Nevan
The scream that tore from her was not the startled cry of a woman woken suddenly. It was the raw, ragged sound of someone who had seen the thing they feared most in the world materialise beside them. I almost dropped her.
She scrambled backwards across the bed, her arms flailing, her legs tangling in her gown, her back hitting the headboard with a thud that rattled the frame. Her hands came up, not to push me away but to shield her face, her fingers splayed across her eyes as though she could make me disappear by refusing to look.
"No — no, get away from me —"
"Rosamund." I held my hands up, palms open, my heart hammering against my ribs. "It's me. It's Nevan. You're safe. You don't have to —"
"Don't touch me!" She pressed herself into the headboard so hard the bed frame groaned. Her whole body was shaking with terror. Tears had sprung from nowhere, streaking down her cheeks. "Please —please don't hurt me —I'll do whatever you want, just don't —"
