My word is interrupted when a body shoves against mine. “Get out of the way, bitches.”
Nikolai storms inside wearing a mask and carrying a few more in a sheet that he’s morphed into a messenger bag and strapped around his waist.
I take one and slam it against Creighton’s chest and glare. He shakes his head, but he wears it.
Despite the possibility of being able to breathe, the hot air is unbearable. Still, when I point Nikolai and Creighton in the direction of where the fire is spreading, they don’t hesitate.
We run there, but Creighton keeps me shielded by his body at all times.
“Annika…” Jer’s low voice barely reaches us. “Leave…”
We follow the sound until we finally find my brother trapped beneath a table. Probably caused by a blast or the spreading of the fire.
I snatch a gas mask from Nikolai’s sheet and strap it on my brother’s face. His eyes are closed, and his body is limp, but he’s breathing.
He’s still here.
While I push Jeremy’s hair away from his face, calling his name but getting no reply, Creighton and Nikolai lift the table.
Then they carry him out just as the fire is about to devour the room.
My brother’s feet drag against the ground, his weight pulling him down even as they swiftly carry him away from the danger.
I stay close behind them, trying and failing not to get tense whenever Creighton throws a glance at me. He continues to keep an eye on me until we reach the bottom of the stairs.
Once we’re outside, chaos of different proportions greets us. Guards, firefighters, onlookers. The whole of The King’s U campus seems to be here to watch.
I tune them out, choosing to focus on my brother.
Gareth takes over from Creighton, then he and Nikolai carry an unconscious but breathing Jeremy to get medical attention.
I take off my mask and start to follow behind them, when a wall of muscle blocks my path.
Creighton glares at me with that silent broodiness of his and it’s downright terrifying.
It’s like he’s blaming me for what happened. Or maybe he’s blaming me for having somehow ended up in the fire.
He removes his mask and throws it to the ground, revealing a clenched jaw. Both his hands and his face are smudged with soot, and I want to wipe it away.
I don’t, though, completely entrapped by the dark expression covering his features.
His punishing gaze glides from my face to my breasts and then to my waist with heated anger.
That’s when I realize I’ve been roaming around wearing a wet shirt. A ripped wet shirt. Not only does it barely cover my ass, but it’s also molded to my body, leaving little to the imagination.
Even my nipples are hard, pushing against the fabric.
And Creighton doesn’t seem pleased with the view, but if he is, the displeasure and anger have cut open any sense of appreciation.
He takes off his hoodie and slides it over my head. I help by putting my hands through the oversized sleeves. The thing swallows me whole and almost reaches my knees. And just like that, I’m surrounded by his warmth and soothing smell.
But despite the reprieve from the cold, I can’t help shivering at the view of his half-nakedness, the bulging muscles, and the spider tattoo.
Something gets stuck in my scratchy throat and I cough a few times. “Thanks.”
A savage hand grips my upper arm. “What the fuck were you thinking staying in the house in the middle of the fire?”
I swallow and flinch a little at the raw power behind his words. I thought he was mad because of how I looked, but maybe that’s not the case.