Warrior Fae Trapped (Warrior Fae #1)(40)

She glanced up at the kitchen window, at the dark, gnarled branches dancing in the wind, laughing at her. The shades had all been left wide open. They, whoever they were, could watch her through the bare windows. Breath coming fast, she shoved the stuff that needed to be kept cool into a mostly empty fridge, tossed everything else on the counter, and hurried back down the hall.

She stepped into her room and closed the door. After lowering the shades on those windows, she stared at the large sliding glass door.

Who didn’t put curtains on a sliding glass door?

If they came in through that door, Devon would never reach her in time. Sure, she had her own defenses, but her strange magic might fail—she didn’t even know how to use it.

Trying to catch her breath and think rationally, she saw movement. A streak across the window. Claws scrabbling on the wood porch.

Sucking in a gasp, she practically dove out of her room and into the hall. That same watchful silence greeted her, the dappled shadows down the hall threatening to suck her in. Bare windows watching her progress.

Memories from the night before flashed through her mind like a strobe light.

Panic rising, she reached for Devon’s door like a child going to her parents’ room in a thunderstorm. The handle turned, thankfully not locked. She stepped in and shut the door behind her. Then locked it.

Magical creatures could open locks.

She fast-stepped toward the mound of man on one side of the king-sized bed. He was already sleeping soundly.

How can he sleep after what happened last night?

She hesitated. Now what?

But she knew what. As awkward as it was, she needed reassurance. She needed some sort of human comfort. Maybe a few words from him would do the trick. Hopefully, because she didn’t know what else to do.

When she lowered her hand onto his bare shoulder, he burst up. A blade came out of nowhere, glinting in the moonlight before it kissed her neck. Both of her wrists were pushed above her head and secured with one of his large hands. He pressed against her, pinning her to the wall. His eyes, nothing but pools of shadow, stared into her.

“What are you doing in here, Charity?” he asked in a low growl.

She stood paralyzed, captured by his much larger body. Trapped by his strength and power. She started to quiver.

“I w-was af-fraid,” she stammered, her wrists aching in his grip.

He leaned in close, so close they were breathing the same air. The heat from his body shocked into her, along with the manly perfume of his skin. A moment later, he stepped away, pulling back the blade. It was only then that she realized he wore not a stitch.

“Nightmare?” he asked nonchalantly. It was almost as if he a) wasn’t standing nude in front of her, and b) hadn’t just trapped her with a knife to her throat.

She didn’t have long to think about it. Flashes of sickly green skin, fangs, and claws flickered through her mind. She glanced at his door. In her mind, it all waited out there. In here, she had him. He knew what he was doing and could protect her.

“I… Sorry, I know this is weird, but…” She didn’t know how to phrase what she needed to say without sounding completely lame.

Can I sleep at the foot of your bed like a dog because I’m afraid of being alone for the first time in my entire life?

His soft sigh rustled her lashes. As if reading her mind, he bent and scooped her up into his arms. The next moment she was flying, landing on the other side of his bed in a tangle of limbs and hair.

He slipped between the sheets with his back to her and cuddled into his pillow. “Go to sleep. You’re safe here. I sleep soundly, so snore all you want, but don’t elbow me if I do. I hate that.”

Another flashback of a monster reaching for her, claws outstretched, had her shimmying out of her borrowed sweats and hoodie and climbing into the bed beside him. She was only in a T-shirt and panties, but there was no way she was going back into her room without an armed escort. Not tonight, anyway.

Suddenly she wasn’t so confident in what she’d told Roger. Maybe she couldn’t move on from this so easily. Her life had changed in every possible way, and she was only now catching up.





Chapter Seventeen





“Hey!”

Charity felt a hard nudge, shaking the bed.

“Hey. Charity.”

She cracked a groggy eye open.

Devon stood at the side of the bed—his bed—with his rumpled hair and the scruff on his face accentuating his rugged good looks. It was the exact style he’d worn out the other night, except this one lacked all the polish and product. A bright halo surrounded him from the sunlight streaming in the large windows behind him.

The tightness in her chest from the night before loosened, releasing the tension in her shoulders.

Sunlight. Glorious sunlight.

She sighed. In the safety of the day, she should probably feel a little awkward about how she broke down last night and practically begged to sleep in Devon’s bed, like a child. As a rule, she didn’t open herself up to people, not even to John. When people knew your weaknesses, they could exploit you. Could wring you out and torment you. She’d seen it firsthand with how Walt had treated her mom. Charity had enough going on in her life without falling into that particular vat of slime.

But at the moment, she was too tired to care.

“What?” she mumbled, fatigue dragging her eyelids back down.