***

Mountain077  - Good eye! I hope you're not looking to nudge out Cheldu3 as my grammar reader?!?!? And Gabe is good cuz marshmallow soft is apparently the only kind of man I know how to write. I tried so hard to make him edgy and it just wouldn't take :( Alas, but I will never be a purveyor of sexy antiheros...

GiGiLaurent - But if he WASN'T being a little bitch baby drama king then where would the melodrama come from?! This is ME, Gigi. I can't just write something straightforward and emotionally stable. There's gotta be ANGST, baby. GUILT. DESPAIR. 

lagembabe - Now, what fun would it be if he just left her alone? Katherine and Gabe would just ride off into the sunset and there'd be no tension at all, lol. Plus, everyone wants him to die and I can't very well kill him if he's had a change of conscience and left her alone, can I? Also, props to you for the first round of comments :-D 

Kinji_plays - Haha, you may be taking those words back over the next few chapters. I've gone of the fuckin' deep end with this wrap-up. It's like... way darker than I intended. And then suddenly way more action-packed than I intended. It's getting a little ridiculous, lolol. And lemme get this straight. You... don't want Gabe to die?!?! *shit*

gulabo18 - Thank you so much, and you're absolutely right. Things will get better. Then they'll get worse again. Then better. That's life, I guess. Wouldn't be much fun if the road was always flat, hahaha. 

***

Gabe

His heart was torn in two.

One half of it lay in the middle of the road, limp and helpless, grasping weakly after Katherine as she was carried to an unknown fate.

One half was wrapped around his ribs in a desperate attempt to leap free and throw itself toward his daughter.

He could hear Isobel screaming. Crying. In a distant future, he would take a perverse comfort in the fact that she cried as loud and as often for him as she cried for Katherine. In the moment, each wail was a dagger to the chest, stabbing at his straining heart.

Reaper was a creature possessed, running as he had never run, his hooves never seeming to touch the ground, his body a fluid grace that seeped into Gabe wherever they touched. In the same sense, his own desperation seemed to seep back into the horse, pushing the animal to run as if the fires of hell were lit at the trailing strands of his tail.

The attack at the bridge was a blur. Gabe had heard the gunshots and leapt onto Reaper's back, only to be thrown from the saddle by a burning, tearing pain that seared across the flesh of his upper arm. He'd hit the ground with a resounding finality, Reaper skittering away. He'd no sooner risen than three riders appeared on the road behind him. One lifted a rifle, and he could swear he saw all the way down the barrel to the bullet that awaited him.

Then his own pistol had been in his hand, barrel smoking, and the figure with the rifle was tumbling limply from the saddle as his horse reared back in terror. The other two horses leaped and bucked, dumping their riders into the road. All three animals tore off down the road back to town, no doubt running for the safety of their stables.

Dizzy and torn, Gabe had turned his back on the men and began running toward the bridge, where another group of black-garbed horsemen were converging on the shifting, flailing form of a fallen horse.

No!

He'd heard the crack of the bullet leaving the chamber, and somehow his mind separated that sound from the zinging whip of the red-hot metal as it passed by his head, so close he felt the heat of it against his temple. He hit the ground, partly in shock and partly by instinct as still more bullets passed overhead, where his body had been just seconds before.

He had twisted in the mud, bringing his own gun up, and fired a few wild shots at the approaching men. All but one went wide or high, or struck the beaten mud at the men's feet. By pure chance, his one lucky shot hit the pistol in one man's hand. The man had cried out, the ruined, smoking scrap of metal hitting the ground at his feet.

He had known as he shoved himself to his feet that he was failing her. Failing both of them—the woman who ought to have been his wife and the girl who very much was his daughter. He heard them both screaming. He made out his name in the din. They needed him, and he was failing them. But every time he had turned to run to them, something had stopped him. The men were upon him, tackling him to the mud. He'd fought them with every ounce of fury he had ever felt. He put a bullet in one's belly and sank a knife into the other's chest. His own blood joined theirs, but he didn't care. He was too late.

