Secrets(Sequel to Traitor) [Book 2 in Addie's Story]

Chapter 11

My first thought is that the man watching Scott pull himself out of the class's dog pile is Logan, but that idea is banished when Logan comes into my view. I switch my focus to him for a moment, watching him walk off the back porch's staircase, and take a step closer to get a better look. Logan's senses would've picked up the man's presence by now, so I wait to see his reaction. If the man is a stranger, Logan will immediately go into defense mode; the same reaction applies if the man is someone Logan sees as a threat. If the man is just someone from the school that my limited eyesight can't recognize, Logan won't react at all.

So I watch Logan.

His shoulders tense first, and I see his claws slide out.

Okay, so this stranger is a threat.

Before I can react to that thought, Logan turns and looks up at me. I stare back in confusion, wanting to know how he even knew I was up here, and why he took his sights off the man. Then it hits me, and I shift my gaze to the man still standing amongst the trees.

Logan looked up because he realized the man isn't watching the kids—he's watching me.

I step forward, needing to get a better look at this stranger, and momentarily forget that I'm on the edge of a sloped rooftop.

The loose shingle that gives out under my foot quickly reminds me, but by then it's too late.

I'm falling.

My hands scrape against the rough surface as I frantically try to stop my descent; my heels dig into the roof in an effort to help my hands. The only thing I succeed in doing is taking a few more pieces of the roof with me. I glance down, catching sight of the roof's edge moments before I slide off it.

I grab the roof's ledge last minute, much to my hand's protest. A sharp cry comes out as the rest of my body slams into the wall, but I keep my hold on the edge. The world spins below me, reminding me just how much I hate heights, so I look up and focus on holding on tightly. Pain stabs through my palm, and panic courses through me at the sight of blood trailing down my arm—then my hand begins to slip. I pull my other hand up to secure me, and try to grab onto something with my feet.

Someone calls out to me, but I don't dare look down to see who it is. The good news is people know I'm here; I just have to hold on until someone comes to my rescue. I can do that—I hope.

Warmth begins spreading through me—fire stirred by my panic—and I mentally curse. I can't lose control right now.

"Breathe, Addie," I tell myself, trying to calm down.

It doesn't work. The fire keeps building, despite my attempts at control, and the next thing I know, it's exploding from my hands. The roof explodes with it, and I fall.

A scream tears through me, but it's quickly silenced by the shock of free-falling. The fire goes out, and I shut my eyes, not wanting to see the ground I'm about to hit. My body tenses, waiting for the searing pain of multiple injuries . . .

But the pain never comes. I don't hit the ground.

It takes my mind a moment to register that I've stopped falling, but am not dead. I remain tense, still waiting for impact, and for the pain. Instead, my senses register a pair of arms—one behind my back, and one under my knees—cradling me against something warm and solid.

"Addie?" A deep voice asks in a mixture of concern and confusion.

I know that voice—oh no.

My eyes fly open, and a crimson blush covers my cheeks as I look up at Logan. The warm and solid thing I'm being cradled against is his chest.