No!
Hands touched him. Soft hands. Along with a faint murmur.
“It’s all right, Caleb. It’s just a dream. Wake up.”
Renny! In a flash, his eyes opened, and he saw Renny leaning over him, too close, too tempting.
Let’s taste.
Since he didn’t know if it was man or beast talking, he barked, “Stay away from me.”
She recoiled, as if slapped. “Well, excuse me for waking you up.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t always react well when woken.” He’d punched bigger men than her for daring to lay a hand on him when resting.
“Good to know. Next time you have a nightmare, I’ll throw things at you from afar.”
Next time?
She seemed to realize her faux pas at the same time he did. He couldn’t help a smile. “Does this mean you’re sticking around?”
“I think that’s a better question to ask you,” she retorted.
It came to his notice it was pitch-black outside, and a quick peek over at the DVD player showed a neon-lit time of three twenty-three a.m. “Why are you up? Did you hear something?” He swung his legs so he sat on the couch.
Blonde hair flew as Renny shook her head. “I had to use the bathroom and, on the way back, heard you mumbling in your sleep. Do you have nightmares often?”
A lie would preserve his dignity. He went with the truth. “Every night unless I take the pills the doctor gave me.”
“You didn’t take them before bed?”
“Of course not. I can’t protect you if I’m passed out cold.”
“Oh, Caleb.” She breathed his name and took a step toward him, a moving shadow that didn’t rouse the panic. Another thing rose in its stead. “Are the nightmares from the fire?”
“Yes and no. The fire is almost always part of it.” Yet it was the chaos after, where he fought to escape, that plagued his dreams the most.
Renny seated herself gingerly on the couch beside him. “I’m sorry.”
He couldn’t help a rusty laugh. “You’re sorry? You are the person who needs to least apologize.”
“Then what do you want me to feel? Pity? I doubt you’d appreciate that.”
“There’s only one thing I want from you.”
Her eyes met his in the darkness, and he could read the longing in their gaze, but also the fear. “And that’s the one thing I don’t know if I can ever give.”
With those words, Renny fled. A good thing, too, else he might have taken his croc’s advice.
Claim her. Because there was one thing becoming crystal clear. He needed Renny in his life. But if he moved too quickly, she might run. And he couldn’t lose her again.
Chapter Twelve
Run. Run.
Renny’s chest heaved as she struggled for breath running through the bayou, the thick air cloying in her lungs. Mud squelched between her bare toes, the suctioning pull slowing her pace while rapier weeds whipped at her bared legs. Her nightgown ended mid-thigh and provided no protection.
Just like the moon taunted her, refusing to hide in shadow and help her blend into the darkness.
Splash.
The sudden spray of water as her foot slammed into a puddle drew a short cry from her. Way to pinpoint her location even more. She paused for a moment, unable to hide her ragged pants for air.
Nothing marred the silence but her harsh breathing. Not a sound.
But she knew it was there. Hunting. Chasing. Hungering…
Frantically, Renny cast about looking for a spot to hide. Anywhere.
The swaying fronds and the glitter of water mocked her until she looked to her left. There, not so far from her, was a hill.
It wouldn’t hide her from the monster that wanted her, but the man sitting atop the knoll would protect her.
He cast his gaze down and caught hers. A vivid green flare flashed in his eyes.
Caleb.
Caleb was here. He would keep her safe.
Energized, she ran toward him, and he saw her coming. She knew he did. But the beast came as well.
Who would arrive first?
Arms outstretched, she reached for him, even as the fetid breath of the monster washed over her back.
“Caleb! Help me. Caleb.” She said his name on a plea.
Surely he heard her, and yet he turned away.
And the jaws of the beast—
With a choked cry, Renny sat upright in bed, her skin clammy, her heart racing—and remarkably uneaten.
Thank God. I’m alive.
But alone.
Oh no! Where was Luke?
Casting back the covers, Renny searched under them in case they hid Luke’s small body, but he wasn’t there, nor was he anywhere in the room.
Braless, but at least decently clothed in a T-shirt and her yoga pants—because she’d not had the energy to change into something else, not with all that happened—Renny felt no qualms about exiting the room to hunt down her son. She made it to the end of the hall before she halted.
Frozen, she barely dared breathe as she watched—and tried not to cry.
Still wearing his pajamas, Luke stood on the edge of the kitchen watching as Claire bustled around making a pot of coffee, softly humming.