He'd watched as the group of horses galloped past him, where he lay in the mud with two dead men. He saw Isobel's shining face, and one small hand grasping for him. He saw Katherine's poor body, trussed up like a goat and slung over one man's saddle.

Staggering, he had thrown himself to his feet and called to Reaper who, by the grace of God, came as called. The horse stood, finally called to do the duty man and God had conspired to thrust upon him, and Gabe had launched himself into the saddle.

He'd had a plan. He'd disable Katherine's horse. She would likely be hurt, but bruises and breaks would heal. He'd shoot the other men. He'd ride up beside Isobel's kidnapper and snatch her from the saddle.

Before he got close enough to execute his brilliant plan, the group had broken into two, and his heart had broken with it.

He'd told Katherine he had always chosen her, and he knew in his heart that he always would. That was why he'd let her go. To forsake Isobel would be to crush what remained of Katherine's soul beneath his boot heel. To forsake Isobel would be to put a gun to his own head and pull the trigger.

He chose Isobel, and in so doing, he chose Katherine. He killed Katherine.

And now he was death upon a pale horse, with the scent of blood in his nose and a red haze set alight the pitch of night, turning it to burning hellfire.

It was a risk, to fire at men so close to Isobel, but he took it. Bringing his pistol to bear, he pulled his trigger and a horse screamed, toppling his rider. Maybe someday, if he ever slept again, he would have nightmares about hitting the horses instead of the men. In the moment, only one innocent life mattered to him.

Three men left. He fired again. Another scream. Another rider launched into the air. Two left. He pulled the trigger and the pistol clicked.

Good thing he'd practiced.

Giving Reaper his head, Gabe reloaded in the saddle, shoving bullets into the chamber of the revolver. He snapped the chamber closed and brought it back up. Fired. The round hit the rider this time, and the man slumped, the horse slowing as its burden slid slowly from the saddle.

One left.

The man's horse was tiring, while Reaper seemed to grow more wild by the minute. Gabe shoved his pistol into the holster and bent low, whispering encouragements to his horse that floated through the winds of war. Reaper ran faster, snorting and frothing and utterly untamed.

Isobel's captor was riding too hard to watch his back, unaware he had lost his escort. When Gabe drew even with him, the man didn't even have a weapon at hand—just one hand on the reins and the other wrapped around his victim.

Gabe slowed Reaper with a tug on the reins and reached out with a prayer to a God in which he had no faith. He grabbed his daughter by the arm and with a terrible, desperate violence, yanked her from the saddle.

She screamed, and he forgot all else—the horse, the men, the earth beneath them and the air that whipped all around them. He knew only Isobel, and that moment in time when he felt his own balance shift, his own strength fail. She landed against his side, clinging but unable to find purchase. He gripped her wrist, his hold awkward and insufficient in keeping her with him. She was a child, not an infant, her body heavy and lanky and with a gravity of its own. She began to fall, her legs threatening to tangle with Reaper's. The other rider reached out and snatched up the hem of her coat, upsetting the balance even further.

Gabe saw the future. His daughter's body, falling between the two horses. Her skull, crushed beneath an errant hoof. The red in his vision turned to white, and a fury he had never known shot through his body. It was as pure and as simple as a bolt of blue lightning—one goal, one path, and more strength than a human body had the capacity to hold.

With a ripping, animal roar, he let go of the reins and wrapped his arm around his daughter, throwing himself sideways from the saddle, away from the other horse. There was no sensation of flying or falling. He merely hit the ground, closing his body around Isobel's as they rolled with their forward momentum.

When they came to a stop he was on his back, Isobel sprawled on top of him. He rolled, carefully setting her on the ground and keeping his body close to hers. "Isobel," he whispered, brushing his fingers over her muddy cheek. "Are you—" a gunshot stopped his words, and again he felt the heat of the round, this time burning across his shoulder blades. He pulled Isobel close and rolled them both into the ditch at the side of the road, three more bullets sending up a spray of cold mud that stung his neck and the side of his face.

