Chapter Ten
Ten
My ballet flats slip against the crimson-slick floor, blood smearing beneath my frantic steps as I weave through the throng of screaming, panicked bodies.
The metallic tang clings to the back of my throat, and every breath rasps like sandpaper in my chest. Elbows jab my ribs, shoulders slam into mine, and silver painted nails rake down my arms, but I grit my teeth and keep going.
Keep running. Keep moving. Keep trying to get away.
Until someone barrels into me from the side.
I stumble, slip, and go down hard—my shoulder slams into the floor first, but it’s the sharp crack of my head against stone that steals the breath from my lungs.
Stars burst behind my eyes. The world tilts. Sound warps, everything dull and echoing as if I’m submerged underwater.
I blink hard. Once. Twice. My eyelids feel heavy.
The chaos around me slows, softens, and the sharp edges blur like a watercolor painting left in the rain.
Someone screams. I try to push myself up, but my limbs aren’t cooperating. They’re numb and fuzzy, like they belong to someone else. My head throbs. I can’t tell if I’m bleeding or just dizzy. Maybe both.
I think I hear my name.
And then I’m being lifted, moved, gripped by hands I’d know anywhere.
Alder. His gaze locks on mine. His eyes burn with something I haven’t seen before—something fierce, unshakable.
Fear.
For me.
“You’re safe, Gemma. I’ll make damn sure of it.”
It’s not a reassurance. It’s not even a promise. It’s a vow.
Then we’re moving.
He shifts me against his chest like I weigh nothing, and barrels through the chaos without hesitation. Bodies slam into us, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t flinch. The crowd bends around him, parts for him.
My head lolls against his shoulder. The pain pulses in and out, afraid to commit. Everything feels floaty. I feel floaty. Like I’m watching from above—like I’m dreaming someone else’s dream.
But I still cling to him. Even when the world spins. Even when I’m not sure if I’m standing or being carried. He’s the only solid thing I have.
Someone slams into us, but Alder doesn’t go down. His arms are steel around me.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair.
For a moment, I forget the carnage. Forget the blood and the panic and the monstrous machine tearing through the room. I only feel him. His breath against my temple, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
The roar of the machine and the shrieks of the panicked crowd fade into the background as we race down a dimly lit corridor. Shadows stretch along the walls, fractured by the flicker of fading sunlight streaming in through narrow windows.
At last, he shoulders open a heavy wooden door. The hinges cry out in protest. He charges across the threshold and kicks the door shut behind us, the bolt sliding into place with a brutal clang. The silence that follows is broken only by the harsh, uneven sounds of our breathing.
He sets me down carefully, and I try to stand but my legs fold. The wall catches me, cold and unforgiving. I slide down to the floor, my back pressed to the stone, my head pounding like a war drum.
Everything’s spinning again.
My hands are sticky with blood. Her scream won’t stop echoing in my skull.
I choke back a sob and press my shaking, blood splattered hands to my cheeks, the tears spilling over before I can stop them.
Alder is suddenly there, crouching in front of me, his warm hands on my shoulders. “Gemma, look at me.”
I try. God, I try.
“Gemma.” He says my name like a tether, like something meant to bring me back.
I blink blearily up at him. “You’re here. You saved me. You said you would and then you did.”
He’s…gorgeous. Ridiculously so.
And those eyes.
They’re not just blue. They’re the ocean. The kind that swallows ships and drowns sailors but also cradles them, carries them, brings them home.
I must have hit my head harder than I thought.
More tears. I hate it. Hate that I’m crying. Hate that I need him. But he’s all I have.
“You’re right, I’m here,” he says, and his hands tighten on my shoulders. “And you are safe.”
For the first time since this nightmare started, I start to believe it.
He stands and his assessing gaze scans the room before landing on a door on the far side.
“Wait here.” It’s not a command—it’s something gentler.
Panic flares again, and my hand shoots out, wrapping around his wrist. “Don’t.”
It’s not just fear. It’s a raw, vulnerable, terrifying feeling I don’t want to name.
