Chapter 7

As I come to, flashes of memory zip through my mind. Glasses exploding.

I blink. 

Sprays of shards raining down.

I try to sit up.

Tendrils of smoke curling up from the bonnet.

My head pounds.

A huge body shielding me.

I try to sit up again but give up, burrowing into the leather seat. My tongue feels like lead in my mouth. "My poor car," I groan in a barely audible voice.

The man seated behind the wheel turns slate grey eyes to me.

His huge hand palms the back of my head and I start to reach up in protest when he runs his hand through my hair gently. "No concussion," he says in a smooth baritone, withdrawing his fingers while my face flames.

I drag in a breath and sit up. Then wish I hadn't.

The windshield is completely destroyed, the rowers broken clean at the hilts.  I lean forward, the sun rays connecting directly with my face like I'd just peered out a damned balcony. I turn to Malcolm and sna