Page 40 of Love, Nemesis (Ocean to Ashes #2)
She rushed back to the edge of the woods and looked at the camp. No smoke. By now, there should at least be the vaguest sign of it. Ideally, the entire encampment should be smoking. There should be shouting and efforts to retrieve water.
Whatever had happened, it wasn’t good.
Horrors of Jasper’s fate pressed into her conscience. Mystics could be brutal, most brutal to anyone who betrayed their culture.
Ana only had a few months left. Jasper had his entire life ahead of him.
The guilt that had only just been relieved by Lethe returned in full force at the realization that Jasper’s death would be on her conscience. Soon after came the shattering realization that she couldn’t tolerate that. Not Jasper. Not the man who had done so much for her, meant so much to her.
She had to act.
Jasper had told her to wait, no matter what. She agreed to that plan, but not seriously, not with any notion that he’d truly be lost to her, not when she could still do something about it.
Ana counted the small group still waiting near the forest’s edge where she’d been.
Five soldiers and one bowman. Other groups were huddled at other points on the edge of the clearing surrounding the camp. A man on horseback could be seen riding off through the woods, no doubt to inform the other hidden camps of the brief attack they’d experienced.
Ana’s hand gripped the bark of the tree where she waited.
She straightened, backing away from it in the dark.
She heard her watch.
Tick.
Tick.
She loaded another flare into the flare gun, stopping when she saw her fingers, dyed black.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
She felt a brief surge of panic, reaching out to steady herself against a nearby tree.
Her hand balled into a fist and she slammed it against the bark.
“Keep it together,” she said, straightening as she inhaled deep into her chest.
She sank the flare gun back into the holster next to her Atlas. Every tick of the watch blamed her. Every tick of the watch demanded that she do something.
The sound was suddenly unbearable.
It was her fault Jasper would die.
She’d kept her distance from him all her life, but that hadn’t saved him.
She was cursed. She was broken beyond being a Strike’s slave. She was an absolute monster.
Tick.
Monster.
Tick.
She should have been the one to die.
Tick.
She adjusted her watch and sprinted out into the clearing.
She caught the nearest soldier by surprise, disarming him and then knocking him unconscious. The second she took down almost as quickly, but the third alerted the others.
The nearest soldiers converged on her. She kicked one back, dodging a swing of a sword before drawing the holster from her belt and shooting another in the neck with the flare.
The flare whistled and exploded. Ana knocked another unconscious with the flare gun. Soon there was nothing in her sight but a garbled mix of faces, hands, and weapons.
She caught a woman’s extended arm, slamming her palm against the elbow in the opposite direction. It snapped. The warrior shouted.
She dodged behind her as another charged, drawing her Atlas and freezing two for a second to buy her enough time to defeat them systematically.
The activation of an Atlas seemed to spur something in them, some to rage, others to fear.
There was still no smoke from camp.
Ana stumbled back as she felt a blow to her side and activated her Atlas in just enough time to catch a sword headed straight toward her.
She disarmed the culprit, the close calls growing closer with each passing second.
Her muscle memory was reengaged in a deep way as she fought.
The world ran away from her. The lights of the camp existed off on an island she’d never find, and out at sea, the most natural sensation was the hungry reach of her drowning hands.
Each warrior rushed with some promise of victory but crashed against her like another wave, followed by the pursuit of another. She’d freeze and disarm, freeze and attack, the dance and flashes of the Atlas like casting spells in her blackened fingers.
Several warriors backed away and then an arrow grazed past her. She panted, turning just as a second archer released another.
She saw the flash of movement from the corner of her eye and threw her hand out.
The arrow barreled through it, the soldiers backing off as the arrow drove through her wrist. Ana snapped off the end before drawing it out. The bloodless arrowhead landed at the feet of the other soldiers standing by.
They saw her fingertips stained black by the ink.
She looked for the man with the bow, and they all watched her as if watching a monster. There was no blood on her wrist.
She panted like an animal, body heaving with each breath, the air laden with fire as it left her throat, blasting across her teeth.
She heard someone babble something behind her and she straightened, looking past her shoulder to see a man cowering with blood on his clothes, sword lying loosely in his hand.
He looked at her with the raw terror of a child, and as if her eyes crawled for him, he scrambled back, fumbling onto his hands and knees.
He disappeared into the darkness. There were no more coming from camp. In fact, they seemed to be withdrawing.
They thought she was a Strike.
Were these all the warriors they had? This small, hesitant group? This was the smallest of the three Mystic forces, but still, that was impossible.
She lifted her eyes, looking past the rivers of blood and sweat, beyond the campground with torches and tents drawn up like an altar. She could hear the subtle flinch of the watch.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Something felt wrong.