"Stay down," he told Isobel, praying that she was even conscious to hear him, and holding her down with one hand on her small shoulder while he yanked the pistol from his belt and peeked over the edge of the berm. Isobel's captor had turned around and was bearing down on them at a perilous gallop.

He aimed for the rider and pulled the trigger. The gun leaped in his hands, but his aim was off and the bullet sent up a shower of mud between him and his opponent. The horse pulled up and reared back, and the rider tumbled from the saddle. The horse, alarmed but apparently unhurt, tore off down the road as the rider scrambled to his feet. Gabe sighted again, pulled the trigger again, and the man crumpled into a heap in the center of the road. Looking around, Gabe saw no other immediate threats and sank back down into the safety of the ditch.

"Isobel," he said, mud soaking into his pant legs as he smoothed the tangled hair from her face. Her cap had gone missing sometime in the chaos. Two wide, familiar eyes blinked open and her hands fisted in his coat. Then her face screwed up and she burst into wordless, wailing tears.

"It's okay," he lied, pulling her close and smoothing his hand over the rat's nest atop her head. "I'm here. Everything is going to be okay."

"Ma," she managed between sobs. "Ma!"

"I know," he croaked, holding her righter. "It'll be okay, Iz. I'll get her back."

By a miracle, that paltry false comfort seemed to be enough. She still cried, her whole body trembling and quaking with cold and shock, but her sobs eased. Still huddled in the ditch, ears peeled for approaching footsteps or hoofbeats, he pulled off his own coat, then hers, tossing the latter aside and wrapping the former around her shaking body.

"Alright now, Iz," he whispered, bending close so he could hear him. "You've been so brave tonight, sweetheart. So, so brave. But I need you to do one more thing for me and your mama, okay?"

She peered up at him, silent tears still streaming down her face as he buttoned the jacket up and brushed back the hair that had matted against her cheeks.

"I need to go make sure none of those other bad men are following us," he said, and he saw the spark of understanding in her eyes just as her lip started to tremble and her forehead wrinkled with fresh anguish.

"No," she whimpered, squirming within the jacket, her teeth chattering. "Pa, no!"

"Izzy, sweetheart, look at me." He framed her tiny face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her muddy forehead. "I promise you I'll be right back. Do you know how to count?"

She scowled at him, indignation cutting through her despair. "I can count to one hundred!" she said, her voice shuddering but assertive.

He smiled, and used his thumb to brush away a fresh tear that was tracking down her cheek. "You're gonna grow up to be as smart as your mama," he said truthfully. "You're the best counter I've ever met. So I need you to count for me, okay?"

"To one hundred?"

"I need you to count to one hundred," he said, nodding. "But I need you to do it five times."

"Five," she said thoughtfully, her jaw visibly quaking as she huddled in the warmth of his jacket. "Five hundreds?"

"Yep. Five hundreds. I'll be back in five hundreds. I promise."

"No," she pleaded again, shaking her head. She struggled against the jacket, freeing an arm, and reached out to grab at his shirt.

Carefully, he pried her fingers loose, holding his hand in hers. She was still so small, her whole hand closing around two of his fingers. "Izzy, I know it's scary," he said. "But I need to go take care of those bad guys. I'll be back in five hundreds. I promise you. You remember the night you and your mama came and found me?" A suspicious nod. "I had to leave you in the woods for a minute and you were so scared, but I came right back didn't I?" Another nod. "This is exactly the same, sweetheart. I'll be right back."

"That wasn't five hundreds," she squeaked.

"I know, Izzy. But there weren't bad guys then. I need a little more time this go 'round. But the promise is the same. Mamas and papas don't lie to their little girls. I just need you to be brave, okay? For five hundreds, and then I'll be back and you don't have to be brave anymore."

