Page 13 of The Darkest Chase
Over and over, taking my time, razor-focused on her alone.
Slowly, her rhythm matches mine.
Her rapid panicked breathing softens until it turns slow and steady, each breath more measured and controlled than the last.
It’s almost weirdly intimate.
The people around us watching silently, the sunlit morning square, all of it falls away.
There’s only that rhythm.
That heartbeat.
That push and pull.
Here, there’s only her, while her eyes slip shut and she goes slack like she’s surrendering to me.
When the fear and tension go out of her, I feel it.
With the next breath, I touch two fingers to her throat, feeling her pulse through her artery. It flutters under my fingers, a little start.
Thankfully, it’s acceptable. No longer the panic-rush that was beating frantically against her pale, slender throat.
Now it feels safe to let her go.
So I do, releasing her delicate nose. As I draw back this time, I don’t go in for another breath.
My lips hover over hers as I tell her, “Good girl. You’re all right. Just keep breathing, nice and steady.”
I straighten, slipping an arm under her, coaxing her up until she’s resting in the crook of my arm, half-draped across my lap. Her breath turns a little shaky for a second, then evens out.
She swallows hard before letting out a slow, controlled exhale that looks almost practiced.
Like she’s dealt with this a lot, but she just wasn’t ready for this kind of chaos.
I still need to call dispatch and make sure the EMTs are coming. I’m just not sure if it’s safe to let her go yet.
I force myself to give her a once-over, taking in her flush, her paleness—some of which I realize now is just her natural color.
She’s so warm in the crook of my arm.
So small, so breakable.
Her bones feel finer than a bird’s wings against her wrist, and in the exposed dip of her collarbone just visible past the collar of her soft-pink suit coat and button-up shirt. Her skin shines like moonlight, even in the morning, spattered with cinnamon-colored freckles across her face and throat.
She’s got the kind of round, high cheekbones that make her jawline look like a porcelain sculpture. Her hair is a wild cloud, deep red like embers, long and pouring down her shoulders over my supporting arm.
And those eyes—fuck.
They’re the darkest blue I’ve ever seen. Dangerously close to conjuring up very unprofessional thoughts.
Especially as she looks up while I clear my throat.
“Are you with me now? Are you feeling all right?” I ask.
Her lips part, but she doesn’t answer.
Her mouth is cherry red from my CPR kisses, making the bright cobalt-blue of her eyes stand out so much more sharply. They’re wet and glimmering, her curling lashes beading with tears.