A Hunter Under The Mistletoe: All Is Bright / Heat of a Helios

“Where’s security?” Rafe’s gaze sharpened, his dark eyes sweeping the breadth and depth of the corridor. “Where’s anyone, for that matter?”

“I don’t—” She broke off, a strange, insistent pounding in her ears in direct counterpoint to her confusion. Where was everyone?

The Archangel lobby was rarely empty, although traffic dimmed considerably during the overnight hours. But it did not vanish in the middle of the morning, nor did the air hum with a malevolent sort of silence.

“What’s going on?”

“How long have you been here?” Rafe’s question was sharp, at odds with his subtle steps as he moved closer toward her.

“Only a few minutes. I wanted to refresh some of the flowers in here and then I found this.” A wave of embarrassment heated her skin, creeping up her neck toward her cheeks. “It’s not how they were originally placed.”

“Not at all.”

“But how could someone move them unnoticed?”

“You could.”

Those two words were spoken in quiet tones despite the accusation that screamed from each of them. “They’re too heavy. I couldn’t even push one.”

“Directed your team, then?”

“No!” The pounding in her ears grew thicker, adrenaline drumming a hard beat through her body. “Someone snuck in here and moved these. A group of guests, maybe, who thought it was funny. Or someone on Arturo’s team. I just found them.”

“Of course.”

Memories from long ago spiraled through her mind and she was once again a helpless child, at the whim of the adults around her. When in one of their moods, her parents had accused her of any number of childish crimes she’d not committed, and those memories braided with Rafe’s dark, endless stare. Fear wrapped around her throat with tight hands, nearly choking off her breath.

I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me. No!

Forcing air into her lungs, she lowered her voice. “What are you trying to say?”

His eyes narrowed, a hard, storm-cloud gray that indicated he wasn’t persuaded by her response.

Did he honestly believe she was responsible?

Something swirled at her feet—a hard tug, really—that had her glancing down. The moment she did, a heavy gust of wind blew through the hallway with all the force of a hurricane. The tug at her feet became a hard drag, sucking at her shoes like cement while thick winds buffeted her. A scream crawled up her throat at the hard press of air that pushed against her bones with brutal force. The immediate urge to seek shelter was foiled by the large hands that wrapped around hers.

“Hold on to me!”

Rafe’s grip was tight but it was a solid match for the invisible tether that gripped her feet.

“I can barely move.”

“What?”

“My feet. It’s like I’m stuck or something.” Evangeline tried to lift her leg, straining against the force holding her down. She managed a few steps but a hard ache gripped the muscles of her thighs.

Rafe shifted his grip and bent at the waist, pulling at her leg. “Try once more. Match my movements.”