Page 18

Unraveling a bag from around his arm, he tugs out a shirt in jerky motions. He doesn’t speak as he stuffs his arms into the sleeves, only glaring as he works at the buttons. He digs in the bag, extracts a pair of boots, and throws them at the ground. “You’re turning out to be a real pain in the ass.”

I grip the hilt of the knife tighter in a shaking hand, forcing the terror climbing my parched throat down with a thick swallow. “W—what are you doing here?” I ask, hating the way my voice quavers.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he asks, throwing out a hand. “I’m saving your stupid ass.”

They must need me for something. I take another hefty step back. “What do you want with me?”

He makes an incredulous sound, halfway between a laugh and a growl, and points a single finger. “You think I asked for you? I didn’t. I don’t want you, nought.”

“Then—just—let me go.”

His gaze drifts over me, lingering on my arms, which are dripping blood across the leaves. The intensity in his eyes lessens a fraction as he heaves a breath. “You’ve made a real mess of yourself,” he says taking a step forward.

“Don’t!” I warn, lifting the knife higher as I back up several more paces.

He eyes the knife in my outstretched hand and quirks a brow, completely unfazed. “What are you going to do, nought? Kill me?”

He doesn’t think I’ll do it, but I will. I don’t take my eyes away from him for a second. His fingers twitch into a motion that’s already become familiar to me, and he frowns, searching until he lands on the locket around my neck. An angry recognition lights in his eyes.

Shit .

He knows.

I need to be smart about this.

I lower the knife in feigned resignation, and he nods once, seemingly pleased with that. Stupid asshole. He looks down to fumble in his bag again, and I use the moment to my advantage, rear the knife back, and hurl it as hard as I can at his face. I imagine it making a home there, embedding deep in his eye. It merely slices him across the temple and clatters to the ground.

“Fuck,” he swears, pulling a hand up to the line of blood beading against his skin. I turn on my heel and book it, rustling in my bag to draw the last knife out.

It’s not long before his thunderous footsteps close in behind me. Lungs bursting with sharp heaves, I urge my body to move harder, faster. The damage from the roots has cost me and my vision starts to haze. A panicked yelp spews from my lips as his footsteps sound closer…closer. In a last ditch effort, I feign left and dart right. My legs are suddenly ripped out from underneath me as he tackles me.

We crash to the ground hard, hot, fiery pain lancing up my injured shoulder and roll in a tangle of flailing limbs. I end up laid out on my back with him crawling over me to straddle my hips.

Somehow, I’ve managed to keep hold of the knife. I lodge it back, using all my strength to launch my arm forward. With the knife mere inches from his face he catches my wrist, snaps my hand to the side and pries it from my fingers before tossing it. “Gods, you’re really going to stab—“ A strangled groan works up from deep in his throat as I tear at him, sink my nails into the cut across his temple, and dig as hard as I can.

Wrenching my hands from his face, he pins them to the ground above my head. I thrash against him with wails that are more animal than human. “Stop it,” he demands, voice booming with authority. He leans forward, aligning his seething face with mine. “I’m trying not to hurt you.”

He’s still panting, trying to catch his breath, and I’m assaulted by the warm wafts of air. “Get the fuck off of me!” I scream, lifting my legs and my hips in an attempt to kick him, buck him off—anything. It’s futile as he simply shifts his hips forward, planting his massive form more firmly against me.

“Stop--Gods, don’t do that,” he chides. I continue thrashing for a moment, but my aggravation riles up the dāemon, and I fall still, muscles tensing as it begins shooting swift, painful shocks through my body.

His hands shift around mine, and I wrestle against him with a snarl. He holds them pinned in one hand as he uses the other to swipe at my neck. Realizing his intention, I throw my face forward and sink my teeth into his arm. Ripping his hand back with a grunt he flings it a few times with a look that’s outright incredulous. He can’t believe I’d do such a thing. He goes for the locket again, managing to restrain me by my hair as he tugs at the chain and rips it free.

He fumbles with it, manages to pry it open one-handed before he scrutinizes it in his palm.

