Page 172 of Dream House
Doucet roars, ignoring the hurled boot. He’s driving his weight into the bar, and the laws of physics are against me. No matter how much I can chest press. His two hundred pounds is exerting eight hundred pounds of pressure.
It might be how diamonds are born, but it’s how I’ll die as soon as my arms give out. And this is bad. Really bad.
But things get worse.
“Mama?”
Doucet doesn’t flinch, doesn’t give any ground, but his eyes dart up, telling me a terrified Maisy stands in the doorway.
“Stella. Run.” My words are guttural. Feral. I am the Archaic man, protecting my mate and her babe. Three hundred thousand years vanish in a blink.
I will die for them.
Gladly.
All that matters is their safety.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Stella take off toward Maisy. Thank God.
Thank you, God.
Because every muscle in my body is locked in this struggle, and dammit if Doucet isn’t as strong as I am. And he knows how to fight. Each surge of my hips, each kick, each drive to throw him off me, he counters to keep himself on top. Keep his weight and his strength over mine.
My biceps and triceps are on fire. The blaze spreads to my shoulders. My chest. I’m practically grinding my molars to dust.
Each inhale is a risk. A chance he’ll overpower me and pin the bar across my neck. As it is, I have a few inches between me and unconsciousness.
But they’re safe.
And a moment of crystal clarity descends. Tyler must not be here. Which means Nina is not here. Maybe no one is here. Because my roommates—my friends—would be in here by now. Helping to fight him off.
Helping to save me.
But I’ve done the most important thing. I’ve saved Stella and Maisy. So if I die here, I’ll die with only one regret.
I never should have left her bed.
I should have held her in my arms until morning. Gone into the kitchen with her to make breakfast for the whole household. Then told our roommates, my family, the church, the mailman—anyone and everyone—to leave us be and let us find our own way.
And then spend every day showing Stella how I love her.
Time slows. And it feels like it takes eons for my muscles to fail and for the crowbar to meet my skin, to press into the soft flesh above my collarbone.
And I fight. Hell, yes, I fight.
I fight for that Sunday morning I let slip through my fingers. For the pancakes and French toast. For the movie nights with Maisy on my lap and Stella tucked under my arm. For an afternoon when I can take them home to New Iberia, introduce them to Mom and Dad. To Bear and Fawn and Pony and Kit and Drake and Starling. And help them into one of the jon boats to explore Bayou Teche. I’ll point out all the spots were Bear and I raised hell.
I can almost feel the rocking of the boat with the Teche’s gentle current. The Golden Hour light turning everything a hazy pink. The rippling of sunset on the water makes me dizzy.
I’m gripping onto the dock until they’re settled, but now I can let go...
Finally, I can let—
A sound like a jet of air rouses me but before my eyes can focus the whole world goes powdery white.
“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Stella’s scream surrounds me, coming from everywhere and nowhere inside this cloud.
THUNK!
