Page 6 of Ghost
She sees me.
Panic detonates.
She jerks upright. Cries out. Collapses.
I catch her before she hits the ground.
“Easy.” The command voice comes naturally, pitched low but authoritative. “You’re safe.”
The words feel like a lie.
No one’s safe with me.
Her eyes snap open—sharp intelligence cuts through the confusion and fear. For a moment, she’s perfectly still. Then recognition hits—not of me, but of the situation. Of being restrained, confined. She jackknifes upward, then crumples with a cry of pain. My arm shoots out, combat reflexes catching her before she can aggravate those ribs.
The contact sends electricity through my system, awakening hunger I’ve denied for too long. But there’s no time to dwell on it. She’s panicking, her breath coming in sharp gasps as sheregisters the strange clothes, the emergency blanket, the confined space.
“No, no, no—” She thrashes. Voice rising in terror. “You can’t… He sent you… I won’t go back…”
Bear whines but maintains position, rock-steady under his training. Chaos moves to the threshold.
I recognize the panic response—mine mirrors hers on the bad nights. But I also see something else: how she instinctively stills at my touch, even in her panic. The way her body unconsciously responds to authority.
“Stop.” The word cracks with parade-ground authority. My hand cups the back of her neck, exerting precisely calculated pressure. The dominance flows without conscious thought, a part of me I’ve tried to bury.
She freezes at my command, the reaction instantaneous. Her pupils dilate, breath catching for a different reason now. The submission in her response is like a key clicking into a lock I thought I’d thrown away.
Something primal stirs in my chest at how perfectly she yields to that tone. It hits like a tactical breaching charge.
Every muscle goes instantly pliant under my hand. Her breath catches, pulse leaping beneath my fingers. Recognition flares in those gold-flecked eyes. Not of me, but of what I am.
What she is.
The knowledge arcs between us like an electric current. That immediate surrender kicks my protective instincts into overdrive, along with other impulses I’ve kept locked down tight.
“Focus on my voice. You’re safe. I’m Mason. You’re in Montana, in a snowstorm. My dogs and I have your six.”
“I—” She swallows hard, eyes darting between me and the dogs. “Why am I wearing—where are my clothes?”
“Hypothermia. Your clothes were soaked. You’re in my spare thermals.” I maintain the steady pressure on her neck, feeling herpulse race beneath my fingers. “I’m former Special Forces. The dogs are trained protection animals. We found you in the storm. Brought you to shelter. Nothing more.”
She watches me like a cornered animal. Slowly, logic begins to win. Her eyes sharpen.
“You’re not one of them? You don’t work for him?”
“I don’t work for anyone.”Not anymore.
The words come out rougher than intended. “Just me and the dogs up here. Speaking of—Bear, ease up.”
The Newfoundland gives her a few inches of space but stays close enough to lend warmth. She watches him, then looks back at me with dawning understanding.
“You saved me.”
“That remains to be seen.” My hand falls away from her neck, and I immediately miss the contact. “Storm’s not over. Your pursuers might still be out there. And you’ve got some explaining to do.”
A shudder runs through her, but there’s trust in her eyes now. Trust I haven’t earned. Don’t deserve. But damned if I don’t want to keep it.
“I’m Willow,” she whispers, and the simple offering of her name feels more intimate than our shared body heat. “And I think—I think you just saved my life.”
