Chapter 37
THE ANTI HERO
Iwake up under a mound of heavy warmth, feeling disembodied and profoundly exhausted. The simple act of opening my eyes feels like an impossibility, so I don’t even try. I just lay very still, basking in the softness. But then, I must breathe which makes me cough.
Coughing hurts.
With a groan, I pry one eye open. I make out vague lines and shapes in the glow of a crackling fire. I try to clear a path through my foggy brain, to remember where I am and how I got here, when all at once, the memory slams into me.
Caleb fell through the ice at the quarry.
I bolt upright.
My head throbs.
The room spins.
My hair is wet and I’m hardly dressed.
Horrified, I clutch the comforter to my chest. I’m wearing only my camisole and my boy short underwear.
“Good evening,” a familiar voice drawls.
I turn to see Rafe sitting in a leather armchair, its high back casting a long shadow across the room. He holds a glass of bourbon in his hand.
I clutch the comforter tighter.
I’m in Rafe’s bed.
In nothing but my undergarments.
Altogether, the ensemble reveals no more than an outfit in the throes of a summer heatwave. Still, the thought of Rafe peeling off my clothes has a tsunami of heat flooding into my cheeks.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t see anything new.”
“Where are my clothes?” I demand, or try to demand. My voice is hoarse. My throat, raw. I sound like someone recovering from a nasty case of laryngitis.
He gestures to a dressing screen near the fireplace, over which my clothes have been draped.
My attention darts around his room. I’ve been in it before. With Jude, in fact. At the time, I was so focused on finding the stolen page from Mistress Bramble’s codex, I didn’t pay it much attention.
Now, however?
The room has been put back together and it is noticeably different from Jude’s.
His exudes intellect and restraint. Rafe’s drips with decadence, all velvety shadow and honeyed firelight that reflects off the cut crystal on his nightstand.
A fur rug spills across the floor, separating a claw-footed chaise lounge from the chair in which Rafe sits, a small table at his elbow.
On it, a decanter of bourbon catches the light like molten gold.
And then, of course, there is his king-sized bed, on which I am lying.
In my undergarments!
“You took them off,” I croak.
“I like to think I saved you from hypothermia, but toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe.” He takes a slow sip from his glass. “I considered taking off my own and crawling under the covers with you. It’s the quickest way to warm a person up, you know.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “How did I get here?”
“I brought you.”
“Why?”
“I thought it preferable to leaving you on the bank of the quarry.”
“But what—how—?”
He swirls his drink, looking amused by my panicked spluttering.
I yank the comforter up to my chin. “Please explain. And give me my pants.”
“Your pants are still wet.”
“Then give me different pants,” I demand.
He sets his glass down with a clink, opens his armoire, reaches past a row of dark, elegant suits, and pulls out a pair of sweatpants, along with a matching crewneck sweatshirt. He hands them to me with a devilish grin.
“Turn around.”
Bowing sardonically, he faces his windows.
The night outside is inky black.
I yank the sweatshirt over my head. The fabric is absurdly soft. Meanwhile, my body feels like it’s been through war. “Why were you at the quarry?”
“I was driving along, about to turn into my humble abode, when you came tearing onto the street in your father’s Bronco like a bat out of hell. Naturally, I was curious. So I followed you. And a good thing, too, for if I hadn’t…” He lets the unspoken words dangle in the air.
If he hadn’t, I would have drowned.
I think about the pearl and everything it showed me as I pull on the sweatpants, which are every bit as soft as the sweatshirt. The police lights. Lainey lying to the officer. “What about the police?”
“What about them?”
“They just let you leave with me?”
“I didn’t wait around to ask permission.”
“So you—you just took me?”
“Again, I was more concerned with the hypothermia.”
I climb out of Rafe’s bed, my muscles screaming in protest. “I witnessed a crime. I saw—”
“High school teenagers being high school teenagers.” Rafe turns around. “A tragic accident. Ivy Winslow part two.”
“That wasn’t an accident.”
“No?” He cocks his head, firelight dancing in his eyes.
“They lured him onto the ice.” I snatch my pants and my shirt off the dressing screen. “They lured them both. And then…”
“The ice broke. Caleb fell in.”
“He was sucked into a rift.”
“That no normal human can see.”
I breathe, acutely aware of the pain in my ribs, all while realizing Rafe is right. But still. I grab my socks off the dressing screen, too. “Lainey lied to the police. She said they tried to help.”
Rafe quirks an eyebrow. “And you would know this how?”
“The pearl showed me.”
“Ah.” He scoops up his glass of bourbon and takes a swig. “The pearl.”
I run my hand over my hair. It’s as damp as the clothes I have gathered in my arms. “Brady saw me,” I say, panic beginning to swirl. “He’s going to tell the police I was there. My dad’s Bronco is—”
“Parked in front of your carriage house.”
I look at Rafe. “How?”
“Denis handled it.”
I shake my head. “I need to go. I need to get back to the quarry. I need to—”
“Take a breath,” he says, stepping in front of me, the fire casting deep shadows along his jawline.
I open my mouth to tell him to move, get out of the way. Instead, I start coughing, which sets my chest on fire. I double over, hugging my middle, as though doing so might mitigate the pain.
Rafe bends with me, his hand sliding up my back. “Selah?”
Our eyes meet.
They hold.
Then I shake him off and step away.
He’s close. Much too close. And he saved me.
Rafe Vandenberg—of all people—has now saved my life not once, but twice.
In the span of a single week. I have no idea what to make of this.
I only know I need to get out of his room.
I need to speak with the police. I have no idea where my coat is, where my shoes are.
I only know that I must go. Right now. With my feet bare, I bundle my wet clothes against my chest and all but run out of Rafe’s bedroom.
Only to collide with someone in the hallway.
Strong hands reach out to steady me.
Jude’s hands.
He steps back, his eyes widening—at the sight of me in his home. Coming out of Rafe’s bedroom. Dressed in Rafe’s clothes.