Page 45

Chapter Forty-One

F ox

The waxing moon splatters light through the leafless branches of the trees, splinters of silver radiating down onto the forest floor.

I drag the back of my hand across my face, wiping the blood away and stepping into a curtain of moonlight.

I tip back my face and let the light play out across my face.

It’s nothing like sunlight. There’s no warmth or radiance to it but as I look up, I can see the dust swirling in the air, caught in the moonbeam, sparkling vibrantly.

Sparkling silver.

Not golden.

I close my eyes and groan.

Because my thoughts once again stroll to the golden-headed girl with the angry green eyes. Briony Storm. I can’t stop thinking of her. Night and day. Day and night .

And even now, out here deep in the forest where even the night-time animals are too frightened to stir, I can smell that delicious scent of hers in my nose, making my stomach growl and my cold heart stir.

It’s so vivid, so real, for a moment I can almost imagine she’s here. Out in the woods too.

I snap open my eyes, and my head whips around.

I am not imagining that scent.

It is real.

It is here in the woods.

She is here in the forest.

I take a long inhale, deep into my lungs, letting her scent rush through my mouth and my nose and my throat.

And then I frown.

There’s that other smell too. Lizard. The one she denies. The one I’ve continued to catch the faintest hints of since that first day I noticed it. Now strong and clear in the night’s air.

I move quickly and silently through the forest, hugging the shadows and avoiding the moonbeams now.

I catch her voice on the wind. Hear something whip through the air. The sound of branches snapping.

I race through the trees chasing that scent, hunting it down.

I think I hear her laugh. I think I see the flash of fire in the distance.

Where is she?

I close the distance, but she’s moving away, deeper into the trees.

There is no one with her. She is alone.

Anger spirals through my gut, burns in my chest.

Alone in the woods at night.

What is she thinking ?

Doesn’t she know there are monsters?

Doesn’t she know there are monsters that wish to hunt her down?

I force myself to turn back the way I came. I retrace my steps. I stumble as far away from her as I can and then I freeze.

Blood. Fresh and potent, carrying on the wind.

Her blood.

Ice as frigid as the poles glides down my spine, my hands shake. But for once my empty stomach doesn’t growl. It isn’t want that grips me. It is fear.

I move, fast as lightning through the trees, pulled in the direction of that blood, praying to every star I am not too late, that too much of her precious, precious blood has not already been spilled.

I hear voices now and footsteps, but there is no time for revenge and punishment. There is only time for her.

I find her crumpled on the floor, resting in a pool of dark scarlet blood, a pool that grows and slides across the hard forest earth.

The voices are long gone, although their footprints, the trampled undergrowth, displays clearly where they have been.

“Briony!” I murmur, falling to my knees beside her.

For the briefest of moments, fear grips me in its icy embrace and I am frozen with indecision, too afraid to learn what I cannot learn, which I could not bear.

Then I force myself to break through its cage and rest my hands on her lifeless form.

Warm.

She’s still warm.

And alive.

Her body shakes with the feeblest of breaths .

A sob of relief gargles in my throat and my magic comes hurtling from my veins swimming over her body, searching out the injuries, meaning to heal her, to stem the flow of her sweet, sticky blood.

There’s too much of it, too many wounds. They cut too deep. Have done too much damage. They have broken her. Destroyed her.

The girl I considered indestructible.

Gently, I lift her into my arms, holding her close against my chest, against my useless heart.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I got you.”

She doesn’t stir. Her eyes are shut, her face frozen in that blank expression, her skin paler than the moonlight.

I run again, fast through the trees, across the field and back to the academy.

The blood keeps seeping from her body, the warmth too, her breaths becoming weaker and weaker.

I hurtle unseen along the pathways and crash right through the clinic doors, glass smashing around me.

“Help!” I boom. “Somebody help me!”

I swing my gaze around desperately. It’s late. Is there anyone here?

I fall to my knees again, my magic swoops around her desperately, hopelessly; I bury my face against her ear.

“Please,” I whisper, “please, no, Briony. I’ll do anything. Anything!”

The blood comes less quickly. Her breath’s barely audible. Her skin cold as mine.

It’s too late.

I close my eyes. I beg the stars, promise them anything and everything. I will protect her. I will care for her. I will love her. Just keep her here … don’t force me to …

And then there're voices, footsteps like there were in the forest.

Hands lift her from me. A palm rests on my shoulder. Anxious words echo around the sterile corridor but I can make no sense of them.

They whisk her away.

Silence again.

I’m left on my knees, her blood dripping from my hands and onto the white clinic floor.