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g’s eye, drizzling down its cheek, a revolting indigo in the twilight.
With a roar, it threw itself into me, raging and feral, all power and wild fury. We went flying. My back crashed onto the ground, and the thing slammed on top of me. It began to squeeze. I wiggled, but the Draug had me pinned tight. It was suffocating me, crushing me, stealing the air from my chest until my ribs creaked. And then there was a hideous snap, followed by a stabbing so sharp, so intense, it stole all thought from my brain. A rib.
I gasped for air, struggling, but there was no getting free. There was no fighting anymore. My vision started to dim. The thing wanted to kill me, and I couldn’t stop it. I would die.
Was dying.
I heard myself call out nonsensical things, crying “No,” over and over, until just the one word stretched into a single, pathetic wail.
But then the thing lifted up, stiffening. Its eyes shot open, and its body convulsed. Sludge like black tar spewed from its mouth. Screaming through my blinding pain, I skittered backward, free of the monster.
Only then did I see Ronan.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ronan stood over me. Ronan had killed the beast.
Our eyes met and held for an eternity. I panted in staccato breaths, but my chest was so tight, I thought I might suffocate under the pressure. My breathing was shallow. I was certain I’d broken a rib, but had I punctured a lung, too? I wondered if I might drown in my own blood.
His expression was so grave. Would he yell? Surely he’d guessed I’d been spying on him. Would I die, knowing only this excruciating pain and Ronan’s anger?
But he didn’t scold; instead, he knelt before me. “Ann. ” He grabbed me to him, but his hold was gentle, and I felt the tug of his fingers in my hair as he cradled my head in his chest. His Scottish accent came out thick and guttural. “Ach, girl. You’re a powerful wee thing. ” He stroked my hair, and I wondered if his tenderness was because I was dying. “You’ll get yourself killed someday. ”
“Someday?” Did it mean I wasn’t dying? My chest spasmed, trying to get enough air. Tears ran hot down my face, but it wasn’t because I was crying. My body had taken over.
“Steady on now. You’re going into shock. ” He put a hand at my back to support me and ran his other along my torso, his fingers moving over each rib, his touch gentle but firm. He didn’t watch as he did it; rather, his eyes stared blindly into the distance in intense concentration. “I need to make certain you’re in one piece. ”
He grazed a spot on my lower right side, and I flew about an inch off the ground. I yelped. “Hurts. ”
“Be still. ” His tone was stern, but I saw the concern clear on his brow. “If a rib has snapped in two, it could pierce an organ. ”
That stilled me, all right.
He used his thumb now, drawing along the edge of the rib. The pain was so unbearable, I wondered if I might faint from it. I bit my lips to not make a sound, but tears ran unbidden down my face.
He squeezed my shoulder. “Breathe. ”
Each breath was an agony, and now I was scared if I inhaled, I’d puncture a lung. I shivered uncontrollably, trying to shake my head but quivering too hard to do so.
He rubbed my arm. “Breathe,” he ordered. “Now. In and out. ”
My chest was too tight. The gray sky grew dimmer, and distantly I registered how odd the light became as darkness closed around my vision. But still I took only tiny sips of air—the pressure across my ribs was too great. My ears began to buzz.
“Annelise. ” His tone was unforgiving. “Stay with me. ”
He gave me a quick shake, and I inhaled sharply then, crying out with the stab of pain. I hunched over, leaning into it. I made unintelligible sounds—it hurt so badly.
But I was breathing regularly again, and the world became clear again. My scalp and lips prickled with cold, like numbed parts returning to life.
“Now keep breathing,” he said.
I did, and I found my voice, too, complaining between breaths, “But…it hurts. ”
“Hush. I need to make sure the lung wasn’t punctured. ” He put his hand near my mouth. “Exhale. When a lung collapses, air goes in but doesn’t come out. ”
I did as he told me, afraid to do otherwise. Biology was hideous enough; my biology was unthinkable.
“No,” he said, “your lungs are good. ”
