Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83384 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83384 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Get the guard,” I growl to Nolan. “Find the fucking guard.”
My men stand and wait, prepared to save them, but this is my job.
“Stand back! I’m going to break it!”
I lift the ax and slam it against the glass. It shatters into a million shards that clatter to the ground like a hailstorm of diamonds. I swing the ax again, and again, until the wood frame splinters and we can get them out. But the flames are too thick, and I can’t see them.
I launch myself into the thick of it. Smoke immediately chokes me, but I pay it no heed. I need to get to Aileen, to Caitlin, to my mother.
“I’ve got Cait!” Keenan shouts somewhere behind me.
“And mam!” Nolan says. There’s a jumble of confusion, blinded by smoke and flames.
Aileen is still there. She screams again, when I hear the sickening sound of the roof collapsing. I see her just in time. She’s huddled on the floor, covering her head.
“Aileen!” I scream. I reach for her when the roof begins to cave. I throw my body over hers, caging her beneath me. Something strikes the back of my head. The world goes black.
Chapter 10
Aileen
They’re speaking beside me. Voices I don’t recognize, though some are vaguely familiar. At first they sound distant, like they’re in a tunnel. Or I am.
Where am I?
“She could’ve died,” one deep, rumbling voice says.
“Severe head trauma,” says a pragmatic, scholarly voice in reply.
“Would’ve died if he hadn’t shielded her. Will she wake?” The last voice is decidedly feminine.
“If she doesn’t, I’ll fucking kill them.” The deep one again. This last voice is somehow vaguely… very vaguely… familiar. I can’t recall how I know it, though.
“Who? We don’t know who did it.”
“We can guess,” the rumbling voice responds. “Said something about Martin ruining everything. He brought the wrath of someone on us…”
It’s as if the words are being spoken in a foreign language. Without context or understanding, they’re meaningless to me.
I lie still. It’s odd being surrounded by voices I don’t know. Something soft’s on my body, and beneath my head are piles of pillows. I’m in a bed, but it isn’t my bed. It’s nothing at all like anything I’ve felt before. It’s too comfortable. The only bed I’ve ever slept in was the small, cramped bed… somewhere.
Where am I?
What happened?
Who am I?
My eyes flutter open, and the chatter around me dies. I don’t move except to swing my gaze nervously about the room. I try to swallow, but my throat’s too tight. I don’t speak. I could be a prisoner for all I know. Everything around me is foreign.
There are three people in this room altogether: two men and one woman. One of the men looks like he could be a doctor, with a telltale stethoscope around his neck.
The woman’s the oldest, I think. She’s got soft red hair graying at the temples, and kind, gentle eyes that have seen many things. I can tell by the aged, wise look she gives me, when she gently nudges a large, younger man sitting beside her.
“The lass is waking, son.”
She’s his mother, then. Whoever he is. His head snaps up, and bright green eyes meet mine with recognition. My belly stirs with discomfort, though. Why is he looking at me as if he knows me, when I don’t have the foggiest idea who he is?
I swallow several times, trying to figure out what to say, but settle on nothing. It’s unnerving not knowing what to say.
He gets to his feet. His clothes are rumpled, his hair untidy, as if he’s slept in his clothes for days, but he’s incredibly handsome, with his dark curly hair and strong, muscled body. Everything about him is ruggedly masculine.
I wish I knew who he was.
“Aileen,” he says, coming to my bedside. I look to the woman. Is she Aileen? But they’re all looking at me. Who’s Aileen?
“She’s just a bit disoriented,” says the man with the stethoscope.
“Where am I?”
He reaches for my hand. I flinch, and pull my hand away. I don’t like strangers touching me.
“Don’t touch me,” I whisper. “I don’t know who you are.”
The entire room stills. No one speaks for long minutes, the tension palpable.
Did I say something wrong?
The taller, thin man I guess is the doctor walks over and places his hand on his shoulder. “Cormac, remember what I told you.”
His name’s Cormac. The name’s familiar, like a long-distant memory from my childhood. I don’t know it, though. He has no place in my catalog of thoughts.
I sit up, and I reckon my own face mimics the stricken face on the man before me. He’s white and pale, his eyes wide in disbelief. I know how he feels.
“What’s my name?” I say. My voice cracks, and tears well in my eyes. “Where am I?”
I try to get out of bed, but the man called Cormac shakes his head. “Stay in bed,” he says. His voice brooks no argument, as if there’s no question about obeying him. “No getting out of bed without assistance.”