She stared up at him with his own eyes, and he felt the strangest urge to lay his head down in the mud and simply weep. His eyes. His daughter. And even if they weren't his eyes, she would be. She was his. From the first breath she took to the last, and he could only pray that the last wouldn't come for many long and happy years.

His.

"I'm going to go now, sweetheart," he said. "Will you be okay?"

In an instant she became Katherine's. Completely and totally Katherine's, with that little lift of her chin and the strength lighting up eyes that were his in color but Katherine's in the ferocious purity that shined out of them.

"I'm okay," she said. "Five hundreds."

Love swept like a pounding rain across the parched half of his heart that remained in his chest. He lifted her small hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

"You're so brave, Iz," he whispered. "I'll be back before you're done counting."

It didn't occur to him to give her a contingency plan. An if I don't come back plan.

He would be back.

He counted to himself as he went about his chore.

At thirty four, the man in the center of the road was dead. Gabe took his gun and tossed it into the woods. Reaper had returned, and Gabe took the reins but didn't mount up, patting the animal on the neck. Together, they strode purposefully down the road.

One hundred and seventy two.

One man was all but dead, blood bubbling in his throat. Gabe took his gun and left him there to die. Another was writhing in pain, clutching a broken arm, so preoccupied with pain he didn't even see Gabe coming.

Two hundred and sixty eight.

He left the man at the side of the road, moaning, his own belt wrapped around his ankles and his broken arm lashed to his good arm with the fabric of his own sleeve, his gun submerged beneath the muddy water of the ditch.

Three hundred and twelve.

The last man was jogging back toward the main road, staggering and in shock but unharmed. It was a shame for him that abandoned friends were not the only thing at his back.

Three hundred and sixty.

Gabe shot him. Not because he was a coward, or because there wasn't a better way to stop him. He shot him because, even in the darkness, he recognized the man's shape. He could have drawn it from memory, standing in the center of the road in town, gun up, barrel smoking as Gabe's mother fell back into his arms. He wanted to shoot him in the leg, the shoulder, and the chest. He wanted to kneel on his belly and pound a fist into his face until it was twisted and hideous.

Four hundred and one.

The man lay unmoving, unbreathing in the center of the road, a single, craterous bullet wound leaking blood and lumpy matter into the earth. Gabe took his gun and tucked it into Reaper's saddle bag.

Four hundred and ninety two.

Izzy lay curled in the ditch where he'd left her, shivering violently. She didn't cry out in relief when he took her into his arms, only sighed and wiggled loose an arm to wrap around his neck.

He mounted Reaper and looked up at the stars. He'd ridden this abandoned road a hundred times, and walked the woods a thousand. He could find his way even without the stars to guide him.

"Where are we going?" Isobel asked as he guided Reaper over the ditch and into the woods to the west. "Where's ma?"

"She's with some other bad men," he said truthfully. "But I'll find her, sweetheart. I promise you."

She sighed and leaned more heavily against him, her feet pressed against his thigh and one hand wrapped in the fabric of his shirt, no matter how hard he tried to bundle her up in his jacket.

"I know," she murmured sleepily. "Where are we going?"

Reaper's hooves were a gentle, steady whisper against the pine needles and leaves, and the cool air was so damp it had fingers of its own, trailing tenderly over his face as he rode. He looked up at the stars and then back down at his daughter's weary face.

"Home, sweetheart," he said, bending to kiss the top of her head. "We're going home."

* * *

Thank God it wasn't Chrissie who had taken the night watch in his stead. It didn't even occur to him until he was riding up to the front porch that he might well have been blown right out of the saddle by some overzealous watchwoman.

