Kiss the Stars (Falling Stars #1)(39)

Warily, I eased out of the door.

The night was at its thickest.

Darkest.

Held just before the break of dawn.

Humid air scraped my flesh, and shivers rolled as I listened to the distant shouts.

All of them were familiar voices.

Lyrik.

Leif.

Lyrik again.

My gaze moved to the balcony that overhung the third floor of the main house. Tamar stood at the railing, clinging to it as she stared down.

Black hair whipped around her face that was held in morbid fear.

Our eyes met, and my mouth moved in whispered silence, “I’m sorry.”

Her head shook.

No.

We were in this together.

Family.

But I was sure she and Lyrik had already endured enough pain.

I hugged myself over my middle like I could gather back up the pieces that I could feel finally slipping away.

I’d tried.

Tried so hard to pretend.

Tried to pretend that I wasn’t going to crumble.

Tried to pretend it was all going to be okay.

That we were going to make it through this unscathed.

This was only a vacation, right?

What a joke.

Even my eleven-year-old child could see right through it.

Because there was no way to believe the lies you kept telling yourself when you had nothing left to support it.

Foundation cracked.

After what seemed like an eternity, the back gate buzzed and Lyrik came storming back through.

Agitation fizzed across the surface of his skin.

Immediately, his attention landed on me, tone gruff, “It was nothing. Probably a fuckin’ cat set off the sensors or something.”

The words left him like spite. Like he wanted to be sick for letting go of the greatest deception.

My lips trembled. “Are you sure?”

I didn’t even know why I was asking it because I could feel the sick reality racing to catch up to me. Seeping in from under the fortified walls, clawing its way over the bricks.

His head shook, black hair whipping up a disorder. Frustrated, he brushed it out of his eyes. “We didn’t find anything, Mia. It was a false alarm. Go back to bed. You should get some sleep.”

With the way his eyes darted around the yard, I knew that wasn’t going to be an option for him. He didn’t come close to believing a thing that he was telling me.

“Is there footage?” I asked instead of agreeing.

“We’ll see if anything was captured. But there’s no one out there. There is no danger.”

His words were hard. Angry. I wondered if he was trying to convince himself.

“Okay,” I conceded, my hand curling in the neckline of the tank of my pajamas.

He moved toward me, watchfully, carefully, his dark eyes flaring. He didn’t hesitate. He pulled me in for a tight hug, his breaths shallow, his muscles twitching with the residual of adrenaline. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Everyone is safe,” he muttered again, clearly talking himself down from the ledge.

“Okay.”

He pulled back, held me by the outsides of the shoulders. “I think we’re all a little paranoid.”

My nod was tight.

Was it paranoia if you were fighting for your life?

But why . . . why would anyone want to take it? Why would that sick, twisted bastard in that video track me down? What did he want?

Apprehension slithered beneath the surface of my skin. Something sticky and ugly that crawled my flesh in a slow-slide of dread.

Lyrik finally released me and stepped back. He stared at me for a long minute. “I won’t let anyone get to you, Mia. Promise you.”

“I know that.” My acknowledgement was shaky at best.

With a clipped nod, he started back along the length of the huge pool, his eyes on his wife who was still staring down at the disturbance going down in the middle of their yard.

My attention slowly drifted to the right. Not lazily. But like maybe I was terrified to look that way.

It didn’t matter.

I was hinged.

Chained.

Compelled to look where Leif was standing like a beast in the entryway of the gate, both arms stretched across the width and his fingers curled into the bricks.

Like he was holding himself back.

From what, I wasn’t sure.

His wide chest heaved.

His gorgeous body coiled with aggression. At the ready to pounce.

Muscled arms rippling with strength, the few distinct tattoos on his arms twitching and jerking beneath his skin that was stretched taut.

Those brown-sugared eyes had hardened to stone. Carved of a rocky cliff that threatened to come crashing down.

The barest glow of the approaching day broke at the horizon, a murky gray that filled the sky with a shock of hope.

Staring at him, that was what I felt.

Obscene, obliterating hope.

Foolish girl.

But I trembled with it. Shivered with the impact as I remained there barely able to stand under the weight of his gaze.

“You should go back inside,” he grated, his words panted with the exertion he’d just expelled.

I clutched tighter to the neckline of my pajamas’ shirt. “Thank you,” I managed to whisper.

“There is nothing to thank me for.”

“I disagree. You are the one who just went running out into the night.”