Chapter 2

The blinding white light shattered into a million pieces.

Alana's eyes snapped open. She gasped, sucking in a massive, desperate breath of air. Her lungs burned.

She wasn't floating in a freezing tomb. Her back was pressed against a soft, silk mattress.

Heavy blackout curtains blocked the windows, but a thin sliver of Sterling City's morning light bled through the gap.

Alana turned her head. Her vision was blurry, but she could make out the massive expanse of a man's bare back lying next to her.

The scent of cedarwood mixed with a faint trace of tobacco hit her nose.

Her brain misfired. A second ago, she was watching Corbin swallow a lethal dose of pills. She had watched him die.

Her hand shook as she reached out. She needed to know if this was a hallucination. She needed to feel him.

Her fingertips brushed the warm, solid skin of his shoulder.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Corbin's body jerked as if he had been struck by lightning. His muscles locked, turning to stone.

He spun around with terrifying speed. His large body lunged over hers, pinning her flat against the mattress.

His large hand clamped down around her throat.

His eyes were wide, empty, and entirely black. There was no recognition in them. Only the pure, violent defense mechanism of a man suffering from severe Complex PTSD.

His grip tightened. The air supply to Alana's lungs was cut off.

In her past life, she would have screamed. She would have clawed at his face and called him a monster.

This time, she didn't fight. She didn't move her hands.

She just looked up at him. Her eyes filled with hot tears. They weren't tears of fear. They were tears of absolute, crushing pity.

Corbin's chest heaved. His pupils slowly contracted. The fog of his trauma began to clear, and his vision focused on the face beneath him.

He saw Alana. He saw his hand wrapped around her delicate neck.

The emptiness in his eyes shattered, instantly replaced by raw panic and deep, sickening self-loathing.

He snatched his hand back as if her skin had burned him to the bone. He threw himself backward, scrambling to the edge of the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his back to her, gasping for air.

Alana rubbed her throat. She coughed twice, a quiet, raspy sound. A single tear slipped down her cheek and soaked into the pillow.

Corbin heard the cough. He squeezed his eyes shut. He grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, pulling hard. He cursed himself in a harsh, broken whisper.

He waited for it. He waited for the inevitable. The disgust in her eyes, the flinching withdrawal, the silence that screamed louder than any accusation.

Alana sat up slowly. She didn't speak. She just stared at the violent trembling taking over his broad shoulders.

She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. The date flashed in red numbers. It was exactly two years ago.

A wave of intense, overwhelming relief crashed into her ribs. She was alive. She was back.

Alana threw the heavy duvet off her legs. She didn't hesitate. She crawled across the mattress toward the edge where he sat.

Corbin felt the mattress dip behind him. His spine went rigid.

"Don't come near me," he warned, his voice a low, dangerous growl meant to keep her safe from him.

Alana ignored the warning. She closed the distance. She wrapped her slender arms around his thick torso from behind, pressing her chest flat against his tense back.

Corbin flinched violently. He froze, completely paralyzed.

Alana rested her cheek between his shoulder blades.

"Corbin," she whispered.

Her voice was soft. It wasn't laced with venom or hatred. It was a potent, immediate sedative injected straight into his frayed nerves.

Corbin slowly turned his head. He looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes wide with disbelief, staring at her as if she were a dream that was about to turn into a nightmare.