Luckily, it was Caroline. Of course it was Caroline, who had taken the most grueling shift. She stood as he approached, dawn casting a pink light over them both. Isobel, exhausted and traumatized, had fallen into restless sleep. Part of Gabe wanted to join her. Another part was too worried about Katherine to do so. The third part was too cold to think of anything but a hot fire. Where Isobel had stopped shivering, her cheeks a healthy pink and her breathing steady, Gabe felt as if the ice that claimed his soul had crept out into his body. The only parts of him that even hinted at warmth were the fiery tracks across his arm, temple, and back which leaked a steady ooze of hot blood onto his chilled skin.

Caroline was not one to gasp or dither. She slung the rifle over her shoulder and reached up, and he passed Isobel down into her hands. His daughter fidgeted and then settled trustingly into the stranger's embrace.

"Gabe," Caroline gasped as he slid from the saddle and steadied himself when his numb legs threatened to buckle. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Inside," he gasped out, reaching out to take Isobel back. Caroline hesitated before passing her over. "Go inside. Wake up the girls. Find every gun you've got."

"Gabe, what—"

"Please," he breathed, taking a staggering step toward the stable. "I'll explain. Wake them up."

"Okay," she said. "Alright. I will. Leave Reaper in the stall. I'll send Tess out to take care of him. You need to come in and warm up."

He didn't argue. For one, Caroline's tone brooked no argument. For another, it would be damn near impossible to take care of his horse with Isobel in his arms and fresh blood making his sleeve stick hotly to his arm, from shoulder to wrist.

He left Reaper in the stall, with a pat on his neck and a handful of sugar cubes. Then he staggered back to the saloon. He passed Tess on the walk, in a gauzy nightdress, a man's coat, and heavy boots. She gave him a worried glance but didn't try to stop him. Just tossed him a much-appreciated assurance that Reaper would get all the oats he wanted.

He found Caroline and the rest of the girls in the barroom. The room smelled of smoke, coffee, and perfume. The quorum met him in nightdresses and hair-curlers, faces unadorned and splotchy with sleep. Weariness and confusion aside, his appearance seemed to jolt them into an energetic unity. In an instant, he and Isobel were buried in a maelstrom of warmth and concern. He found himself in a chair beside the fire, with Isobel now wrapped in a soft quilt instead of his muddy jacket without ever leaving his arms. A table was placed at his side, and a cup of coffee appeared on the table, followed shortly by a glass of warm milk.

Isobel roused, watching the storm of assistance with wide, tired eyes.

"Pa?" she asked worriedly, a hand finding its way free of the blanket to clutch at his shirt. One of the girls gasped. Whispers followed. A happy giggle. A hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Iz," he promised, tapping her nose with his finger. "Remember I told you I've got a whole lot of sisters?" She nodded, and he jerked his chin at the women around them. "These are my sisters. They're a little loud but they're really nice. You want some milk?"

She dipped her chin in shy affirmation and he reached for the milk, but his hand shook so badly it sloshed over the side.

"Let me," said Lindy, taking the glass from him. He let her take it and carefully shifted Isobel around so she sat forward in his lap. Lindy pulled up her own chair at his left side, and he was forgotten as she crooned over Isobel, helping his daughter hold the glass steady as she drank.

"Gabe," Caroline said, crouching on his right and taking his hand. Her fingers burned hot against his skin. "Honey, what happened?"

"You need to increase the watch," he said. "Back porch and front. Someone on the roof, and two down the road for early warning."

She frowned but nodded, twisting around. Chrissie stood behind her and lifted her chin in acknowledgment before grabbing three more girls and dashing for the stairs. Caroline turned back.

"Is it the reverend?" she asked, her gaze darting to Isobel with wary recognition. "Gabe, isn't she...?"

"She's my daughter," he said, tightening his hold on the blanket-wrapped form in his lap. "Isobel. She's mine."

He wasn't making a lot of sense, but Caroline smiled and patted his knee. "I can see that, honey. Where is her mother?"

"He has her," he breathed, horrified to feel the burn of exhaustion in his eyes morph into the burn of unshed tears.

