowly.

“You’re safe,” he says. “No one will get near you again. I’ve got you.”

I can feel myself slipping into the darkness. We’re still moving. I don’t know where he’s taking me. My brain demands I fight, but I can’t move.

“I promised her,” he says quietly.

I don’t know what that means.

I want to ask. I want to ask who he is.

But the darkness I’ve been fighting off finally wins.

It feels like a heavy blanket is pulled over my head.

I wake to white.

White ceiling. White walls. A soft, steady beeping noise. I smell alcohol. No, antiseptic.

I’m in the hospital.

I turn my head slowly. Every muscle in my neck protests. There’s a chair beside the bed. It’s empty.

Everything hurts.

“There you are,” a soft, feminine voice says.

I turn my face to the sound.

I don’t know her. At least, I don’t think I do.

“Your father is on his way.”

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