My chest fills with relief. Weston would never leave his people behind or leave them in danger. He would shoulder it all himself before putting any of the crew in harm’s way. My legs pump harder, as we fly through the trees, and I gasp every time something pierces through the flesh of my feet, but I can’t slow down. A shriek gathers in my throat when I hear footsteps pounding behind us.
“It’s Sig!” Weston yells. “Keep moving!”
Sig’s steps get closer and stay steady, matching our pace until we burst through the edge of the forest. I can see the mountain and the cliffs just ahead, and I know exactly where we are headed.
We fly down the stone steps, and stumble through the sand of the collection beach, straight to the stone wall. The door swings open before us, the darkness of the tunnel welcoming as we throw ourselves into it and slam the stone behind us.
Safe.
We’re safe.
Dane didn’t follow. There were no sounds of pursuit, except from Sig, and no sign of anyone else on the island that may have spotted us.
I crash to the floor, my hands and knees hitting the rough surface as I gasp for air. My chest is on fire from the sprint, and the pain masked by the rush of escape is returning. Weston leans forward, his hands on his knees, heaving breaths, while Sig sinks her back against the wall.
“Lennox,” she pants, “are you alright?”
I can barely breathe and can’t even get a word out to reassure her before Weston speaks.
“We don’t have time to fucking talk,” he snaps. “We need to get back to the ship.”
“Aye, Cap,” Sig says, pushing off from the wall.
Weston straightens and extends his hand toward me. I grab hold and he pulls me to stand, noticing my wince as soon as my weight is on my feet again. I don’t need to look down at them to know they are shredded and bleeding from the run. I try to take a step and suck in a breath as pain shoots up my legs.
Weston glances down at them, his jaw clenching as he takes in their state. I don’t make it another step before he is crouching down and scooping me into his arms and striding swiftly through the tunnel.
I wrap my arms around his neck and let my head fall to his shoulder. My entire body relaxes, sinking into his, and his arms tense underneath me.
“Thank you,” I mutter, glancing up at him shyly. A muscle in his jaw ticks, the only sign he heard me. He doesn’t look at me or utter a sound, he just continues barreling through the tunnels as Sig follows quietly behind. We aren’t safe yet. We still have to get to the ship and hope that Dane or anyone else isn’t near the beach to discover us.
The fury seeping off him is palpable, and I can only imagine what Sig has been through since I've been gone. I breathe in his scent, the smell immediately settling my rattled nerves, and making me feel safe again.
It’s only been two days, and I’ve missed him.
Weston steps through the portal, looking quickly at the surroundings to ensure we aren’t stepping into an ambush before striding directly to the jagged rock toward the ship. The gangway rolls out as we approach, and Weston and Sig bound up it, the sound of it retracting almost immediately after their boots hit the deck. I let out a breath, thankful that we made it back almost unscathed.
“Lock it down,” Weston growls, and Sig steps into action.
“Below deck, now!” Sig orders the few Castaways who are still on deck, watching us cross the space with shock painted on their faces.
Stassia sits on a crate next to Taril, her eyes wide as she lowers the wine bottle she was about to drink.
“Lennox?” she calls out, hopping off the crate and taking a step toward me.
“I’m alright, Stass,” I get out, before Weston takes the steps rapidly, descending below deck.
I expect him to turn immediately and take me to our room, but he doesn’t. Instead, he flies down the second set of stairsas commotion sounds behind us. Sig rallies everyone, barking orders to stay off deck and not to leave the ship. I hear the slam of a wooden door followed by a bolt snapping into place right as we hit the base of the stairs, putting Sig out of sight.
Weston turns sharply, then pushes the door to the infirmary open with his back, kicking it closed behind us once we are inside. A flame flickers to life in the lamp on the shelf, casting the room in a dim glow.
It barely takes two strides for him to cross the room to the table, where he sets me down gently, turning me so my knees hang over the side as he towers over me.
“Weston, I?—”
“Don’t talk to me right now.”
I snap my mouth shut. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s angry. I expected it, but what I didn’t expect was the concern and worry lacing his voice, mixing with the grumbly fury.
