Page 32 of The Blood we Crave

Lurking. Waiting.

Silent, calm, like still water.

“Should we—”

Sage’s voice is cut off violently by a desolate scream that unloads panic straight into my stomach, a shriek full of surprise and fear, one that echoes through the branches.

“Briar,” I whisper on a shaky breath.

I turn to my right sharply, my hair threatening to fall down from its high pony with the force of my movement. My friend dangles upside down, her dirty-blonde hair swaying in the darkness.

A rope is laced around her ankles, suspending her from a thick branch above. She doesn’t look hurt, just spooked, but I think both Sage and I are in shock.

A snare trap?

That is, until Briar yells again, sending us both into overdrive.

“I love you,” Sage mutters, kneeling on the ground in front of Briar’s swaying body and clamping a hand over her mouth, “but shut the fuck up. You’re okay. We’re going to get you down. Let’s hope they didn’t hear you.”

With shaky hands, I start to work on the knot that is locked around her feet. The hefty rope rubs against my soft fingers, and I’m cursing myself for not having brought a knife.

We should’ve been more prepared. They apparently were. They would go this far. I just hadn’t been expecting it. I was stupid to think they’d go easy on us.

“The knot is too tight. Do you have anything sharp?” I ask either of them. I can feel our lead dwindling with every second we stand stagnant.

“Shit no. I don’t have my bag or—” Sage curses as I continue to tug at the rope, desperately looking for a loose edge or some way to get her down. “Wait, wait!”

I glance down, watching her dig her hand into the back pocket of her jeans. She lays the object flat on her hand, the metal glinting in the moonlight. I’ve never been so happy to see a Zippo lighter in my life.

“Thank fuck for your boyfriend’s smoking habit,” I mutter as I take it from her while she holds Briar’s head up to prevent the blood from rushing to her head.

I flick the wheel once, twice, and nothing happens. The wind howls, and the sound of manic laughter catches the breeze. Panic settles into my bones.

They’re closing in on our lead.

“Little thief, I can hear you breathing without me,” Alistair shouts into the night, so far away but so close, his voice vibrates between the trees. It’s impossible to tell where he’s located.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

My hands began to shake as I try again, finally catching the flint and watching the flame sway in the night. Holding the fire to the rope, I look around me, seeing if they’re close enough to see in the night.

But they are shadows.

The night itself blended into the wilderness.

It would be a disadvantage for anyone else, the pitch-black.

They thrive there. It’s where they always seemed to belong.

“Look what we have here.” The voice is followed by a wicked laugh that makes my stomach rattle.

Rook.

I glance at the rope, the light brown threads shaded, turned charcoal with the heat of the lighter. It’s only a few more moments until it’s weak enough to snap, but we’re running out of time.

“What’s the point of a goddamn head start if you guys set traps beforehand?” Sage yells, eyes burning with annoyance towards them.

“We never said we’d play fair,” he answers, stepping from beyond the trees, headed in our direction.