Page 93

Through the night’s whispers and groans, past the usual creaks and crunches, I start to hear more. The slithering of bodies over loose leaves. The punctures of brief, low mutters.

The boy wheezes in pain as he staggers, then drops to one knee, his laboured breathing growing louder again, and my panic increases.

Damn it, he’s so breakable !

And loud .

I slap a hand over his mouth as a boot lands heavily beside our tree, and I bite down hard on my lip.

Please don’t suffocate.

The silent plea wars with another—one maybe even louder.

Please don’t make a sound.

But the boot doesn’t stop. Neither does the one to my left, or the ones that come after. Men stream through the night, more than I can count.

More than I can shoot.

My ghost’s hot breaths stutter over my palm, and I look down at him. His long lashes are sinking, but he’s staring at my face, and my stomach does an odd, hard flip.

I wonder if my curse can catch a ghost.

I can’t kill him if he’s already dead.

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, but it’s your own fault that you were gagged.

” The voice is like thunder. “They’re being stealthy.

This is just like the night attack at Targovi?te back in 1462.

Do you think old Vlad was out there shouting about cutting people’s balls off? ” He chuckles. “No, he was not .”

I frown. Why does that voice sound so familiar ?

The boy stiffens under me, slapping my hand away so he can lean forward, peering through the gaps in the branches.

I can only see flashes as they pass us, my night vision carving out shapes and impressions. Enormous broad shoulders. Ropes.

And a gagged woman that looks a whole lot like...

She thrashes her head, and I see her face less than two feet from where we’re hiding.

Madison .

“Then again, old Vlad probably didn’t take captives along for his secret, sneaky attack who are set on foiling the whole thing. That seems like a basic tactical error, if you don’t mind me saying, Mateo.” The big voice rumbles on, and I realize it must be Bentley.

“I’m gagging you next if you don’t shut up,” another man hisses.

Mateo.

Which means . . .

This time, long, cold fingers lock around my hand, squeezing a warning, and I cover my own panicked breathing.

The Sinners are here.

And it’s too late to warn anyone.

It takes too long for the last Sinner to pass us, and me and my ghost are both bursting with impatience as we wait for them to move out of earshot.

His hand is still wrapped around mine as torches bloom to life and the first shots explode, the first screams, and I need to bury my face in my shoulder to hide my shout.

Sloane was on watch. Sloane would get the bridge down. They’re going to be okay. I don’t care if I’m a bitch. The Reapers can die if it means Ida and Ethel live. My friends. Jayk.

They can’t die. I can’t lose anyone else.

Damn it, damn it, damn it !

There must have been a hundred Sinners coming through here.

My ghost’s breathing is almost hitching now as he struggles to catch air, and my stomach knots. With the torch light up ahead, I can see him a little better. He’s deathly pale and not looking like he’s improving as he stares out at the last Sinner’s back.

Weirdly, it slows my panic, and the anger taking its place is almost a relief.

Being scared is for losers and dead people.

His freezing hand trembles around mine, and my anger grows as I stare at his profile. Why is he out here anyway, putting himself in danger when he has no clue what he’s doing? When he’s sick . This guy isn’t made for this.

No wonder my ghost is a ghost. He’s too dumb to live.

I look at him anxiously. He needs Deanna. Beau. Someone better than me.

Which means my stupid ass needs to get his stupid ass from A to B without getting nailed.

Great. Super easy.

I move over to the other side of the tree, peeling back a branch cautiously to look out. The trees are close around us. There’s lots of cover, but we’re only like thirty feet back from the tree line where they’re shooting from.

The screams from beyond chase chills down my spine.

Over by the boulder, I see the push and pull of three figures—Heather, Bentley, and Mateo. They’re backlit by the nearby torches, but it’s more than enough light to make out how tightly Mateo wrenches Heather against a tree, and my hot, helpless anger burns .

This is so stupid ! Madison is so close, and I can’t do anything to help her. She saved me—and Ethel and Ida. We were holed up in a small town, starving and stealing from anyone who’d wandered into it when she showed up.

But I’m stuck saving him .

I glare at the boy as he stands to peer out between the branches.

“I need to go. My uncle needs my help.” His next breath sounds like a dying cat’s, but his big eyes find mine in the dark. “Are you okay?”

“ Go ?” I snap, incredulous. “Your uncle doesn’t need your help. No one needs your help. You’re a walking casualty!”

