CRUCIBLE by Franca Storm

Author:Franca Storm [Storm, Franca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

I was just finishing up my last chapter for the night when I was jolted by a roar sounding through the house.

I bolted off the bed and ripped open the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Hastily, I snatched up the throwing knife that I kept in there. Then I rushed to the door and threw it open, bursting out onto the landing, my blade at the ready.

I listened carefully for a follow-up to the sound I’d just heard, while scanning the corridor for any sign of suspicious activity.

Nothing.

I made my way down the stairs carefully to the ground floor, spinning the knife around in my hand.

A scream sounded just as I reached the last few steps and the living room came into view.

I located its source right away this time.

I saw the sound being made.

Adam.

He was writhing on the couch, his blanket twisted around him, revealing his shirtless state, just a pair of black boxers covering the bare essentials.

As I drew closer I was able to make out his slicked hair, his sweat-drenched upper body, his face twisted in agony.

As if he hadn’t already suffered through enough. The scars all over him were a brutal insight, scars that I’d seen that day in his home gym. A bullet scar on his left side, just below his collarbone, damage further down from some sort of blast. There was also what appeared to be a scar from a knife wound etched into his right shoulder. And then there was the raised and angry red flesh from severe burning he’d sustained across his lower back. The most recent one from the stab wound he’d sustained trying to save my dad had me grimacing. Unlike the others, it wasn’t something in the past. It was still so fresh, making it all the heavier.

“It’s my fault! Don’t leave! Stay! Carolyn!”

God.

My gut twisted.

I debated on whether to wake him.

On the one hand it was dangerous to interfere with somebody in the throes of a traumatic episode like this appeared to be. On the other, though, I wasn’t just looking at him through an objective lens.

He was in clear pain.

No. I couldn’t allow that to continue.

I had to stop it.

I had to help him.

I placed the knife down on the entryway table and approached, tentatively calling his name.

When I was upon him, I reached out carefully and laid my hand gently on his arm closest to me. I took in the tattoo there on his left outer forearm, a compass with the word, Liberate, running through its center. It was intricate and beautiful, and not something I got to see often because he was usually wearing a jacket.

“Adam,” I urged.

He didn’t respond, the nightmare still maintaining its grip on him.

I caressed his feverish skin.

Still no response.

And then I exerted more pressure and spoke in a harsher tone, “Adam, wake up.”

He jolted then and his eyes snapped open, meeting mine right away.

Confusion blanketed his features for a few moments.

“It’s okay. It’s just me, just Kara. You were screaming in your sleep.

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