“Scream for me,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear as he’s trying to take control of my hands.
But I slam my forehead into his nose. The cartilage crunches, his blood sprays, and his grip loosens just enough for me to twist away.
He recovers quickly, sweeping my legs from under me. I hit the ground hard, like someone punched the air from my lungs.He’s on me in an instant, straddling my chest, raising his knife for a killing blow while I’ve lost mine in the struggle.
But I don’t give up. In desperation, with one hand, I grab his, and with the other, I drive my thumb into his eyes, pushing with every last bit of strength I have left.
He shrieks, dropping the knife to cover his face, but I don’t stop. I just push deeper until I feel something like a plastic bubble pop, and his screams grow more frenetic.
When I withdraw my thumb, he falls sideways, shaking his head as if he’s trying to pull himself back together, but I don’t give him that time.
The machete slices a quick line across his throat, silencing his cries and giving me that gargling sound I’ve learned to enjoy tonight.
Four down.
But this time, a part of me goes down with him.
I roll onto my hands and knees, vomiting bile onto the forest floor. My whole body trembles from the fight, the pain, and blood soaks my pants, making me realize he’s broken the fragile skin that was just tying itself together. Now I regret not listening to Ares and letting my leg recover when I had the chance.
Somewhere in the distance, I can hear water rushing. I need to get to the stream, and I drag myself toward the sound, using trees for support.
I can’t stop to hide my tracks now. But I have no choice. I have to move with the water to make them lose my trail.
A distant rumble stops me for a second, the sound sneaking between the trees like thunder, but the sky above is clear. I try to look around, but I can’t see anything because of the trees.
The trees thin as I approach the riverbank, and I hate being so exposed. But on the other side of the stream, the forest continues, denser than before, and I know the cabin must be somewhere through there.
I step toward the water's edge, desperate to have something cool for the burning pain in my leg. That’s when I see him. Benedict. His silver hair is glowing in the moonlight, standing on the border of the opposite bank. A crossbow in his hands.
I dive sideways, but it’s too late. The arrow catches me mid-stride, punching through my shoulder with such force that it spins me around.
thirty
-Brynn-
I hit the ground on my back, the arrow tearing through muscle as it lodges near my collarbone.
My screams die in my throat, my teeth sinking into my lower lip until I taste blood, and for a second, I start to think I’m gonna die myself as my whole world narrows to a single point of excruciating pain.
But through the haze, I see Benedict reloading. He’s not even rushing, confident that I’m going nowhere, like a fucking predator, savoring his moment of triumph.
The bastard just doesn’t realize the pain only makes me angrier.
The arrow from my shoulder hurts with every breath, and I roll behind the boulder as another arrow splinters a tree where my head was a second ago.
Benedict is taking his time, enjoying the hunt, confident that his wounded prey has nowhere to go.
Blood slicks my entire left side now, saturating my jacket. I clamp my teeth against the pain and force myself to think through the fog. I’m not dead yet. Not beaten.
I hear Benedict splash into the river with a clear target in sight—me. The sound of water rushing around his legs grows louder as he approaches my hiding place.
My options narrow with each second. I know running is impossible. So is climbing with my wounded shoulder. All I have left is ambush.
Even the machete feels impossibly heavy in my hand as I grip it now. I know I’ll only get one chance. If I miss, I’ll probably die.
“I know you’re there,” Benedict calls, and his voice is too calm, too relaxed, as if we’re going out for drinks rather than to war. “McAllister said he preferred you alive. But I’m considering keeping you as my trophy.”
His steps crunch on the riverbank gravel closer and closer. So fucking close that I can smell the expensive cologne he still wears.
