Jim moved so fast, so suddenly, that Nathan cried out in alarm. Jim’s hands shot up to grab Nathan’s wrists tight enough that he cringed. Then Jim’s eyes were open, staring not at Nathan but straight up for a moment at something Nathan couldn’t see. Those damn slit eyes were back, amber-colored again like in the hospital—and in Nathan’s nightmares. Even the Gatehouse wasn’t enough to keep them at bay.
Nathan tried to tug his hands away but Jim’s grip was too tight, his face otherwise benign if not for the eyes. “Jim,” Nathan called again, hating how small his voice sounded. “Please.”
Jim blinked and his eyes were blue. His grip loosened on Nathan and he pulled back, blinking in confusion and staring at Nathan like he had just woken up and Nathan was to blame for waking him. “Nate? What is it?” he asked groggily. “Is everything okay?”
Nathan didn’t know how to respond. Had he imagined that? No, he couldn’t have. It was too vivid. He could feel bruises forming on his wrists.