“Get the fuck down from there. The storm is rolling in!” I yell, my patience wearing thin as I look up at Bonnie, standing on top of an outer wall that overlooks the valley. A few pebbles have crumbled under her feet already.
“Where do you get off telling me what to do?” Bonnie shouts down at me.
“I’m not carrying your body down this damn hill. That’s where I get off.”
“Who said you’re going to have to carry me?”
Fucking irritating woman.
A crack of thunder rumbles through the hills, sending my heartbeat into a frenzy.
Fuck . . .
Panic starts to overtake me.
The rest of the group decided to head down the mountain a half hour ago. We stayed longer because Bonnie wanted to explore some more. She’s spent the last fifteen minutes trying to distinguish where the bedrooms, the kitchen, and the living quarters were. I’ve spent that time trailing behind her as she climbs wall after wall. Knowing how bad the storms can be up here, I volunteered to stay back with her, even though Leith, Lachlan, and Isla all second-guessed my choice, each one of them saying they could stay with her while I headed down first.
I was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Standing on top of the ruins, arms spread, looking out toward the town below us, she’s speaking to Mother Nature, asking for forgiveness for the time she threw out an ice cream wrapper, missed the trash can, and watched it tumble down the street instead of chasing after it.
Litter, basically.
She’s apologizing for littering while panic grips my body, harder and harder, with every rumble of thunder in the distance.
The wind whips through the trees viciously, the storm moving faster than expected, and I watch her sway backward, teetering on the edge of the weathered stone.
“Jesus Christ, get down!” I yell as my palms break out in a sweat, ready to catch her.
“Sheesh, fine, all right.” She maneuvers herself down the ruins and lands perfectly on two feet before turning toward me, a grin on her face. “See, I’m fine. No need to—”
CRACK. BOOM.
Thunder erupts above and nearly shakes me to my core. A sheet of rain splits through the clouds and descends upon us. As water pours down, I stare at her, angry and irritated, my patience hanging on by a thread.
“Huh . . . who would have known it was going to storm?”
“I did,” I snap. “I knew, and you wouldn’t listen. Did you really think apologizing about littering years ago was necessary?”
She wipes the rain from her face. “Clearly Mother Nature didn’t accept my apology. That, or she’s making me pay my penance.” She throws out her arms and tilts her head back. “I receive your punishment with open arms.”
Thunder booms around us, and I grab her arm, pulling her deeper into the ruins and into a small alcove where we’ll be protected. I hold her close, hoping to avoid any lightning strikes.
“Uh, what are you doing?” she asks, her chin pressed against my chest.
“Making sure you don’t get electrocuted.”
“Look who’s overreacting about—”
CRACK. BOOM.
A sharp snap of light hits a pile of stones a few feet away. Bonnie yelps, burying her head in my chest and wrapping her arms around my body.
“Okay, okay, I’ll admit it—ignoring you was a bad idea. I should have gotten down when you told me. Hell, maybe we should have gone back with the others.”
I blink a few times, shocked that she’s folded so quickly. I was expecting a little more pushback. “Can I get that in writing, please?”
“No.”
She snuggles in closer, and I feel her tremble beneath me. I just hope she can’t feel me trembling against her.
“Are you cold?”
“Shaken,” she says. “My bones shake when I’m startled or scared.”
“You’re scared?” I ask, feeling a little sorry for her. That’s right, put all your energy into her, not yourself.
Focus. On. Her.
“Aren’t you?” She looks up at me, and God, she truly is bonny. Droplets of water coat her long eyelashes, and rain runs down her perfectly plump lips, which I’m sure do wicked things.
But then her words register.
Aren’t you?
Fucking terrified.
It was a storm, just like this. Years ago. Came out of nowhere and changed everything.
But she doesn’t need to know that.
I shake my head. “Nay. The storm will pass.” And that’s something I have to keep reminding myself. It will pass.
“Will it be harder to get down the hill?”