Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
I race out of the house and into a storm so violent, I can barely see. Icy rain lashes at my skin as I run, my feet pounding through sandy mud puddles.
I nearly face-plant when another spectacular flash of lightning arcs through the night. But a desperate wail from inside Libby’s house has me charging forward.
“Libby!” I don’t hesitate kicking her door in. Darkness greets me. Libby is still screaming, and the sound shreds me. My bare feet slap over the floorboards as I run to her room.
I scream too—a fucking beast of a roar, adrenaline and sheer rage lighting me up. I swing the Gibson over my head like a club, ready to caveman-bash someone’s head in, only to stop short when I finally enter her room.
Libby is sitting up in bed, her eyes wild, screams pouring from her. Nobody else is there.
For a second I just stand, guitar overhead, my hair dripping, my chest heaving. Then my wits return, and I slowly lower the Gibson.
“Libby?”
I don’t know if she can hear me over her cries. They’re coming faster now, and she’s rocking back and forth. The sound unhinges me, cuts into my heart. All the hairs stand up on my body as if in protest. This isn’t natural.
“Libby.” I set the guitar down and ease toward her. “Baby, stop.”
She doesn’t hear me. I don’t think she sees me.
Night terrors. It hits me like a brick. Mom told me I used to have them, and she said it was almost impossible to soothe me when they hit. I don’t remember them for shit, but she told me it was awful. I fucking believe her now.
Ignoring Libby’s frantic shrieks for the moment, I go to close the front door. When I return to her room, she’s still going at it, but I head for her window, which she’s left cracked open. After closing it and the drapes, I move to the bathroom and turn the light on, leaving the door open just enough to give her bedroom a bit of illumination yet not tear her out of sleep.
Maybe it’s the light or the diminished sound of the storm, but Libby suddenly takes a deep breath and then sobs.
“Libby?” I whisper, walking slowly. “Baby doll?”
Her body shudders, and she blinks. Another rasping sob leaves her. “Killian?” Her voice is toast. “What are you doing in my room?”
I approach her like I would a ticking bomb. My heart still hasn’t calmed, and I’m starting to shiver. But I focus on her. “You were screaming, Libs. I thought you were being attacked.”
She puts a trembling hand to her forehead, blocking me out. “I…the storm…” She curls in on herself, clutching her legs to her chest.
I can’t wait any longer. I sit next to her and draw her close. She’s covered in sweat and like a furnace in my arms. “It’s okay, Libs. I’m here.”
“Jesus.” She rests her clammy hand on my arm. “You’re soaked. And freezing.”
I secure my grip on her because she’s warm and soft, and, yes, I’m fucking freezing. But the truth is I need to hold her right now, need to feel the physical proof that she’s safe and solid.
“Don’t know if you noticed,” I say with false lightness, “but it’s raining cows and chickens out there.”
Her snort buffets my skin. “Cows and chickens?”
“This here is farm country, Libs,” I drawl. “Ain’t no cats and dogs filling these skies.”
I can feel her smile against my chest. “We’re more about produce than cows. Did you see any falling tomatoes?”
“I might’ve been slapped upside the head with some flying arugula. It was too windy to tell.”
As if to punctuate my words, a gust of wind slams into the windows, and the whole house seems to rattle.
Libby snuggles closer, and her warm hand smooths over my skin. “And you ran out into this veggie storm without getting dressed?”
“It sounded like you were being murdered,” I grumble. “What was I supposed to do?” Hell, I’m pretty sure I’d walk through fire to get to her if she screamed like that again.
“So you charged into a possible murder attempt armed with a guitar and naked.” She stiffens. “Are you naked? I can’t remember.”
“But you remember the guitar?”
“I thought you were going to brain me with it.”
“Nice. Some thanks I get for my mighty heroics.”
“Let’s focus on the important part here. Please tell me you aren’t naked.”
I grin. “I won’t tell you that.” I have on boxer-briefs, but it’s fun to tease.
Neither of us moves. Me, because I’m pretty much frozen solid. And Libby? Despite her professed fear of my nakedness, she wiggles against my side, like she’s antsy.
“You’re fighting the urge to look down and check, aren’t you?” I say in the dark. My dick stirs, like he knows he’s about to become a conversation piece and wants to look his best.