–Irish curse My back arches and pain shoots through my nerve-endings as I suck in one greedy breath after another, agony slamming from my fingers to my toes, before rocketing back to my head, making me groan. My head feels like it’s going to explode. My eye sockets ache and my temples throb like someone took a hammer to my skull and my throat hurts so badly I can’t believe I can still draw in breath. But I can. I’m not dead. I’m alive. I’m alive and breathing, and slowly, the shadowed ceiling of the attic comes back into focus. The moment the agony becomes manageable, I sit up, shoving myself into a seated position with half-numb hands, and falling onto my hands and knees on the mattress. “Gabe.” I croak his name, tears springing to my eyes as my breath shudders in and out and relief floods through my chest. I don’t know how he knew, how he found me, but there he is, the man I love, pinning Pitt to the ground, wrapping his hands around the monster’s throat, showing Pitt what it feels like to be on the receiving end of a strangling.
