He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to—something thwacks into the tree trunk next to my head. Shards of wood hit my cheek, and I can’t stop the scream that slips from my mouth. I increase my pace. My boot-clad feet sink into the snow, and my breath comes in pants. Sweat beads my forehead and seems to instantly freeze. Shit, this is not good. Not good, at all.
I run further into the woods. Snow slides off of a branch and falls in front of me. I swerve around it and run for a few more minutes. My heart is thumping so hard in my chest that I can barely breathe. My limbs tremble, and my thigh muscles seem to cramp. I push myself forward, but my steps seem to slow. No, no, no. I can’t be tired that quickly. Just one more step; one more. I see a light through the trees and force myself to walk toward it. Apparently, I’ve circled around and raced toward the lodge without even realizing it. I take another step forward, then another as I head for the clearing. I try to draw in a breath, and my lungs burn. My blood is pounding so hard that I can hear it pumping in my ears.
Behind me, I sense his approach. Just one more step, please, just one more… A ball of emotion clogs my throat. Pressure builds behind my eyes, and moisture trickles down my cheek. So, this is how I’m going to die? At the hands of a mad man who is going to shoot me first, then him. No, I can’t let him get to Christian. I can’t.
I turn to face the man who stands not six feet from me.
"Don’t kill him, please. Kill me; take my life, but not his."
He raises his gun, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Please let it be quick. Please let it not hurt… Please let him spare Christian. Oh, Christian, why didn’t I tell you I love you? Why?
At least, I can warn him. If I scream again, perhaps he’ll hear me and be warned. I open my mouth to do just that when a shot rings out. I scream, clamp my hands over my ears, and squeeze my eyes shut. The ringing seems to intensify, then someone grips my shoulder. I scream again and try to pull away. "Let me go, don’t touch me," I yell.
"Aurora, it’s me," Christian soothes. His voice sounds like he’s a long distance away, although I know he’s standing right beside me.
I snap my eyes open. "Christian?" My voice echoes inside of my head. I glance from side to side to find no one is there.
"He’s gone," Christian murmurs. "Who was he? Did he hurt you?" He straightens, takes a step in the direction of where the other guy has gone, but I jump up and grab his arm.
"Please, don’t go after him. Please don’t."
He glances down to where I’m clutching at his sleeve, then back at my face, where he can, surely, see my fear. "Who was he, Aurora? Why were you talking to him?"
"He…" I swallow. "I…" I glance away. I don’t want to lie to Christian, but can I afford to tell him the truth?
"What is it, Aurora?" He frowns. "You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"
Do I?
I bite the inside of my cheek and shake my head. "Christian, please don’t make me." More tears run down my cheek, and I wipe them away.
"What is it?" His voice softens. "You can trust me."
Can I? What if I tell you and you end up hating me? How could I live with myself then?
"Why did you come out here, Aurora? Did you know him? Did he know that you would be meeting him? Was he waiting for you? If so, how did you communicate with him?" He wrinkles his brow, and I swear, I can see the gears clicking in his head. "The face at the window yesterday…" he muses. "That was him, wasn’t it?"
I glance away, unable to meet his eyes. Shit, shit, shit, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I tell him everything? Why do I feel like he’s going to judge me for what I did? Why do I feel like I made a huge mistake? Because I did. Because I was so against the Mafia, I jumped at the chance of taking revenge against them. And when Christian proposed the fake marriage, my feelings only intensified. I’d made up my mind to do anything to get my freedom, including sacrificing his life, if necessary… Only, I’ve changed my mind. At least, I’ve managed to save him… This time… Which doesn’t mean that monster won’t come back and try to kill us again. Not to mention, he told me he’d take a hit out on Christian. OMG, what am I going to do?
I glance around the space, then back at the lodge. "We should get back inside."
Christian’s gaze narrows. "What is it? What are you not telling me, Aurora? Are you worried that he will come back for us? Do you know something that I don’t?" He closes the distance between us and peers into my eyes. "I can’t keep you safe unless you tell me what’s happening here."
"It’s you I’m worried about, Christian." I swallow, "If something were to happen to you—I … I couldn’t live with myself."
"What’s going to happen to me? Is that man after me? If so, why was he trying to shoot you? I’m asking you again, Aurora, tell me what you know." The skin stretches across his cheekbones, and the color seems to fade from his features.
"I ... I can’t." I shake my head. "Please, Christian, you have to believe me."
"I’m not sure what to believe." He releases my hand and takes a step back. "Perhaps you’re not what you seem." Sweat beads his brow. "Perhaps it was wrong of me to trust you. Perhaps there’s more to you than meets the eye." He sways, then glances down. I follow his gaze to the red that stains the left side of his shirt.
"Oh my god, Christian," I cry out. "He shot you?"
I jump toward him, but he throws up a hand. "I can take care of myself."
"I’m a doctor." I push away his arm, and the very fact that he doesn’t protest worries me even more. He sways again, and I grab his uninjured shoulder to steady him. "We need to get you back inside." I throw his arm over my shoulder and steady him. We begin to head back, and he seems to grow heavier with each step. By the time we reach the entrance to the lodge, I’m almost bent double by his weight.
We make it to the living room, and I lower him onto a chair. The fire must have gone out sometime in the night because the inside of the house seems almost as cold as the outside. I undo the buttons of his shirt, push it aside, and take in the wound on his shoulder. Blood bubbles out from it. "Shit, shit, shit." I race to the bathroom, grab a towel, then run back to him. I push the towel against his wound. "Hold this there." I grab his hand and place it on the towel. Once I’m convinced that he has enough of a hold on it, I grab his uninjured shoulder. "Sit up."