Ah, yes. Runaway Scarlet.
She’d almost forgotten how she’d fled her last life without leaving a forwarding address.
Scarlet was confused. “We made out. And then I…ran away?”
His eyes were running over everything in the room. “Yep.”
Scarlet felt extreme guilt and sadness wash over him.
Her lips parted with a realization. “You think I ran away because of you.”
Tristan blinked and finally met her eyes. “I don’t know what I think.”
A loud crack of thunder boomed outside and the shack’s lights flickered.
“I didn’t run away because of the kiss,” Scarlet said, somehow knowing it was the truth.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Tristan looked at the floor. “It was reckless and selfish.” He looked at her with stern eyes. “And it won’t happen again.”
Scarlet let his self-hatred bounce around inside her for a moment, before she grew irritated by his attitude.
Maybe Tristan wanted to forget about what happened—maybe he hadn’t enjoyed it—but Scarlet wanted to hold on to the memory forever. It was hot and beautiful and honest.
She lifted an unashamed brow at Tristan. “Well, I liked it.”
Tristan eyes flashed hot and dark as he stared at her. “I never said I didn’t like it.”
Racing emotions streamed from Tristan to Scarlet, Scarlet to Tristan. Desire, passion, longing, need—
Lightning lit up the sky outside, followed by another crack of angry thunder.
The inside lights flickered again. Once. Twice.
And then went out completely.
Leaving Scarlet and Tristan standing in the dark shack with nothing between them but the dancing light from the fireplace, and a memory that burned hotter than the flames within.
55
A noise downstairs woke Gabriel up.
He sat up in bed, listening. Heather was still beside him, sleeping peacefully with her pink facemask over her eyes. Her blond hair curled around her chin and shoulder and fell onto the pillow beneath her.
She looked so small, sleeping in his bed. Small and vulnerable and—
He heard the noise again.
In an instant, he was out of bed and making his way downstairs. At first, he thought maybe Scarlet had returned to the cabin. But when he reached the main floor, Gabriel noticed two things.
The power was out in the cabin.
And the tarp used to replace the broken window in the living room was torn down and lying on the floor.
Scarlet wasn’t in the cabin.
An intruder was.
Icy wind and rain swept in through the empty window frame, setting Gabriel’s hairs on end as he crept into the living room. The only light in the house was from the cloud-covered moon outside sending a pale glow into the room and casting shadows everywhere.
Gabriel looked around for the nearest weapon.
His eyes fell on a magazine, a pen and a plastic cup—none of which would do much to deter an attacker.
Where was a heavy statue or a baseball bat when you needed one?
He silently headed for the den, where he and Tristan kept all of their weapons, when a shuffling sound from the left had him turning to the side with raised fists.
Out of nowhere, a dark shadow charged at him.
The figure plowed into Gabriel, knocking him to the floor and attempting to pin him.
Like hell.
Gabriel grabbed for the stranger’s throat and tossed him to his back, gaining the upper hand. From the light of the moon, Gabriel saw he was wrestling with an Ashman.
The Ashman’s skin was chalky and pale and his eyes were bloodshot and dull. His hair was thin and sparse, making him look older than he probably was, and his teeth and fingernails were an ill shade of yellow.
Where are these weirdos coming from?
Adrenaline pumped through Gabriel’s veins as he wrestled with the foul-smelling intruder, choking him mercilessly. The Ashman struggled beneath Gabriel, his limbs rigid and odd.
A sharp pain sliced through Gabriel’s side, causing him to involuntarily lighten his grip on the Ashman’s throat.
Taking advantage of Gabriel’s weakness, the stranger wiggled out from underneath Gabriel and swung at his face.
Gabriel dodged the swing, wincing in pain as his muscles stretched against the gash in his side. He swung back and connected with the Ashman’s face.
The Ashman stumbled back, knocking over an end table, and held up a knife dripping with Gabriel’s blood. A knife with a blue blade.
He lunged at Gabriel a second time.
Ignoring the pain in his side, Gabriel moved out of the knife’s path, but the intruder was relentless, slashing at the air between them in fury.
Lamps fell over, art fell off the walls and blood from Gabriel’s rib leaked onto the floor as he evaded the Ashman’s advances over and over again.
Wind and rain invaded the cabin, making the floor slippery.
Despite his best attempts at outmaneuvering the stranger, Gabriel was still unarmed, giving the Ashman a severe advantage.
For a brief moment, Gabriel wished Tristan had never left. No one stood a chance against both Archer brothers.
But one unarmed Archer brother? That was a different story.
The intruder shifted his weight and pulled the knife back, aiming at Gabriel’s chest. The moonlight glinted off the sharp blade and Gabriel found himself backed up against a wall.
There was no escape. Gabriel was going to have to bear the pain of a knife through his chest. He could do it. He would wait until the knife entered his flesh and then he’d snap the Ashman’s neck in half.
Yeah. That was a good plan.
Just as the knife came toward Gabriel, the Ashman grunted and pulled back, taking a few wobbly steps before falling to the floor.
Nate stood to the side, his hands on a large sword jutting from the Ashman’s back. He yanked out the sword, leaving the stranger’s body limp.
Nate stepped toward the Ashman’s body, looking him over timidly.
Without warning, the intruder rolled over and pulled himself up off the floor. Nate jumped back, lifted the sword in defense, and made a loud noise that sounded something like, “Arrrhh!”
Still clutching the bloody knife, the Ashman looked back and forth between Nate and Gabriel. Seeing he was outnumbered, he turned and ran back through the destruction of the living room. Jumping out of the gaping hole from the missing living room window, the Ashman disappeared into the storm
A moment passed as Gabriel and Nate stared after their attacker, both of them out of breath.
Still badly bleeding, Gabriel turned to Nate and looked at the weapon he held. The sword was oversized, extra shiny and had a very ornate handle. “I don’t remember ever seeing that sword in our arsenal before.”
Hunched over and trying to catch his breath, Nate said, “That’s because it’s from my arsenal.”
“So, you just had that,” Gabriel nodded at the weapon, “laying around?”
Nate righted himself and shrugged. “I’m a Zelda fan.”
“Ah.” Gabriel nodded. “And the noise you just made?”