She stepped toward the camp as someone called out in Mystic from the tents.
The remaining soldiers watched her but had stopped attacking, eyes focused on her fingertips as they clutched their weapons in balled fists. They backed away.
She pulled up her sleeve, moving her fingers under the mangled synthetic skin of her wrist and removing it to expose the mechanics of the metallic arm beneath.
Still, no smoke from camp. Was Jasper dead? Captured?
Ana searched the eyes of the Mystics around her before walking forward.
Some even stepped aside, clearing the path for her. The crowd of onlookers thickened as she neared the camp, feeling lightheaded.
Still, no smoke from camp.
Feeling strangely disoriented, she stepped between the tents, looking at all of them, soldiers refusing now to attack her. She stumbled over a stone protruding from the campground, wincing as she caught herself, looking down at her pants. Her right pants leg was covered in blood.
“Ana.”
She jolted abruptly, looking to her left to see Jasper standing between two tents. There were several Mystic officers behind him.
He looked horrified, eyes focused on her side.
She looked down to see blood seeping from a wound below her ribs, and she covered it with her hand. Blood poured through her fingers, the adrenaline and shock shielding her from the pain. She used her other hand to grab the fabric of a nearby tent.
He started toward her, catching her hand and helping her ease down on her knees. “It’s bad,” he said, cursing. “You charged right into camp. Are you insane? Our plan was to meet at the spot.”
“You weren’t back. No smoke. I waited.”
“You were supposed to wait for me,” he replied, frustrated. “Longer.”
One of the Mystics caught her shoulder, and she doubled back, knocking him back with her mechanical arm.
“Hold on!” Jasper shouted as two more Mystics dove for her. He started speaking in Mystic, arguing with one of the officers.
The first hints of real confusion started to stir in Ana. Jasper was no longer like a prisoner at all.
“Ana!” he called back to her. “Stop fighting!”
Soldiers charged as Jasper called out again in protest. This time, they didn’t listen.
They pushed her over as one shoved a knife into her metallic arm, immobilizing it.
It fell limp before they tried to pry it off.
She struggled harder. She grabbed her Atlas with her other hand, bloody fingers slipping over the triggers.
Jasper and the officers were shouting now; she caught a faint glimpse of Jasper fighting through the crowd.
They wrestled her down. One tried to grab her Atlas, and she yanked it back. The Mystic grabbed it in her hand and slammed it against one of the rocks near her, part of the stone cutting her hand. She wouldn’t let go.
She fought back. The soldier slammed it down again, trying to get her to release it. It cracked.
“Ana! Stop fighting!” Jasper called over the crowd. They closed in tighter around her.
She felt her Atlas slipping through her fingers. A crack split across the front. The world rippled around them. The Mystics flinched away, and then crowded again.
She adjusted her grip, coiling the Atlas back into her chest as they wrestled over her, still grabbing for it.
“Ana!”
The glass split open just as they ripped it away from her. Time released with a drone. The warriors scattered.
The world blurred as she curled up around her wound, but in the release of her time, it seemed quiet.
There was a flash. Another Atlas activated, swallowing hers and neutralizing it.
The noise of the world barreled back into her. She could hear Jasper shouting. The world felt strangely cold and heavy, but still so loud.
A woman knelt by her side and checked her wound.
“Help her!” Jasper shouted, breaking from speaking in Mystic with the frustrated demand. He kept muttering a word, a word Ana vaguely recognized as the title of a Mystic priestess.
The woman rolled Ana onto her back as Jasper’s time centered around her body and wound. She was too tired to resist. The woman checked Ana’s eyes and hissed, lifting her hands away as if Ana’s presence had burned her.
Everything seemed to be moving so quickly outside of Jasper’s time.
“What is it?” Jasper asked, his words sounding rushed outside of the sphere. He was kneeling by Ana’s side. She could see his face now. She focused on it, hoping it would help clear her confusion.
The woman started babbling in Mystic, looking from Jasper to Ana to the soldiers, which seemed to incite some sort of panic.
Jasper made a single word demand, and the woman calmed down.
“We can’t bring her with us. She has a mutation.”
“What?” Jasper replied, the mere tone of his voice insulted.
The woman lifted her hands. “We cannot risk having her with us.” She shook her hands and walked off, shouting something.
Ana felt Jasper’s hand on her face, his fingers wet with blood. She felt her sights swimming off.
“Ana,” she heard him whispering to her, and as he spoke within his own time, his words sounded normal. “Stay with me,” he kept saying, leaning over her.
The world sank away into darkness.