Distress fingered up his spine and knotted at the base of his neck. He curled his fists, focusing on the simple act of breathing in and out. The quiet took on a life of its own, becoming his worst nightmare. It hammered at him, inching its way past every rationale, every shred of sense he threw its way.
He was a twenty-six-year-old man who was skilled in three different martial arts.
But his psyche didn’t understand reason, recycling and feeding itself on fears and terrors from five years ago. The unflinching quiet, the smells and sounds of the stable, all of them pushed under his conscious, inciting reactions that had no base in reality.
A frustrated growl escaped his mouth. He slid to his knees, an invisible rope tugging away at him. And then it came.
The sound that drowned his whole body into a mindless chill, that pierced holes in him. Nausea whirled at the base of his throat. He closed his eyes and gave in to the darkness.
He was sitting on the hard floor, his foot bent at an awkward angle. Winds from the desert howled outside.
A soft grunt reached his ears followed by a dragging movement across the floor of the stables.
Ayaan, can you hear me?
The scent of blood mixed with hay filled Ayaan’s nostrils. His fingers gripped slender shoulders, his knuckles beginning to hurt from the tight grip. But he couldn’t let go, he would never let go of her. He just needed a moment. His shoulder hurt like hell, and a bullet had grazed his head on the left. Blood dribbled thickly into his left eye.
His vision blurred with tears and his own blood, he felt woozy. That dragging sound came again, the sound rippling across his arms. It was a sound that filled him with the fiercest anger. A cold hand gripped his thigh, its grip strong despite the tremors in it.
Ayaan, you have to leave...
No...he roared.
That trembling hand tried to pry his grip off the body in his arms. Ayaan held on tighter. He couldn’t let go, ever...he had already made a mistake when he had hesitated to fire, he couldn’t make another. Bile filled his mouth. He retched to the side, wiped his mouth.
All he needed was a minute. Once his vision cleared, he would get her out of here...
That dragging sound came again, followed by stuttered breathing.
Ayaan, listen to me. It is too late for Amira and me. You have to leave...now.
Nooooooo....
Ayaan screamed again until his throat hurt, until his head felt as if it would burst from the inside, until pain and loathing was all he became. If only he hadn’t frozen like that, if only he had moved faster, if only he had blocked the next shot with his body...so many if onlys....
Something landed on his shoulder, jarring his thoughts. With a scream that never left his throat, he surged to his knees and slammed the intruder against the door of a stall.
Adrenaline pounded through him, rage singing in his veins. This time, he would not hesitate.
One chance and he would drag them all to safety. That’s all he needed, one chance.
A soft gasp broke through the mist pounding through his head. He reached out and realized the body of the intruder was slender, almost frail. In that second-long fracture in his focus a well-aimed kick landed on his shin.
The curious scent of roses teased at the edge of his mind. He stilled. That scent was wrong. There should only be blood, tears and the stench of his own fear. There shouldn’t be...
He opened his eyes and jerked back so hard that he hit the wall with the back of his head. As his head throbbed, he stilled, his chest so painfully tight that he couldn’t breathe.
Dressed in dark trousers and a white caftan, Zohra leaned against the wall, her long hair falling onto her chest over one shoulder.
Bile swam up his throat and Ayaan held it off by sheer will. He moved toward her, his movements shaky and slippery. Emotion balled up in his throat, and he had to breathe through it. Fear beat like a tribal drum in his blood as he tugged her gently.
She fell into his arms, and he thought he might be sick again. He traced the pulse at her throat with the pad of his thumb. And exhaled in painful relief.
Exquisite brown eyes slowly fluttered open.
“Zohra, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” she said in a low whisper, “and now that you know that I wasn’t about to attack you, can you please let go of me?”
With a curse, he loosened his fingers.
She pushed at his shoulders and he let himself fall back onto his haunches, his gut churning with a vicious force. Her fingers around her nape trembling, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.
Her chest rose and fell with her slow, painful breathing.
He could have hurt her so easily... If he hadn’t stopped when he had...
Terror pounded through his blood, a vise squeezing his chest. His hands shook, delayed shock pulsing through him from head to toe. “I could have killed you.”