His blood-soaked hand finds mine, engulfing it completely. "I will always come for you," he answers, the amazing darkness in his eyes pulling me in, making me undeniably his.
But this isn’t over, and I know it. I don’t want it to be over.
I press my hand against my shoulder wound, my fingers slick with my blood, trying to hide the severity from Ares.
His transformation is receding, his muscles returning to merely impressive rather than impossible, the dark veins beneath his skin fading to faint traces. But his eyes still hold that otherworldly darkness as he sniffs the air like a predator, headtilting slightly to catch sounds beyond normal human hearing. "McAllister is close. He was tracking you," he says, his voice still rough with barely contained rage, “but you’re wounded.” He continues, looking at my shoulder.
My vision blurs again when I try to stand as the ground tilts beneath my feet. Ares reaches for me, but I wave him away. "I'm fine," I lie, trying to stand on my own. "Let's finish this."
He studies my shoulder and my leg for another moment, seeing right through my bullshit, but he knows I’m not going to give up.
Still, he decides to have things his way, scooping a hand beneath my legs and lifting me into his arms. "Don’t even try," he warns, knowing I was just getting ready to struggle in his grip and continue the chase on my own two feet.
I’m not going to be carried as some damsel in distress.
“On your back,” I point so that he will carry me there, like a wounded warrior, not like some lost princess.
He nods, then turns me around until my legs are around his waist and my good arm over his shoulder. I struggle to keep my weight at first, since my damn leg refuses to cooperate, but he brings a hand to his back, right beneath my ass, supporting me so firmly that I feel like I weigh nothing at all.
“McAllister, you better run, you pathetic loser, because no one is going to save you from me,” Ares calls, his voice echoing through the forest.
Then he starts walking, carrying me like I’m not even there. He moves through the forest like a ghost, his steps incredibly light despite our combined weight. He changes direction twice without explanation, following signs I can’t pick up on.
The trees begin to thin as we climb higher, the ridge revealing itself, rock by rock. Moonlight floods the landscape, making navigation easier but taking away our cover.
"McAllister!" Ares suddenly calls again, his voice echoing between the trees. "I smell your stench! I hear your heartbeat! Run! It will only make your death more satisfying!"
The threat hangs in the night air, intentionally designed to spike McAllister's fear and make him careless.
I recognize the strategy. Ares is playing with his prey, just as McAllister played with me. Even if he wasn’t the one directly on my trail, I know he was always somewhere behind, waiting for his turn.
Ares continues his search, but now he relies on his hearing rather than just chasing. He shows me a faint disturbance in the undergrowth, some displaced leaves, like the trail of a clumsy animal—or a very hurried senator.
“There,” he doesn’t even whisper, he says it out loud so that if anyone is watching will hear it, then he points toward movement ahead.
It’s then that I catch a glimpse of McAllister hiding in the darkness, so different from the great hunter he was pretending to be.
The region leans into a promontory of bare rock; there’s no way down except the way we’re coming. And McAllister is heading straight for it, unaware of the dead-end. He might know these woods, but either the night or his own fear tricked him.
“Let me go around left,” I tell Ares. “Cut off his retreat. And you’ll drive him forward.”
“No,” he whispers back. “You're injured.”
“I’ll survive. Please,” I beg. I need to do this on my own. I need to be an active part of this chase, not just a shadow of Ares.
He must recognize that, because I feel his arm lowering me to the ground, letting me go but not before he makes sure I can fully stand. Which is almost impossible for me, but I force myself not to seem weak. He understands the soul of a warrior. He understands what watching from a distance would do to me.
I position myself behind the boulder that blocks the only path from the promontory, then signal Ares.
He emerges from the trees directly behind McAllister, not even trying to be still now. The senator turns, his eyes widening as he sees Ares, soaked in blood, stalking toward him. He runs back, moving faster toward the promontory’s edge, where he’s walking straight into our trap.
I step from behind the boulder as McAllister realizes his mistake. He freezes, caught between Ares coming from behind and me blocking his retreat. His gaze moves between us, calculating desperate options that don’t exist in reality.
He staggers back until his heels reach the promontory’s edge. Loose stones fall over the side straight into the darkness, and for a second, I see him contemplating jumping. But I won’t let him have this.
His death won’t be so easy, so I run toward him with everything I've got, with every ounce of strength I have left, and grab his jacket, throwing him away from the ridge.
He’s gonna die tonight, but not like this. Gathering the energy to stand, I punch him as hard as I can, and I can see his eyes blinking a few times, forcing himself to recover. He tries to hit me back, but I catch his wrist with my good hand, throwing my weight to his feet and tripping him. The moves are impossible for my body in this condition, but somehow I don’t even feel it. All I want is pure revenge. That’s why I hit him again and again and again without giving him time to recover until I feel Ares’ hand resting on my shoulder.
