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She tugs me toward the farthest gardens, but I break away.
“Ellen!”
“Hide,” I hiss to her. Then, shrugging aside her attempts to pull me back, I take off toward the main manor.
Idiot!I imagine Mischa shouting.Hide!Running toward danger is the stupidest thing I’ve done.
Reckless.
Selfish.
But, in war, there are no true winners. Here, in the sanctity of the Winthorp stronghold, Sergei has the advantage.
And he can’t win.
My breaths rip from me as I run, plowing my bare feet over the cool grass. It’s surreal in a sense, being inside my old cage as it’s attacked from within. The beautifully tended flowerbeds of Winthorp manor create a mocking backdrop to the figures, dressed in black, streaming across it, wielding weapons.
Mischa made his name through his combat prowess—but Sergei can apparently muster the same amount of manpower.
He hasn’t brought just one henchman to ensure his victory—he brought an army.
They cut boldly through the heart of the property, heedless of any Winthorp men who may be out on patrol.
I stick to the outskirts. Up ahead, the breathtaking façade of my childhood home stands, bathed in moonlight. The fighting started here, it seems.
Breaking glass and more gunshots allude to the battle raging within.
And every fiber of my being warns me to run. Hide. My heart pounds as I search for clarity among the shadowy figures battling on the terrace. I see nothing but sparks as guns fire and glass shatters.
I have to keep moving. As the clamor and violence rage around me, I deafen myself to everything but the sound of my ragged breathing. Then I set my sights on the detached building housing all Winthorp vehicles and inch my way toward it.
Mouse. Eli. Mouse. Eli…
“Ellen!” Someone grabs my arm, spinning me around.
A scream crawls up my throat before I even make out my captor’s face, gleaming in the moonlit dark. I was so focused on the garage that I didn’t even realize I’d passed the west end of the Manor entirely.
Here, it seems, Robert and a contingent of bodyguards have made their last stand. Fitting, since they create a makeshift barricade before the guesthouse and the prisoners he had locked inside it.
“What are you doing out here?” Robert demands. He cuts his gaze to a uniformed guard standing beside him, his face white with rage. “It’s no fucking matter now.” He grabs my arm, dragging me forward as he approaches a black van, flanked by two more bodyguards. “I’ll keep you safe,” he swears. “Once we’re away from this fucking place, I’ll never let you—”
He breaks off, his eyes wide, staring blankly ahead. His lips move, but no words come from them.
Just blood. Splatters of it speckle my cheek as he goes limp and falls backward, his mouth frozen in a startled O.
I can’t scream.
Can’t breathe.
In an array of beautiful, terrible noise, several quiet pops echo one by one, and the rest of the men around me go down in the same way.
Shot.
Dazed, I turn around in time to catch the killer, aiming his weapon at me. He’s alone—I register that first as my brain tracks his approach in slow motion. His gray hair catches fire in the moonlight, making him seem more ethereal than human. A demon, his teeth bared in rage.
Panting, he says something my brain can’t process and then aims the gun directly over my heart.
“Ellen, look out!”
