“Breathe, Ramie,” he said in a soothing, even tone. “Breathe before you pass out.”
She closed her eyes, tears stinging the lids. She hated the helplessness that seemed to grip her with growing frequency. Control was something she valued, was something she needed in an effort to maintain her sanity. But over the past months she had been anything but in control. She could feel herself gradually sliding away with each passing day. When would it end? Would it ever truly end for her? Peace was an elusive, taunting desire. Just one night where she slept free of the monsters she’d helped imprison and the torment they caused—still caused in her shattered mind.
“Ramie, look at me.”
Startled by the firmness of his command and his terse tone, her eyelids fluttered open and her gaze lifted falteringly to his. Then he lowered himself to one knee in front of her so she didn’t have to crane her neck to look up at him. He gathered her hands in his, ignoring her visible flinch at his touch.
She braced herself for the tide of emotion to swamp her. To be filled with whatever darkness he hid from the rest of the world. Her gift was a sick twist of fate. As though fate was playing a cruel joke and laughing at her expense. Because she could only sense the bad in people. Underlying evil. Malevolence or bad intentions. She was never able to share the good. People’s happiness, their joy, their celebration of life. Only what they tried to hide, what they never wanted others to know about them.
She could ferret out people’s deepest, darkest secrets as though she were somehow responsible for being the judge and jury over their conscience. It wasn’t a gift she wanted. Certainly wasn’t something she’d ever asked for. She wasn’t qualified to cast judgment. She only wanted to survive, to live. To enjoy something as simple as an ordinary day without the oppressive weight of so much evil bearing down on her. Was that so much to ask? At times she felt as though Ramie St. Claire no longer existed, that she’d become the very evil she tried so hard to extinguish.
But as Caleb’s hands tightened around hers, all she could feel was unwavering resolve. No blackness, no evil taint on his soul. And it wasn’t as though she picked up on his resolve because her mind had touched his. It was clear in his eyes, his expression. Any idiot could see that he was determined, but then she’d never thought him anything else. After all, he’d tracked her down, ruthlessly forcing her to help find and save his sister.
She should be furious. She should be screaming at him for the ultimate betrayal. He’d sent her back to hell. And yet she couldn’t summon anything but the yawning numbness overtaking her with every passing day that her own death approached. Because the man hunting her would find her. It wasn’t a matter of if but when. She was only delaying the inevitable. Fighting for each new day and hoping it wasn’t her last. And it was no way to live. So much fear. And . . . resignation. It should fill her with self-loathing that she’d accepted the inevitability of her death. It made her weak. Like she’d given up. But if she’d truly given up all hope, she wouldn’t have called Caleb in her desperation. She wouldn’t have reached out for help and protection.
What if . . . What if he truly could keep her safe? What if he could prevent her agonizing death at the hands of a madman? She was afraid to hope, to let herself be lulled into a false sense of security. And yet she couldn’t quite prevent the fledgling glimmer of hope from unfurling in the deepest part of her soul.
“Look at me. Watch me. Breathe deep. In through your nose and out your mouth. You can do this.”
Her pulse was a rapid staccato against her skin. She stared helplessly back at him, a single tear trailing warmly down her cheek, a contradiction to the icy chill that held her in its grip.
“Don’t cry, Ramie,” he said in a gentle voice. “You’re safe now, I swear it. But you have to breathe for me. Like this.”
She watched as he demonstrated sucking in deep breaths, his nostrils flaring, and then expelling the air, the warmth of his breath on her chin. Some of the terrible panic began to ease. Slowly, her lungs opened up and allowed a shaky intake. She shuddered violently, shaking off the chokehold anxiety had on her.
“Nice and easy,” he soothed. “You need to slow it down.” He glanced down at one of the hands he still held, his fingers circled gently around her wrist. “Your pulse is way too fast.”
She had yet to say a word to him. He’d done all the talking. And now that her panic attack was abating, she had no idea what to say at all. He was here. He’d come. He’d responded to her plea for help. What could she tell him? Would he even believe her?