“That’s mine,” I snarl. “Give it back.” Blood drips down his face where I’ve cut and clawed him, and a drop splatters against my cheek. I shake my head with a frenzied noise of disgust.

“I should’ve known,” he mutters to himself, squeezing the locket in his hand. “This! This is what’s been making me feel so fucking awful.”

I dig my nails further into the hand restraining my wrists.

“Gods. Calm. Down,” he demands. He lodges his hand back and throws the locket into the nearby woods.

“No!” My only protection. The dāemon rises up with my panic, searing me internally. He starts to climb off of me, not releasing my wrists until he’s safely on his feet. I scamper up into a sitting position before the sensation of his magic closes around my arms and legs and locks me in place. I grunt against the restraints, terror finally overtaking me. I have nothing, no way to defend myself…not even the locket.

He starts toward me, and I do the only thing I can think of: rear my head back and launch a significant swath of spit, satisfied when it hits home, sliding over his cheekbone.

He halts, repulsed as he wipes at his face. “You are a wild fucking animal.”

He starts forward again, reaching for me, and I choke on a sob as the dāemon rises up to an unbearable level and pelts out of me, splitting a nearby tree limb. It breaks off and crashes to the ground, and he straightens with a jolt, trekking forward to scour the area. “Gods, you had to come to the fucking Blood Wood. We need to get out of here.”

He reaches down and hauls me over his shoulder. My limbs unlock for a split second as he adjusts me, and then they’re immobilized once again. I lean forward, an attempt at biting his back and he curses before his magic clamps my mouth shut, too.

I let out a muffled whimper, sucking in sharp breaths through my teeth. There’s no escaping. This was my only shot, and I blew it.

My chest cracks, throat tightening, and I let out another muffled wail. My pulse hammers, the dāemon hammering with it. My breaths grow strained. He halts, swearing under his breath before he settles me back on the ground and the magic locking me lifts.

“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I scoot myself back against the root-covered ground. Any chance I have at fleeing is lost as my throat swells and the dāemon continues blaring, stealing the breath from my chest. “Breathe,” he demands. I wheeze out an awful sputtering sound. “Fuck, just breathe,” he says, panic flashing in his eyes as he sinks to his knees in front of me. He reaches for me, and I shrink back, vigorously shaking my head.

“Don--,” I choke out, tears welling and spilling out over my cheeks.

“Breathe,” he demands. “Or I’m putting you to sleep.”

I shake my head, sobbing as I struggle to take in shuddering gasps. I pull my knees up to rest my face between them and focus on dragging air into my lungs. The dāemon continues surging painfully, and I groan.

I reign it back, sucking in breaths until I’m no longer choking on them, and the dāemon settles, pulse slowing back into a dull thud.

He doesn’t speak. Minutes have passed by the time I peek my head back up, swiping back the mess of fresh and crusted tears. He sits cross-legged against the ground, feet bare and palms resting patiently face up in his lap. His face has been cleaned of blood, and the slash on his temple is only a red line. His gaze is wary, searching. “It’s Syra, right?”

I don’t bother to correct him, eyes locking on the murderous hands in his lap.

He sighs, shifting his hands behind his back to lean against them. “Look at me.” Reluctantly, I cast my eyes across his face. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

His voice is soft, placating. Honey laid in a trap. I set my jaw, steeling myself from falling for it.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeats, eyes imploring me to believe him.

He tugs himself to his feet, motions cautious like any sudden movement might send me startling. “I’m going to grab my boots. Stay.” He starts to turn but tracks his gaze back to me. “ Please. I will track you down if you bolt.”

The words fall like weights, shackling me in place. I watch him stalk away, eyes flickering around the clearing as I consider making a run for it. I no longer think I have the energy to muster it, having used the last of it in our tussle. I’m weak, exhausted. I’ve lost a lot of blood. Even my feet are bloodied. Scraped and bruised from running barefoot through the woods. My shoulder is an aching throb, and my vision blurs slightly at the edges.

If I flee…he’ll find me. For some reason I can’t guess, he seems intent on keeping me.

There’s no escape.