His foul breath grazed the side of her neck. Her head was yanked back so she could see nothing but the canopy of leaves above.
Her heart thundered. She was gasping, drenched in sweat, her limbs trembling with exhaustion. The knife—where was her knife?
Lekyi’s warning echoed in her skull. She always carried it when she walked in the woods. Always. Except today. It was sitting uselessly on her nightstand because she hadn’t planned on going for a walk. She burned with self-loathing.
Morr was going to rape her. Then he was going to kill her. And only the trees would know what happened.
No! She refused to die like this. She would not give him her body. She would not give him her spirit. She looked up at the bright blue sky, pleading silently—for strength, for anything.
A furious resolve flooded her, like fire pouring into her bones. If she died today, she would take a piece of him with her.
“Be quiet,” Morr growled, breathless now from the struggle. His hands fumbled at the front of her blouse, tearing the linen.
Cold air rushed over her skin. She thrashed with every bit of life she had left. He couldn’t keep both of her arms restrained. She reached behind her and clawed at him, grabbing a handful of his hair and twisting hard.
He snarled, swung his fist at her—but hit the tree instead.
Suddenly, both of her arms were free. She slammed her elbow into his side. She didn’t care where she hit—anywhere would do. He let out a sharp grunt of pain, and his weight vanished from her back.
“Dragonfly? Where are you?”
The voice sliced through the chaos like sunlight breaking through the canopy. Arion. He had come.
Hope surged through her pounding chest. She gasped out a desperate breath and screamed his name.
Morr grabbed her, smashing her head against the tree. Stars exploded behind her eyes. The forest dimmed.
She was slipping away. Her limbs were going limp. If Arion could not find her now, she was done for.
Morr hoisted her from the ground. She forced her final ounce of strength into a scream.
The next thing she knew, she hit the ground hard, her cheek slamming into a rock. Pain jolted her back into sharp awareness.
Footsteps pounded. Leaves crackled. Morr’s heavy boots thudded as he fled.
She stayed where she was, breathing in the damp earth, the comforting scent of fallen leaves. Far away, Arion’s voice came calling.
“Dragonfly! Where are you?”
His voice was closer now, his footsteps stirring the thick carpet of fallen leaves.
She couldn’t let him find her crumpled on the ground. She couldn’t let him see her helpless. Even if she could lie about what had just happened, her appearance would betray her.
She dragged herself upright, but a wave of dizziness rolled through her. She clutched a nearby tree until the fog lifted. Sighing, she brushed away leaves and twigs clinging stubbornly to her skirt and blouse. She ran trembling fingers through her hair, pulling out tangles and debris. Her blouse—torn, twobuttons missing—was a glaring testament to what had almost happened. She rearranged the lace neckline, a clumsy attempt to cover the damage.
Arion appeared through the trees, relief flooding his face as he rushed toward her. “There you are! I thought I heard you scream.” His sharp eyes swept over her disheveled state.
“I fell,” she blurted, turning quickly so he wouldn’t see how badly her blouse was torn.
Arion frowned. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped, but her voice trembled, betraying her. “If you must know, I was fighting with apig.”
She threw a glare toward Gloria, who was still noisily attacking the blackberry bush.
Gloria, oblivious to everything, grunted and happily continued her feast.
Arion’s amber gaze lingered on the torn blouse and the missing buttons. It was as though he could see right through her, as if he already knew the truth.
