Page 30 of Haunted By the Storm
I want to ask more but the implication is clear enough. "Did you...? Is he...?"
"He's alive," Storm assures me, correctly interpreting my half-formed question. "In considerable pain but alive."
I should be horrified. I should be running for the door, taking Emily, and fleeing this world of violence and retribution. Instead, I feel a treacherous sense of relief.
"Thank you," I whisper, the words inadequate but sincere.
Outside, lightning flashes, illuminating the room in harsh white light. I flinch involuntarily, wrapping my arms around myself as thunder follows immediately after.
"The storm's right overhead," Storm observes, his voice gentle. "Why don't you stay here until it passes? I can go check on Emily."
The offer is so unexpected, so thoughtful, that it brings tears to my eyes. I blink them back, not wanting him to see how close to the edge I am.
Too late. He steps closer, one hand lifting to my face, fingers barely touching my cheek. "Hey," he says softly. "It's okay. You're safe here."
"I know," I whisper, and I mean it. Despite everything, I do feel safe with him. "It's just... when the storms come I can't always control how I react. It's embarrassing."
"There's nothing embarrassing about fear," he says firmly. "Especially fear with a damn good reason behind it."
Another crash of thunder, and I can't help the small sound that escapes me, part gasp, part whimper. Storm's hand moves to my shoulder, steadying me.
"Look at me," he says gently. "Focus on me, not the storm."
I raise my eyes to his, finding them intent on mine, clear blue and unwavering.
"That's it," he encourages. "Just breathe with me. In... out... in... out..."
I follow his lead, matching my breathing to his, feeling my heart rate slow gradually. He's so close I can smell the clean scent of his soap, see the tiny scar at the corner of his left eyebrow, and feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"Good," he murmurs. "You're doing good."
The praise warms me from the inside out, a feeling of accomplishment spreading through my chest. It's ridiculous to feel proud of something as simple as breathing through fear, but his approval means more than it should.
Another lightning flash, another thunderclap, but this time I'm prepared, my eyes locked on Storm's, my breathing steady.
"There she is," he says, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I knew you had it in you."
The moment stretches between us, charged with something I'm afraid to name. His hand is still on my shoulder, a warm, steady weight, his thumb tracing small circles against my collarbone. I should step back, put some distance between us, but I find myself leaning in instead, drawn by an invisible force I can't resist.
His gaze drops to my lips, a question in his eyes. I answer by tilting my face up, a silent invitation I'm not sure I'm ready to extend but can't seem to withdraw.
He moves slowly, deliberately, giving me every opportunity to pull away. But I don't. I stay perfectly still as he lowers hishead, his breath warm against my lips, his eyes holding mine until the last possible moment.
When our lips meet, it's soft, tentative, a whisper of contact that nonetheless sends electricity racing through my veins. He holds the kiss for just a heartbeat before pulling back slightly, gauging my reaction.
I should be terrified. This is the first time I've kissed anyone since Eric, the first time I've wanted to. But there is no fear, only a spreading warmth in my chest and a desperate need for more.
My breath catches as I reach up, tangling my fingers in his hair, and pull him back to me. He comes willingly, his lips finding mine again, deeper this time. His hands frame my face, calloused palms rough against my skin as his thumbs trace the line of my jaw. The contrast of his gentle touch and strong hands makes me dizzy with want.
The kiss deepens, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, asking for entry. I grant it, opening to him, meeting his tongue with mine. A low sound escapes him, part groan, part growl, and his hands slide down to my waist, pulling me flush against him.
I should be frightened by his strength, by the hard lines of his body pressing against mine, but all I feel is safe. Protected. Wanted.
We break apart eventually, both breathing hard, foreheads resting together. His hands still hold my waist, keeping me close, as if he’s afraid I'll bolt if he lets go.
"I've got you," he whispers against my lips. "You're safe with me."
And in this moment, despite all logic and reason, I believe him.
