Chapter 26
Secrets Revealed
Emma couldn’t bring herself to release her grip on Zach’s shirt, couldn’t get her breath back under control. Someone tried to kill her.
Zach pulled back from her, gripping her shoulders, scanning her body. “Are you hurt?” His voice came out rough, scraped raw by adrenaline and fury.
She shook her head, her eyes wide, hands trembling, thoughts in a whirl as she stared at the bolt lying in the sand ten feet away.
“You—” She drew back, staring at him. Her gaze moved from his face to his hand to the bolt. “You caught it.”
How the hell had he caught a crossbow bolt?
He didn’t answer, his attention locked on the tree line. “We’re going back to the cottage.” He took her arm, already moving, positioned between her and the direction the attacker had run. “Now.”
“Zach, what—”
“Later, Emma.” His tone left no room for argument. His hand stayed on her arm, firm but not painful, guiding her along the trail.
She sighed, but didn’t argue.
Zach kept up a fast but controlled pace, staying between her and the trees, scanning for threats. His knife grasped in his right hand, ready.
His hand tightened on her arm. She didn’t complain.
“Kate knew,” Emma said quietly, her voice steadier now. “She warned us.”
“Yes.” One word.
“You caught the bolt. Out of the air. While it was moving.” She couldn’t comprehend that. She wouldn’t have believed her own eyes if she hadn’t seen the bolt in the sand where Zach dropped it.
He didn’t respond. Of course not.
“That’s not normal,” Emma continued, fighting to stay calm, analytical, battling the instincts telling her to run and hide. “That’s not possible for normal people.”
“Keep moving.” He scanned ahead. The cottage was visible now, a hundred yards away. Windows glowing warm in the night, a beacon of safety.
“Zach—”
“We’ll talk inside. Behind locks. After I’ve secured the perimeter and contacted my brothers.” His tone softened. “Please, Emma.”
She nodded. Walked faster.
They covered the last hundred yards in tense silence. Zach’s eyes continually searched for threats, cataloging every detail.
He’ll be impossible to live with now. The irreverent thought popped into her mind, unstoppable.
Of course he would. The threat was real. He’d been right.
When they reached his porch, Zach held Emma back while he did a quick visual sweep through the window. He unlocked the door with his left hand, knife still in his right, and pushed it open.
“Stay behind me.”
He cleared each room. Bedrooms. Bathroom. Kitchen. Closet. She’d bet good money he looked under the bed and behind the shower curtain. Every space large enough to hide a threat.
“Lock the door. Deadbolt and chain.”
She obeyed without question; her hands shaking as she engaged both locks.
Zach moved to the window, checking sight lines.
She stood in the center of the room, arms wrapped around herself, watching him. Limbs still trembling.
“Sit,” he gestured to the couch. “I need to make some calls.”
As he turned to face her, Emma noticed the blood on his shirt. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’ll handle it after—”
“Sit down, Zach.” Her voice carried command now.
Not fear. Not now that she had something to do, something else to focus on, other than the memory of a crossbow bolt headed right toward her.
“You’re dripping blood on the floor. Let me see it.
” She was already moving toward the bathroom as she spoke, pulling out the first aid kit from under the sink.
She returned to the living area to find Zach sitting on the edge of the couch, knife still in his hand, eyes still on the window. Emma crossed to him with the kit, her hands steady now, focused on a task.
“Shirt off.”
He sheathed the knife and dragged the blood-soaked shirt over his head. The movement pulled at the wound, and his breath hitched for a second.
Emma’s heart skipped a beat when she saw it. A clean slice, four inches long, across the top of his shoulder. Not deep enough for stitches, but deep enough to scar.
“This needs to be cleaned,” she pushed away her concern and reached for distance. “You don’t need stitches—a few butterfly bandages should do it.”
“It’s fine.” But he didn’t stop her when she opened the antiseptic.
She worked methodically, cleaning the blood away, checking the depth, applying antibiotic ointment.
“You saved my life.” Emma focused on the wound, not looking at his face. “That bolt would have hit me. Killed me.”
“Yes.”
“You fought him. To protect me.”
“Yes.”
Her hands paused. Then continued applying gauze, taping it down.
“Let me see your hand.”
He stilled for a moment, then held out his hand, palm up. A red welt creased his skin, raw and angry—like a rope burn.
Emma’s breath seized. The bolt hadn’t slowed. It had been flying straight at her.
Zach caught it with his bare hand.
She looked up at him. “How did you do that?” She shook her head. “Is that what you are? What you do? Catch crossbow bolts out of thin air?”
