Torch: The Wildwood Series by Karen Erickson

you’re all right.”
    She blinked her baby brother into focus, the stricken look on Holden’s face, the worry in his blue eyes. He crushed her into a quick but fierce hug, her face smashed against his chest and the yellow turnout coat he wore before he shoved her away from him.
    “Stay back,” he warned her with a finger in her face. For once in his life he got to tell her what to do. Any other moment he’d probably relish it too. “We’ve been trying to call you for the last thirty minutes.”
    It hit her that she left her phone, her purse, everything back at Harper and West’s. “I don’t have my phone with me,” she admitted, her voice soft, guilt swamping her.
    “I was fucking scared you were stuck inside.” His expression was grim. He glanced over his shoulder at what was left of her house before he turned back to look at her. “I gotta go. You have someone with you, right?”
    “She does.” Tate materialized out of nowhere, his big hand resting on her shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “I’ll take care of her.”
    Recognition dawned in Holden’s eyes and he nodded his greeting to Tate. “Okay, cool. You’re in good hands, then,” Holden told her before he directed his next words at Tate. “Maybe you could get her out of here? There’s no point in Wrennie sticking around tonight.” The pointed look he sent Tate said it all.
    Her house was a lost cause. Everything inside it, everything she owned, was gone. Up in smoke. Literally.
    Her knees wobbled a little bit, and her head spun. “Um . . . ” She tried to speak, but she couldn’t get past the lump in her throat. She tried to swallow it down, tried to say something, anything, but nothing came out.
    “Dove. You okay?” Tate’s voice was close. So close and deep and calm, much like the hand on her shoulder. His fingers squeezed, trying to tell her it was going to be all right with just a touch.
    But it wasn’t going to be all right. She’d just lost everything . The only things she had were what she left the house with this evening.
    “No,” she croaked out, her voice scratchy, her vision blurring. “I’m not okay.”
    Tate tugged on her shoulder and she turned to face him. Instead of two eyes he had four, and she blinked hard, trying to bring him into focus. “Wren,” he snapped, his voice loud, making her wince. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
    She shook her head, but that only made it spin harder. And blinking slowly was no help either. “I don’t know. One? Are you flipping me off, Tate?”
    That was the last thing she remembered saying.
    “W REN . B ABY, WAKE up.”
    His voice was soft. Full of concern. She smiled, loving that it was directed at her. She turned her head to the side and sighed, her lips curving in the barest smile. The bed she was in was soft and snuggly. The pillow felt like a cloud and the blanket that covered her was warm but not too heavy. She could totally relate to Goldilocks.
    Everything was just right.
    “Wren. You’ve been sleeping all night. You need to wake up.”
    “Don’t wanna,” she mumbled, turning over on her side so her back was facing whoever was talking.
    Whoever? Yeah, right. She knew exactly who was talking. Tate. What was he doing in her dream anyway? And why was he trying to wake her up? It wasn’t fair. He got to have dreams where they were tangled up in each other, and she had dreams where he was being a jerk and trying to wake her up. Talk about a party pooper.
    “Dove. Someone is here to talk to you. About the fire.”
    The fire.
    Her eyes sprang open, and she stared at the beige wall, frowning at the choice of paint color. It reminded her of a hospital . . .
    She flipped onto her back and sat straight up, pushing her hair away from her face as she glanced around. Relief flooded her when she realized she wasn’t at the hospital at all, but a rather empty and very boringly decorated bedroom.
    Tate sat in a chair that was pulled up right next to the bed.
    “Where