His face firms. “I’m going. Bentley’s right there . I can . . . I need to . . .”

He breaks off, coughing, and I rub both hands over my face.

Bentley. Bentley’s his uncle. He’s from Red Zone.

“Need to what ? Even if you do manage to free him, where are you going to go, dude? You going to run back into the woods? Your little pincushion lungs will burst inside your stupid chest !” I rage, but when he flinches, looking away, I feel like an asshole.

It’s his family. Of course he wants to save his family.

Even trying when he’s so obviously useless, is pretty brave.

Shifting, I try again. “I can get you somewhere safe, okay? I can get you to a doctor.”

Shit, I hope Bristlebrook is still safe.

Those big, haunted eyes meet mine again, and his whole face is locked in.

“If you can get me safe . . . you can get . . . him safe, too,” he whispers.

Shit .

Ugh, this is so bad .

But also... what if we could do it?

I look through the branches again, and it’s not three figures anymore. It’s only two, and they’re both pressed up against a tree.

Pressed up against a tree ten feet from the Sinners.

But if we could free Madison and Bentley, the Sinners lose all that leverage. It wouldn’t just help them get safe, it would help Jayk and everyone at Bristlebrook.

I swallow. I guess my stupid ass and his stupid ass are going to do something extra stupid then.

“Okay. Okay, fine. But I swear to God, if you die on me while we do this, I?—”

“I won’t. I won’t slow you down.”

My ghost’s lips curve up on one side in a relieved smile, and I blink. That face looks built for sadness. It doesn’t look like it should be able to smile.

It creeps me out, so I shove out my hand, hoping he’ll stop. “Kasey.”

It takes a moment before he slips his into mine, and it’s chill to the touch.

“Soren.”

When he releases me, I yank my pistol out of my belt, and all I can hear is chorus after chorus of screaming, painful death.

“Let’s save the day then, I guess.”

He gives me a faint, dubious look that makes me blush, and I peel back the branches to hide it, gesturing for him to get behind me.

There’s another crack of thunder overhead, and as I creep out of our hiding place, I silently pray for more. I don’t think the Sinners will be able to make out his breathing or our boots on the leaves over all the gunfire and murder and stuff, but I’ll take any added distractions.

I’m not taking any chances, so we slip from tree to tree, making sure the coast is clear before we move again. I keep one eye on Soren, worried by how shaky he is, how his feet slide over the leaves, but he keeps his word.

He keeps up, and he doesn’t make a sound, his face stubborn and intent.

The blistering gunshots grow louder, the shouts more defined, calling to advance or hold or fire. I can hear Sinners swearing, see them pacing impatiently behind the tree line, their eyes on the battle.

We slow as we approach. Their torches obliterate most of the darkness we could have used for cover. The crowding trees help, but if they turn back at the wrong time...

“Ever tried yoga, Mads?” Bentley asks. “No? Maybe you should. Very calming.”

Peeking around the trunk I’m hiding behind, I see his wrists are actually tied to the tree next to Madison.

She’s glaring up at the canopy, gagged and seeming to ignore him.

They both look okay, everything considered.

No obvious wounds, and they look fed enough.

Bentley has a big, disgusting beard growing over his face but that could be intentional.

I tuck away my pistol and tug out my pocketknife instead. I gesture at Soren to stay back, but he ignores me, slipping forward.

The backs of Sinners shift and slide through the trees ahead of us, paying no mind to their captives behind them.

For now.

Bentley’s booming voice softens to a rumble as he looks at Madison. “It will be okay, angel. This will all work out. It’s not as bad as it all seems.”

I push out from behind the tree, and they both snap upright.

Madison stares at me—then glares over the wide cloth gag around her face.

Nervously, I smile. “It’s not bad at all.” With my pocketknife, I salute. “Rescue party, coming atchya.”

Bentley’s eyes lock on my ghost. “ Soren ?” Raw panic fills his face, and he twists, trying to see the Sinners. His voice lowers further than I thought it could. “What are you—? You need to go . Leave now. Run and don’t come back.”

Ignoring him, I move up to Madison and carefully cut the gag from her face.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” she hisses as soon as she’s free, and I grimace.

“Yeah, I know.”

Soren stumbles up to us, but he catches himself on Bentley as he drops to his knees.

He is white .

“You’re having an attack,” Bentley says, staring at him, then he looks urgently at me. “He’s having an attack. He needs medicine. Soren, what do you?—?”