Caroline's face went firm, and she nodded, turning back over her shoulder. "Sally, can you get a bath going for little Isobel, here?"

"Piper's already on it," Sally said, crouching at Lindy's side and reaching up to comb tidy, manicured fingers through Isobel's matted hair. "You've had quite an adventure, little beauty."

Isobel nodded silently, and Gabe tightened his arm around her. Caroline took his hand, and he turned to her, catching her slow smile.

"She's safe, Gabe," she said. "We've got her."

He nodded and swallowed a few times before finding his own voice. "Izzy, sweetheart?" Isobel craned her neck and offered him a wobbly smile. "I need to talk to your Aunt Caro for a second. Do you think you can go with Aunt Lindy and Aunt Sally?"

Isobel frowned, eyes going wide. Given a choice, he'd give in to the fear that seized them both and simply hold her until they both perished. But he had to find Katherine, and that required conversations that were too adult even for his brave, precocious little girl.

"We're safe here," he promised, jostling his leg playfully beneath her. "Linds and Sal have lots of special soap and fancy perfume. It'll be the best bath you ever had, I swear."

"We'll make you up like a princess," Lindy said, tweaking Isobel's chin. "Then we'll bring you right back to your papa."

Isobel still hesitated, and he didn't blame her. He couldn't remember ever being as young as his daughter, but he didn't need to put himself in the mind of a child to appreciate how terrifying her night had been. A long, tense journey through the darkness. A terrifying ambush, a fall from a horse, and her mother torn away and abused, thrown atop a horse and swept away. Men dying all around her. Another fall. Her father abandoning her in a muddy ditch. Another long, tense ride through the night. And now a flurry of strange women, and her father passing her off into their hands, promising her everything was alright when it so clearly wasn't. When her mother was nowhere to be found.

"It'll be alright, Iz," he said, turning her until she knelt in his lap, her quilt falling off one shoulder. He pulled it back up, wrapping it snuggling around her, and met those eyes that could have been his but for the Katherine shining out of them. "I need to go find your mama, sweetheart. Me and Aunt Caro need to make a plan to go get her, and you need to have a bath. Your mama is going to be tired when I bring her home, so you need to be nice and clean and ready for bed, okay?"

Her lip quivered, but she nodded. "How many hundreds?"

He smiled, the torn remainder of his heart twisting his chest. "No hundreds this time, Izzy. Once your bath is done, you can come right back and sit with me until I leave to get your mama. I promise."

Isobel glanced over her shoulder at Lindy and Sally, who he only now realized were watching him with a softness he'd never seen in their eyes. "Are they nice?" she whispered, and he watched both women press their lips together to keep from laughing.

"They're the nicest," he promised. "Give me a hug and go with them. And if you get scared, all you have to do is call my name and I'll be right there."

"You promise?"

"I promise. And I don't ever break my promises, remember?"

She nodded sagely and then turned with a weary sigh, reaching out her arms for Lindy. The woman smiled warmly and pulled her close, quilt and all. "Let's get you cleaned up, princess," she murmured.

"My room," he said to Sally, jerking his head toward the hallway. "It's familiar."

Sally frowned but nodded and the two women walked away with what remained of his world in their keeping. Only when they had shut his door behind them did Caro touch his shoulder, drawing his attention.

"Tell me what happened, Gabe," she said. "And drink the coffee."

He picked it up, but couldn't hold it steady, and let it rest instead in his lap. "Isobel is my daughter."

"I gathered that," she said calmly. "And Mrs. Peters?"

"Katherine is her mother," he said, because what else needed to be said?

Caroline smiled and patted his leg. "That's why you had to leave..."

"They ambushed us," he went on, not bothering to affirm what she already knew to be true. "On the bridge. I don't know how they knew. They took Katherine. I killed... I killed a few of them. The sheriff will be coming. I need to find Katherine."

He went to stand, but Caroline pushed him down too easily, a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll get to that," she said.

