Torian by Eden Summers

Author:Eden Summers [Summers, Eden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eden Summers
Published: 2019-05-21T22:00:00+00:00

Nightmares wake me. I launch upright, gasping for breath.

The panic-infused dreams were of Cole.

He’d been shielding me from an unseen enemy, one arm wrapped around my shoulder as he fired his gun into the darkness. The betraying feel of his overwhelming protection continues to haunt me as I blink to consciousness and measure my inhales, trying to calm my pulse.

The sound of the gunshot still hums in my ears. The vibration continuous.

No, it’s a rumble. A growl.

And it grows. Getting louder.

Shit.

It’s not recollection. It’s a fucking boat.

I scramble from the bed and rush into the hall. I reach Cole’s door, the light from the other side glowing against the carpet.

“Knock. Make sure he’s awake.”

I gasp and turn to see Luca standing in the open doorway behind me, pulling a shirt over his head.

“It’s time.” He jerks his chin at me, telling me to hurry up. “Luther’s here.”

I’m not ready.

I need a weapon. My gun. I’m entirely vulnerable without it.

He disappears into his darkened room, leaving me to rely on autopilot. My hand rises to Cole’s door, my knuckles rapping against the wood before I know what I’m doing. I knock. Hard. Over and over. My staccato pulse matches the rhythm of my banging.

There’s no response, only the increased volume of the rumble from the approaching boat.

I grasp the handle and push inside, not sure what to expect, but it isn’t an empty room. The bedside lamp is on, the room bathed in light, and he’s nowhere in sight.

“Cole?” I take a step, swallowing my apprehension. “Cole?”

“I’m here.” He stalks from the walk-in robe, suit pants the only thing covering his perfect body as he tugs on a collared shirt. “Don’t worry, I got a call twenty minutes ago. I’m ready for him.”

“You didn’t think to wake me?” I’m shaking, fucking trembling from adrenaline.

“I didn’t wake you because I didn’t want this to happen.” He flicks his hand in my direction. “You don’t need to panic; we’ve got time.”

“I’m not panicking.” I’m not. This is…different.

He shoots me a look of disbelief and walks to the bed, grabbing the suit jacket spread out on the mattress.

“I’m unarmed,” I offer in explanation. “I’m vulnerable. If something goes wrong—”

“Nothing will go wrong.” He tugs his shirt collar into place, looking entirely suave while he does it. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be on your way home, relaxing in a private jet with a glass of unspiked Beluga while you reminisce on how I completed a task the Bureau failed for years.”

My pulse spikes, my face heating from anger and frustration. “And what about you?” I step closer. “Will you be celebrating? Are you entirely immune to what’s about to happen?”

His eyes harden. His jaw tics. “You know I’m not.”

Do I?

I’d give anything to believe hell is raining down on his shoulders right now, but it’s hard when he carries himself so well. He looks as if he’s preparing for a day of business, just like any other.

“Scamper into the panic room, little fox, and don’t open the door until I come get you.

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