Page 42 of Yuletide Guard

“Did you find anything?” Samara asked.

“No, I'm sorry. But we will find him.”

That’s what she had been telling herself for months now, but so far no one had been able to find him.

She was starting to lose hope they ever would.

He could keep killing people indefinitely.

And sooner or later, even if she didn't give herself up, he was going to make another play for her. He couldn’t let it go. He wanted her, and he wasn't ever going to stop until he got her. Michael and the rest of her friends, and Chloe and Tom, and the cops would all do everything they could to try to keep her safe, but there were no guarantees in life, and the stalker might get her anyway.

“I promise you, Samara, I willneverlet him lay a hand on you. I won't let anyone else hurt you ever again,” Michael said fiercely, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

She wanted to believe that.

So badly.

But if life had taught her anything it was that pain was waiting around every corner, and that sooner or later everyone walked out on you.

Not Michael though, she couldn’t imagine him ever doing anything to hurt her or ever walking away from her. They were so similar, he knew how much that would devastate her. Putting herself out there and letting go of her fear for a chance at happiness was a big deal. It wasn't the same as it was for most people, most people risked their hearts for happiness every day, but when you had lost as much as she had as early on in her lifeas she had, then it became so much harder.

“Was it your dad or your grandfather?” Michael asked, breaking the silence.

“What?” she asked, confused by the sudden change in conversation.

“Who hurt you.”

Samara felt the color drain from her face.

Her blood grew icy cold, and she shivered.

She had enough on her plate to deal with right now without dredging up the past.

“I’m a little hungry, I might go and make some dinner. Do you want anything?” she asked as she threw back the covers and climbed out of bed.

Michael caught her hand. “Don’t walk away, Samara. I'm here because I care. I love you. You never told anyone, did you?”

“So, you don’t want anything?” she said, trying desperately to pull her hand out of Michael’s iron grip. Why was he pushing this when it was clear she didn't want to talk about it? Couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

“It was your grandfather, wasn't it? You went to live with them when you were ten, he split two years later, and then just a year after that you tried to kill yourself.”

“Michael,” she pleaded, wishing he would just stop talking. They could have a late dinner, make love again, then go to sleep in each other’s arms.Thatwas what she wanted, not an interrogation about her messed-up childhood.

“I’m sorry.” He finally released her hand and climbed out of bed, rounding it to stand in front of her. “I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

A million denials ran through her head.

She wanted to scream at him for even suggesting it. She wanted to cry that nothing like that had ever happened to her. She wanted to go running out of here and make dinner andpretend like this conversation had never happened.

Instead, she just stood there like a statue.

She didn't move as Michael wrapped his arms around her and held her. He gently guided her back to sit on the bed, fluffing pillows up behind her and tucking the covers around her. He slid back into the bed beside her and took her freezing hands in his and rubbed them.

Slowly, his warmth began to seep into her and pulled her out of her daze.

“Don’t tell my brother,” she whispered desperately. “Fin doesn’t know, and I don’t ever want him to find out. He’s already so angry with me for what I tried to do. He was the one who found me, he thought I wanted to leave him too. I don’t want him to know what happened. Please, Mike, please. Don’t tell him. Promise me. Mike, promise me you won't say anything,” she begged. She was quickly switching from dazed to hysterical.

“Shh, sweetheart.” Michael drew her against him. “If you don’t want to tell him then I won't say anything, but I don’t think he’ll be angry. At least not with you. With your grandfather and what he did to you, but you didn't do anything wrong.”