His eyes soften. He kneels, fingers sliding between mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles so tenderly I could break. “I’m not leaving I’ll be right back. I promise.”
I nod. Or at least, I think I do.
The moment he disappears through the side door, I sag against the wall. The world tilts sideways. My vision warps at the edges.
The room is…nice. Luxurious. Silk panels. Silver accents. Like something from a magazine. I’d appreciate it more if the floor would stop pitching.
A muffled curse makes my ears prick. Then a crash, the hiss of steam, another curse.
“For the love of all that is sacred!”
A weak laugh escapes my lips. That’s new.
He returns, holding a steaming towel and drops to his knees in front of me.
“This should help.”
He drags the towel gently over my cheeks, my forehead, my nose, catching the smudges of blood and grime clinging to my skin. The warmth is heavenly, chasing away the cold like sunlight on frost. I let my eyes drift shut.
Six months ago, even when he said I’d never leave him, I did.
No promises, no penthouses, no Library of Congress additions could make me stay. Because I always knew I was his property, not his partner.
And that’s not love.
Maybe leaving proved my point.
My eyelids flutter open, and his gaze meets mine. He watches me as he works, his thumb grazing my jawline, his fingers brushing my temple like I’m fragile… precious.
It makes my stomach flip.
It makes my heart ache.
What would it feel like to trust him to hold the jagged pieces of me and not be afraid he’ll use them as weapons?
The thought is so sweet, so terrifying, that it tightens my throat and leaves me shaking. I press my lips together to keep the emotion from spilling over, but I’m unable to keep it in. I let out a shuddering breath and fresh tears spill over.
He lowers the towel and cups my face with both hands. His thumbs brush against my cheeks, catching the tears as they fall.
“You’re okay.” His whisper is rough around the edges. “You’ll be okay.”
The way he’s looking at me… It’s everything.
“Forgive me,” he murmurs, voice like velvet against my skin. “I’ve wanted to do this for far too long.”
My heart skips a breathless beat as his face tilts closer. His lips barely brush mine. A question, not a demand.
Gone is his crispness of apples and linen. I’m surrounded by woodsmoke and dark chocolate—a scent that makes me want to curl up and stay.
The kiss deepens, slow and teasing, like he’s savoring the taste of me, committing it to memory.
It’s not like him. It’s better.
I melt into it, into him, letting the heat burn away the fear, the doubt, the distance between who we were and who we might be.
When he pulls back, he’s breathless. So am I.
“You taste like sugar,” he murmurs, tongue flicking across his bottom lip. “Sweet…addictive. Like dessert.”
My pulse hammers. My skin is on fire.
His smirk returns, but it’s softer this time. More dangerous.
“And, Gemma?” He strokes my jaw, touch feather-light.
“I spent years cursed, the flavors of life stolen from me.” He leans in, breath warm against my cheek.
“I could no longer indulge in my favorites. No more chocolates, no more berries, no more honey. It all turned to ash on my tongue. You’re the first woman I’ve tasted since I’ve been free.
My first dessert.” His lips brush my ear.
“I’ve always had a weakness for dessert. ”
It’s too much. It’s all too much.
His nearness, his words. What is he even saying? He was cursed… Curses aren’t real.
The room sways. My vision tilts.
So consuming. So dizzying. So…warm.
Who knew a kiss could do this?
Who knew love could do this?
No. Not love. Never love. I won’t love Alder Hawke again. No matter how many times he kisses me like that.
Although…I wouldn’t mind him trying.
God, he’s hot.
I lean forward—just a little—because I want more. But the world lurches.
I blink.
Suddenly, I’m on my back.
How did that happen?
He’s saying my name. Repeating it. But he sounds far away. Like a voice echoing down a long tunnel. A train tunnel. Are we on a train? Is he a bandit?
Laughter bubbles up my throat.
He’s a bandit on a train, stealing off into the night. Stealing away with my heart.
Another hiccup of laughter, then everything goes dark.