Page 85 of Lost and Bound

“No!”

We turn to face the direction where the sounds of a scuffle echo. Together, we retrace our steps to Rodderick’s compound, following the small pathway I have used before.

Going closer to the party could be the stupidest thing we’ve done, considering the hunt is going to start soon, but the sound of someone in trouble overrides that concern.

Orion and I shift our communication to hand signals, both of us spreading to either side of a small maintenance shed that seems to be the epicenter of the assault.

From where we’re positioned, it’s hard to know how many others are involved and what their designations are. It’s not important; rescuing whoever is in trouble is paramount.

We count down using our fingers before we surge out of the shadows while concealing our presence.

The scene is impossible to make out.

Nothing makes sense.

Sequins and rhinestones are littered over the ground.

A pale blue shoe, and a light-colored dress are thrown to one side.

A wall of darkness blocks our view of the person being attacked.

Then a flash of light from the party changes my first assessment. Not a wall, but a line of students dressed in black.

Another flash of light makes me wonder if I got the color wrong.

Behind us, the stage lights plunge us into darkness and the students burst into action. Half of them converge on Orion, ripping him away from me and taking him off into the distance.

I can’t fight against this many beings.

I turn to run, but I’m grabbed from behind. Before I can lift a hand to fight or even open my mouth to scream, another set of hands forces my jaw open, and something is poured into my mouth. My nose is blocked, and I have no choice but to swallow the liquid.

They keep their hands locked tight until I stop retching at the bitterness. As their hands fall away, there’s a shuffle of noise before something warm splashes over my head.

I lift my hands, trying to figure out what it is and what’s going on. Is this a prank? Another cruel joke? The laughter bouncing around me suggests it is.

I fumble, stumbling into a sliver of moonlight.

My hands are coated red.

In an instant, I feel like I’m being sucked into a wind tunnel. My heart pounds so hard as I shake in fear. I lose my balance, and there’s a roar in my ears as terror takes hold.

Red.

Liquid.

Warm.

The pieces click together, but it still takes a moment for it to register because deep-seated fear coats my thoughts.

The distinctive scent of copper shreds through the lid I keep on my torment. I stagger, physically and emotionally, trying to outrun what’s coming, but instead, I slip on the blood pooling under my feet.

Laughter seeps through my panic.

My mouth floods with saliva, and bile burns my throat, mixing with bitterness on my tongue. Everything happening around me—their yells as they race at me, their chaotic movements—shut out my ability to think and move.

The only thing I can focus on is the blood. It renders me useless.

I’m covered in blood, transported backward through time, abducted by heartache.