He'll have to break all the rules to keep her, but first she has to break just one and let him in...
It's taken four years, but Anna Fray has finally put the past behind her. Mostly. She fills her days working in a bar and her nights watching bad ro...
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I'd never really screamed before. I'd given a yip of surprise or a squeal of delight, but never a real, gut-wrenching scream. I used to wonder if I was even capable of it. Whereas most would scream in fear, I usually turned to rage instead. I'd turn that frightened energy into something vicious because if I was going to go down, I wanted to make damn sure I took everyone else with me.
So, as I stood in the quiet kitchen, with nothing but the hum of the fridge and buzz of the electric light, I was almost shocked by the scream that pierced the hush. It tore at my throat, raw, primal and desperate. It was the embodiment of the feeling crushing my chest as I saw the bloody trail leading to Nightmare's dainty black frame. She lay sprawled on her side, her vivid green eyes clenched shut as her small pink mouth panted erratically.
The last echoes of my scream bounced off the kitchen walls as I scrabbled towards her; my hands slipping on the smear of blood that marked her movements. I barely registered the crash of the kitchen door behind me as it was forced open.
"Anna?" Atticus called frantically, but I couldn't answer him. I couldn't think about anything except the way Nightmare's blood contrasted against the black and white tiles — a gruesome Jackson Pollock.
"Nightmare, sweetie?" I cooed, my voice shaking as much as my hands. Could I touch her? Should I touch her? Would I make whatever this was worse?
In my periphery I saw Atticus crouch beside me. A waft of the scent that was now synonymous with his presence drifted around me. It was comforting, even now, although I couldn't pinpoint why.
My hands skated over Nightmare's velvet black fur, feeling her shallow shuddering breaths tremble under my touch.
She felt so cold.
"Oh god!" Tears burst free as my mind whirled through what was happening and what to do next.
"What happened?" Atticus asked softly.
"I don't know," I mumbled. "I came in and found her like this. I need to get her to a vet." My legs wobbled as I stood, walking halfway to the lounge before realising that I didn't have anything to carry her in, or know where the nearest vets was, or have any idea how I was going to save her. All I knew was that I had to save her. Somehow. Whatever it took. I couldn't let her die.
My eyes flashed over her again, and I felt my blood boil with anger, not just at what had happened but at myself. I'd taken her in, yet I hadn't planned for any of this. I thought I could just feed and house her and that was all she needed. But like every house plant I'd ever had, she was going to die because I was too apathetic to really care for her. I should know where the nearest vet was. I should have a car to drive her. I should have money saved to treat her. I should have a taken control of her wellbeing and planned how to keep her safe.
"She needs a vet. I need to ring someone..." I pulled my phone from my pocket and tried to find answers with numb fumbling fingers.
As I tried to pull myself together, I watched Atticus lay a hand against Nightmare. From fingertip to palm he covered almost half her body. I choked out a sob as I saw how small she really was. How vulnerable.
