Page 4 of Tragic Ink
Chapter 2
The backyard was small,bordered on all sides by woods. The trees were broken up by narrow walking paths I used to skip down as a kid. Tonight, the paths were lit by the moon’s glow reflecting off the snow covering the ground. I used the light and Ethan’s sharp cries to direct me as Iran.
Trees flew by as I sprinted, and branches scraped along my face and tangled in my hair. I would have kept going, too, lungs screaming, legs aching, but in the end, my chase only led me in a large loop. Eventually, I spilled out of the trees back where I’d started—and ran right into a broadchest.
“Ommph.” I tried jumping backward, terrified I’d just thrown myself into the arms of a killer, but hands came up to squeeze my arms and held mestill.
“Whoa, there. It’s just me.” The voice was masculine and rich, and I hated the sound the instant it invaded my head. As if I hadn’t tortured myself enough with the memory of him on the drive over. Or every waking moment, if I was being honest. Now he was here, his presence mingling with my panic. And I hated how badly I wanted to let him saveme.
“Let me go,” I demanded, silently calling for Ethan to come and swoop down on my assaulter. The traitor remained airborne andsilent.
“Gwen? Are you all right?” The voice came again, and I dragged my gaze upward, past a thick winter coat and shirt that I knew hid solid abs and broad shoulders, still struggling against the iron grip he had on me. But when I caught sight of that familiar set of dark eyes, I shivered at the rush of longing that always threatened to overwhelm me when I sawhim.
“Aelwyn...” My bottom lip trembled, and before I could stop it, a sob escaped my throat. Desperate and panicked and at a loss for what to do next, I came apart, with tears and more sobs following quickly behind thefirst.
“I know.” Strong arms came around me, pulling me close, and I clung to him, ashamed of my vulnerable display, but too embarrassed to pull away and let him see my tear-stained face. Not to mention the snot I knew was close behind if I didn’t get my shit togetherpronto.
But every time I tried to take a deep breath, more tears leaked out and my shoulders only shook harder. Quiet murmurs comforted me, and a gloved hand ran over my neck and back, sending tingles down my spine. His flannel smelled like spilled whiskey and cigarette smoke—and him. There was nothing else in the world that smelled like him. Still, it wasn’t worth this. Because I knew there would be no coming back from the mortification of crying in hisarms.
After what had happened inside with Aelwyn and now this, tonight couldn’t have been more of a nightmare. Even so, my heart thudded wildly in my chest at the feel of his arms around me. The truth was Rhys Graywalk hadn’t been in nearly as many of my nightmares as he had my dreams. For that, I hatedhim.
With that thought in mind, grief and embarrassment turned quickly to rage. But I forced even that aside and somehow managed to conjure something resembling stony indifference. I sniffled one last time, used my jacket sleeve to swipe at my eyes and nose, and then stepped back, eyesdowncast.
Overhead, Ethan circled, and I could feel his urge to return to me, but I willed him away with a command that probably came out rude rather than urgent. I wasn’t in the mood to return him to my arm. Not with Rhys watching. He didn’t get to know my secrets. Notanymore.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice choked with the effort of trying to sound casual after all the snot I’d just left on hisshirt.
“I came for dinner and then I saw—” He stopped, and I was glad he didn’t finish that sentence. “Gwen,” he said again, this time much softer. “Are you allright?”
“I’m fine. It’s Ma.She—”
“I know.” He wouldn’t let me finish, and for that I was legitimately grateful. No part of me wanted to describe what I’d seen in thekitchen.
“She was... still alive when I got here,” I said, my voice small. I steeled myself and looked up, meeting his eyes. I ignored the concern he gave off. My hands balled into fists, partly from the cold that was finally starting to settle in and partly to keep away the butterflies that batted my rib cage. I hated to look at him. No, that was a lie. I hated to look when he waswatching.
“Did she say who did it?” he asked, his words hopeful enough that I felt bad when I shook myhead.
“No. She said some other stuff, though.” I frowned. “About you. And about me... being special—whatever that means. It didn’t make a lot ofsense.”
He nodded, not at all surprised, like I expected he would be. “We can talk about all of that. Come on. The sheriff’s on his way. And it’s cold as shit outhere.”
I didn’t question Rhys. Not about warming up inside—although I wasn’t sure I wanted to wait in the kitchen. And not about offering to help me decipher Aelwyn’s last words. Whatever he’d been or done to me, Rhys had always looked out for us ever since we were kids. Three years older than me, he’d come to Aelwyn when he was ten. She’d taken him in without question, just as she’d done for me years earlier. And from the day he arrived, Rhys had been everything to both of us. A friend and playmate for me. A handyman for Aelwyn. He’d moved out at eighteen, but even after things had fallen apart between us, he’d still taken care of her. I was grateful for that. But he didn’t need to knowit.
My heart thundered in my chest as I let Rhys lead the way into the house. When he stopped to hold the back door for me, my arm brushed his shirt as I passed, and my insides curled in traitorous enjoyment. Even now, in the middle of this nightmare, my body reacted to him on a chemical level I’d never been able toescape.
The lights were on now. Not just the kitchen, but the hall and a few lamps in the living and dining rooms as well. The pot on the stove had been moved and the burner turned off. Rhys, I assumed. I didn’t bother to ask. Instead, I returned hesitantly to where Aelwyn lay on the floor. The pooled blood was larger than before, but her wounds no longer leaked with it. Her eyes were closed, and she might have looked peaceful even, if not for the blood and the wounds. I dropped to the floor beside her, my eyes filling withtears.
Rhys didn’t speak, nor did he try to force me away, and I sat there, unmoving, until I heard the crunch of tires over the yard as a car pulled up. Doors opened, then closed. I did my best to quiet my own crying and sniffled hard as someone rapped on the front door. Footsteps behind me shuffled out and down the hall. I stayed where I was, listening as Rhys spoke quietly to thesheriff.
“You found her like that?” the sheriff asked when Rhys explained what they were about to walk inon.
“Yes. She was already dead when I got here,” he said, and I flinched at the word. Dead. Yes, she’d already been dead. Because someone had killed her. And I’d let them getaway.
“Did you call her other foster child? Gwen?” the sheriffasked.
“She’s here,” Rhys told him, and there was a beat ofsilence.
“Showme.”