"It can't wait," he said. "He has her. He'll hurt her. He's already hurt her, Caro." He reached out with a desperate hand and seized her arm. "I have to find her."

"You will," Caroline said sternly, prying his fingers loose and wrapping them in hers. God, she was warm. Hot, even. Her touch burned. He tried to lift the coffee for a sip and half of it slopped in his lap. He set it aside on the table, the remaining liquid sloshing against the sides of the mug.

"Send a rider to the Tuckers'. Tell 'em... I dunno. Nothing too specific. Tell 'em we need help. I need help. The reverend found Katherine. Tell 'em—"

"Gabe," Caro said, placing a hand on his shoulder, and he realized he'd been pushing to stand. "Honey, relax. It'll be okay. She'll be okay. But you're bleeding a lot and you need to be still so we can look after you."

Something burned like blazes in his arm, and it was only that he realized Tiff was crouched next to him, tugging at his shirt sleeve.

"It's fine," he muttered angrily, pulling his arm free from her attention and scowling at Caro. "I don't have time for this. Katherine needs help."

"I know, but in the meantime—"

"There is no meantime!" he exclaimed, shooting to his feet. Caro dropped back against the hearth and then pushed to her feet while Tiff hovered anxiously in his periphery. "There is no meantime, Caro! He's hurt her before, and that was before!" Hell, he wasn't making sense. "He hurt her before. But now he knows. Isobel... Caro, he knows. He'll hurt her. You need to send riders to the Tuckers, and I need to go."

"I'll send riders," she said, stepping close and taking his shoulders in her small hands. She was small. They were all so small, and Isobel was the smallest of them all. "But Gabe, you need to sit down. Just let us look at your arm, and then you can go after her."

He blinked at her, wondering at the yellow-orange light that floated around her head. The light of the fire, maybe? He looked at Tiff, who stood with her back to the bar. She was outlined by a similar light, but hers was blue. He shook his head and turned back to Caro.

"You need to send riders," he said, his tongue thick. The halo around her was expanding, until all he saw was Caro's face and the blinding, shifting orange light that surrounded her.

"I know," she said, from the far end of a very long road. "I will. Sit down, Gabe. Please."

He'd have liked to, but there was nowhere to sit. There was only Caro and the firelight and Katherine, in pain, crying out for him so loud it echoed in his ears even now.

He opened his mouth to say that he didn't have time to sit down. The love of his life was in the hands of a maniac, and the last thing he'd said to her, the last words he'd spoken aloud, were a rebuff of her apology. She'd been captured and hauled away. Somewhere, he was hurting her. And all she knew was that he was angry with her.

The words that came from his mouth conveyed none of what he was feeling.

"Izzy likes her toast with jam," he said, the words echoing over and over and over in his head, an off-tune melody against a dissonant harmony of screams and pleas for help.

Izzy likes her toast with jam. Izzy likes her toast with jam. Izzy likes her toast with jam.

And then he didn't hear anything at all.

*** 

Alrighty, now time for a quick announcement!!!!!!!!!

In anticipation of publishing (*gasp*) Melody of Silence, I have teamed up with the wonderful, the beautiful, the unSPEAKably talented AvaLarksen to create a Discord channel for our readers to congregate as we embark on our self-publishing journeys. 

The main objective of this server is for there to be a place to talk about ARC copies and giveaways and whatnot, but there are also channels for discussing all of our books if that's a thing that interests you. I will, of course, keep up with my mailing list as well but this is a more direct access to news as Ava and I will be monitoring it like... always, except when we're sleeping.

IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN JOINING THE SERVER PLEASE FOLLOW THE LINK IN THE COMMENTS

NOTE: this link will only be good for SEVEN DAYS (aka until next Sunday at 1300 EST). If you miss that window but are interested in joining the server, just hit me up (PM here, IG: @lizptvorik, email: [email protected]) and I will send you another link. I'll also continue posting links on all new chapters of this book and with all future email updates. 

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