Page 48

My pace slows as I scan the brush. There’s no sign of anyone. I can’t catch a scent of anything else but her.
And blood.
The metallic smell is heavy, cloying in my nose so pungent I can almost taste it.
“Hope?” I know she’s close, but where?
A hollow dips in front of me, and the pale curve of her neck and exposed head comes further into view with every step.
It’s only as I crest the small knoll do I see it.
Her eyes are closed and her cheeks are pallid.
Tiny hands frame a massive set of metal jaws that envelope her left leg.
Is that…a bear trap?
Huge jagged teeth dig into her just below her knee, but I can’t see past the smears of crimson that covers her pants and the rusty edges.
“Jesus. Hope?” Her rain jacket crinkles under my touch.
Fuck. My gloves. Dammit.
A soft moan breaks through her lips and her head thrashes from side to side. “Cut it…off.” Her hoarse voice is almost a whisper.
“I can’t cut the trap off. I’m going to try and pry it, can you pull your leg out?” The cold steel is slick with rain and bits of flesh.
My arms shake with strain as I try to open the giant sides.
They don’t move.
Sharp edges dig into my hands and I bleed with her, the pain adding more fervor to my efforts. Frantic frustration has me pulling so hard I can feel muscles tearing.
“Please, Michael—” Her hand lands on my forearm. “—cut off my leg.”
“I can get it, I just need to find a branch.” But, there aren’t any within sight.
Her palm finds my cheek and turns me so I can look into her eyes. “I’ll be fine. Cut it off.”
The confidence in her quiet tone unlocks something within me.
Shedoeshave hyper-healing. Why would she hide that from me? All those mentions of how sore she was, she waspretending.
I’d have never pushed her away if I knew.
She pushes her bag closer to me before her head drops weakly against the wet earth.
There’s a folded hand saw tucked just inside the zipper. I don’t remember her packing this. Or, the emergency blanket and firestarter.
She knew she was leaving.
It’s hard to breathe as I slide my belt free from the loops and tighten the buckle around her thigh. This feels so strange to not have the leather of my gloves dampening the sensations. The truth of what she can do makes my hands shake, but doubt still keeps me wary from touching her with my palms.
“Do you need anything to bite down on?” Poising the serrated blade against her knee, I pause to give her a chance to speak.
“No, I’ve had worse.” Her elbow folds over her face, but her other hand squeezes my wrist.
“What the hell does that mean?” What kind of suffering has she had?