Page 13 of Don’t Let Him In

Get out.

Get out.

My arms shake and my knees throb, but I move, fingertips tracing the coarse fibers darkened with what I’m almost positive are old bloodstains, the dried reddish-brown staining the entire surface around it.

I can’t breathe.

Long grooves gouged through the dust-coated floorboards run beside the ropes, jagged and eerily deliberate, like someone had clawed at the wood, trying to escape.

Dread unfurls in my stomach as the pieces begin to form in my mind, sending panic skittering across my skin, but despite the rattling fear, I stay frozen, lips parting around a silent cry I don’t dare sound.

When movement flickers at the corner of my eye, I quickly slide it onto my ring finger before lurching upright, my head knocking painfully against the underside of the table, my thighs burning from being crouched for so long.

His eyes dip briefly toward the space beneath the table before lifting back to mine, too calm. A fresh wave of unease cinches tight in my chest as he approaches. “Here. This should help.”

My gaze drops to the wool blanket in his hand. It’s patched and threadbare, and I dig my fingers into my palm to keep from recoiling away from him, afraid flinching will change something between us.

The fabric is rough and cold against my skin, doing nothing to chase away the chill buried deep into my bones.

His motion is slow and careful, completely unlike the way he handled the stone earlier. Reflexes take over and I shudder.

Hardly an inch separates us. His grasp stays gentle as he smooths the blanket over my shoulder, bringing his arms down between us.

Time stills.

My head swims.

Both of us go quiet as we hold each other’s stare. Something twists low in my stomach as his gaze drifts over my face, lowering gradually before lingering a second too long at my jaw, enough to make my skin itch.

Even then, I don’t pull away.

Somehow, his irises darken the longer he looks at me.

The attention clings to my skin, equal parts unnerving and suffocating, and I immediately want to shove it off me. “Is there something on my face?”

His brows pinch slightly, tongue darting out across his lips before his expression falters. “No…sorry. It’s just…” A nerve ticks in his cheek. “You look like someone I knew.”

One of his hands slides from the blanket at my shoulder to cup my chin, his thumb tentatively smoothing over the small birthmark there.

Muscles at my core tighten and flutter, but I don’t pull away, afraid to even blink with him up this close. Part of me wants to ask who, but the words stay clogged in the back of my throat, impossible to reach.

I ball up my fists, clenching them so hard it almost makes the tremor in them worse. Our faces are inches apart. The space between us sparks with restless energy, eroding whatever sense I have left until it wears dangerously thin.

My gaze drifts to his lips as I swallow hard. But before anything else can happen, a sudden crack splinters through the broken window near the front of the house, tearing the moment apart.

Snapped twigs.

Low, careless laughter I instantly recognize.

The dizzy pull from seconds ago evaporates, replaced by the raw ache left behind earlier. I’d almost forgotten they were out there.

Forgotten we weren’t entirely alone.

My legs shake as my attention jerks toward the window, tracking the sounds wrapping around the house, inching closer to the front door until Dax’s voice finally sharpens into focus.

My stomach drops at the sound of their approaching voices, my muscles drawing taut with dreadful anticipation.

The door shudders beneath a clumsy collision of bodies before jerking open with a dry, bone-like click. For a split second, everything slows, the world lagging half a beat out of sync.