Page 21 of Ghosts of the Dead

I look at her a second longer, taking in the graceful line of her neck and the way the afternoon light catches the purple in her hair. She won’t look at me now, instead keeping her gaze fixed out the side window, unfocused and distant. I’m clearly not going to win this, so I change the subject to something more pertinent to the reason we’re here. “Where were you when it happened?”

She startles. Her eyes flick up to meet mine. Even worried and tired, they’re still beautiful. “What?”

“When Summer was taken.”

Her throat works as she swallows, and she glances away to the window again. “Not far from here. Outskirts. Right before the land dips toward the city basin.”

She keeps her eyes fixed on the window and her voice too casual, too practiced. She doesn’t look at me, but I keep watching her. I notice things. The way her shoulders are too stiff and how her jaw locks. The way someone talks when they’ve repeated the story too many times, rehearsed it so they don’t fall apart every time they tell it. She’s been out here alone, reliving the same hell over and over again before we found her.

The protective rage that thought triggers makes my hands clench. No one should have to carry that kind of pain alone.

Jace slows the car, and I feel the moment Autumn’s whole body shifts before I even see it. Her entire frame tightens like a wire being pulled taut. Her breath catches,and her hands go still in her lap. I know that kind of stillness. I’ve lived it, but seeing it in her makes something fierce roar to life in my chest.

“What is it?” I ask, forcing my tone to stay gentle despite the violence building inside me.

She points straight ahead. “There. Behind that thick brush. The ground dips, and there’s a cluster of trees.”

Jace kills the engine. The car groans as it settles into silence, but I’m already moving. I shoot out of my seat at record speed, ignoring the way the world tilts. My legs feel heavier than they should, and the headache’s still there, pulsing behind my eyes. I’m not a hundred percent yet, not even close, but she doesn’t need to see that. Not right now.

I open the back door and offer Autumn my hand. Her fingers slide into mine without hesitation, and I clench my jaw when I notice how cold and tense they are. The contact sets my nerves sparking, but more than that, it triggers every protective instinct I have.

We push into the brush together. Branches claw at our clothes as thorny vines reach out to try pulling us backward. My flannel snags, burrs cling to Autumn’s jean shorts, and dead leaves crunch under our boots. She moves with purpose now, leading the way, her steps so fast I almost struggle to keep up. It’s like her body remembers the path even if her mind doesn’t want to. She leads us through a narrow break in the trees before stopping dead.

A patch of dirt stretches in front of us, barely visible through fallen leaves and broken twigs, one of which has a smear of dried blood along the edge. The only threat here is the memories going through Autumn’s mind. I don’t need verbal confirmation to know this is where it happened.

Autumn stares at the ground. Her shoulders lock and her spine straightens, but she trembles. Her breathing shifts to short, shallow gasps that rattle. She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t need to. The sight of her breaking apart, this strong,fierce woman who threw molotovs with a sprained wrist, makes something savage surge through me.

I can’t take the pain away, but I can give her something to lean on. I step behind her and slide my arms around her waist, pulling her against me. She doesn’t resist. She leans into the hold, and I feel her sink against my chest, her soft curves molding perfectly to the hard planes of my body. Her soft hair brushes my jaw, and I bury my face there for a second. Smoke still clings to her, but beneath it is something else. Something softer. Something I want to protect with everything I have.

“I remember hitting the ground,” she says, her voice tight. “I heard them laughing. Then I heard her scream before everything went dark. When I woke up, there was nothing left but large boot prints.”

Her fingers twist into the hem of her shirt, pulling it tight into her fists.

I lower my chin to the top of her head, close my eyes, and breathe her in. She smells like survival and strength and something uniquely her. “We’ll find her.”

She leans into me, her body small and trembling. I let her, but it’s hard. I’m used to protecting people by doing something. Kicking down doors, clearing rooms, pulling the trigger before someone else does. That kind of protection makes sense. It’s effective. This, though? Standing here, being her anchor while she falls apart quietly in my arms? This is different. There’s nothing to kill, and no one to blame. Only her pain, my arms around her, and trying to be something comforting when all I’ve ever been is a weapon.

Still, I tighten my hold around her, because maybe that’s what she needs. It would be easier to shove a knife into someone’s gut. That kind of protection I understand. But this? Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

The possibility of being this for someone?

It’s intoxicating.

She turns her head enough so I can see the shape of her face in the filtered light, the faint tremble in her jaw, and the unshed tears in her hazel eyes that make me want to hunt down everyone who ever made her cry. Then her head rests against my chest that’s working overtime to cage the riot beneath my ribs.

I tighten my arms around her and simply hold her. Not like she’s fragile, because she’s proven she’s anything but. More like she’s mine to protect. Like she belongs in my arms and I’ll be damned if I let anyone hurt her again.

She sniffles once, and that’s the moment I know I’ll burn this entire fucking city to the ground if it means finding her sister and giving this woman even an ounce of peace. The thought should scare me, how quickly she’s gotten under my skin and how fiercely protective I feel in such a short time, but it doesn’t. It feels right.

A shadow shifts off to the side. When I lift my head, I see Jace standing nearby, half-hidden in the trees. He leans against the trunk with his arms crossed and an expression carved from stone. He’s not really watching me. His eyes are on her.

Jace’s eyes are dark and focused. Not angry, not jealous, but something else. Something quieter. Pain laced with regret, if I had to guess. The kind that doesn’t scream, but stays buried and shows up in the smallest cracks.

He sees Autumn in my arms, and something in him flickers. Only for a moment, a split-second crack in that polished armor, before his jaw tightens, and he looks away, like the sight stung more than he was ready for. The emotion disappears almost like it didn’t happen at all.

I understand that look. Hell, I’ve probably worn it myself, wishing I had someone worth protecting in this way. That doesn’t matter, though. Nothing we want matters right now. I don’t give a fuck about whatever these guys are goingthrough, because Autumn needs this. She needs me, needs us, and that’s all that matters.

I hold her tighter and rub my hand up and down her back, letting her take whatever comfort she needs from me. Our problems are ours to deal with. She has enough shit without carrying our emotional baggage, too. But I’ll be damned if I let anyone, be it rotter, dreg, or even one of us, hurt her again.

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