The words hung in the air.
Zach’s shoulders tensed, a tell she recognized as preceding deflection.
“Reflex.”
A pang of disappointment—of hurt—shot through her. She turned away and began repacking the first aid kit, ignoring Zach.
“Emma.” His voice was low, careful.
She kept her back to him, returning items to the kit with unnecessary precision. Alcohol wipes. Gauze pads. Tape. Each movement deliberate, composed.
“Emma, look at me.”
“You should call your brothers now.” She closed the lid with a quiet snap. “Tell them what happened.”
“In a minute.” A pause. “Look at me. Please.”
The word stopped her. Zach didn’t say please. Didn’t ask. He commanded, controlled.
She turned slowly, the first aid kit clutched against her chest like a shield. She met his eyes—those intense gray-blue eyes that were anything but cold.
“I’m something called a Guardian,” Zach’s words came out rough, like they cost him something.
Emma furrowed her brow. “What's that mean?”
“I have… unusual abilities. Faster reflexes. I heal quicker than most people.” He held up his hand. “This burn mark, the cut, both will be gone by morning.” He flexed his hand, staring at the red welt across his palm.
She gasped. “What? That burn should take weeks to heal!”
Zach opened his mouth and closed it. There was more.
“What else?” Emma asked quietly.
He sighed and dropped his eyes to the floor. “Weapons… weapons make sense to me. Any weapon. Put one in my hand and I know how to use it. No training required. Expert level proficiency.”
He met her eyes directly for the first time today. “I was literally born for violence.”
Emma stared at him as her mind tried to categorize this information, to file it away somewhere that made sense.
It didn’t fit.
“How long have you—” she blinked. Started again. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I wasn’t.” Honest. Brutal. “It’s classified. I’ve never told anyone.”
“What about Nick and David?”
“They know. We discovered it together. My brothers and I don’t tell people. We can’t. The only other person who knows is my first sensei. He’s the one who identified my abilities.”
“But you’re telling me now.”
“You saw.” His jaw tightened. “You wouldn’t have stopped until you figured it out. You’re too smart not to.”
The compliment rang hollow in her ears.
Emma gazed down at the kit in her hands before setting it on the coffee table with undue care. Her eyes burned with unshed tears when she looked up again.
“I understand why you didn’t tell me.” Her voice stayed steady despite tears choking her throat.
“Logically, I understand. But Zach…” She pressed her lips together, fighting for composure.
“We’ve been joined at the hip for days now.
Sharing meals. I’ve been in your space, in your life, depending on your protection. And you couldn’t trust me with this?”
“It’s not about trust—”
“Then, what is it about?” The words came out sharper than she intended. She took a breath, forcing her tone to be softer. “What, Zach?”
He stood and moved toward her.
She stumbled back a step. The hurt that crossed his face was so brief she almost missed it.
“Protection,” he said. “The fewer people who know, the safer they are. The safer you are. If this leaks…”
“Someone just tried to kill me with a crossbow, Zach.” Her voice wavered despite her efforts to steady it. “I don’t think I’m safe, regardless.”
“You’re alive because I was there,” he ground out. “Because of what I am.”
He was right. She knew he was right.
Emma wrapped her arms around herself again, the same protective gesture she’d used on the beach.
“I need…” she swallowed and tried again. “I need a minute. To process this.”
“Emma—”
“Please.” Her voice cracked on the word. “… give me a minute.”
She turned away from him and moved to the window. Not close enough to be a target—she wasn’t stupid—but far enough from Zach that she could think.
The glass reflected both of them.
She, hunched over, arms wrapped tight around herself.
Him, standing frozen in the center of the room—blood-stained, wounded and looking more lost than she’d ever seen him.
Outside, the resort lights glowed in the distance, oblivious to the violence that had occurred only minutes ago. To the revelation running like a fault line between them.
Emma pressed her fingertips to the glass, feeling the cool surface against her skin. Real. Solid. Unlike everything else in this moment.
Behind her, Zach didn’t move. He waited.
She closed her eyes—throat tight, stomach in knots—trying to sort through the storm of emotions inside her.
But underneath it all…
Relief.
But he only told me because he had no choice.
Emma opened her eyes, studied their reflections. Zach looked like what he had described. A living weapon.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Emma said, still facing the window. The words felt heavy and unfamiliar in her mouth. “If I’m strong enough for… whatever this is.”
She sucked in a deep breath and turned to face him. “I don’t know if I can trust you now, but I’ll stay for tonight.”
She retreated to the bedroom.
Behind her, the silence was absolute.