Someone was inside.
Isla’s trembling hand scrambled along the cold, peeling wall,
desperately searching for the light switch in the suffocating darkness.
Her breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, but the switch was
nowhere to be found. Instead, her wide eyes caught movement-
shadows. Three of them. There were three men in the room.
Her heart plummeted into a free fall.
The realization hit her like a tidal wave, and before she could think or
act, the fear erupted from her throat in a blood–curdling scream. The
sound tore through the silence, raw and unfiltered, but it only lasted
a moment before one of the intruders lunged forward. His hand
clamped over her mouth, smothering the scream before it could fully
escape. Another man closed in, his shadow looming over the bed, his
intentions clear in the predatory gleam of his eyes.
Every instinct screamed at her to fight, to run, to survive. Despite the
paralyzing terror that made her limbs feel like lead, something primal
surged within her–a desperate, almost inhuman strength fueled by
sheer will to live, Isla bit down on the hand covering her mouth with
every ounce of force she could muster, her teeth sinking into flesh
until she tasted blood. The man howled in pain, yanking his hand
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back reflexively.
She didn’t stop.
Kicking wildly, Isla lashed out with her legs, her bare feet colliding
with knees and shins as she writhed and screamed. Her voice was
hoarse, raw, but she couldn’t hear it. She didn’t realize she was still
screaming because her world was a cacophony of silence–broken
only by the rapid pounding of her heart in her ears.
A third pair of hands lunged for her, but she twisted, her elbow
slamming into one of the men’s ribs. With a surge of adrenaline, she
broke free, bolting toward the door. Her body was a blur of movement,
acting on instinct alone. She tore the door open and ran out into the night, the cold air biting at her skin as she fled, barefoot and clad
only in her thin pajamas.
Her screams echoed through the quiet streets of Magnolia Ridge, piercing the stillness and rousing the sleepy neighborhood. But Isla didn’t notice the growing number of faces peeking out from windows and doorways. She couldn’t hear their voices or their questions; her fear was a deafening roar in her mind, drowning out everything else.
Her feet slapped against the pavement, the sharp edges of gravel and small stones biting into her soles, but she didn’t stop. The streetlights cast an eerie glow over her wild figure–a young woman running barefoot in the dead of night, her face streaked with tears
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and terror.
It wasn’t until several neighbors emerged from their homes that her
frantic sprint slowed. A few kind souls cautiously approached her,
their concern evident in their furrowed brows and hesitant gestures.
Someone touched her shoulder, their soothing words lost on her as
her chest heaved with shallow, rapid breaths. Isla’s hands flew to her
ears, shaking her head as though trying to make sense of the silent
chaos around her.
It took several agonizing minutes and gentle coaxing from the
neighbors before Isla began to calm down. Her body still trembled
uncontrollably, but her screams faded into quiet, gasping sobs.
Someone draped a blanket over her shoulders, the weight of it
grounding her slightly as she sat on the curb, her knees drawn to her
chest.
When the police arrived, Isla was barely coherent, but she managed to
explain what had happened. Two officers crouched in front of her,
their faces serious but compassionate as they asked questions. She
recounted the terror of waking to find strangers in her room, their
hands on her, her desperate escape into the night. Her voice cracked
with emotion, but she forced the words out, determined to make them
understand.
The officers moved quickly, entering the guest house to investigate.
Isla sat huddled on the curb, her bare feet raw and dirty, clutching the
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blanket tightly around her shoulders. Her gaze was distant, her mind
replaying the nightmare over and over.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
