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She landed hard on her arm and rolled onto her back, her head flopping to the side.
She blinked.
The odd sensation of nothingness in her side struck her. No pain. No feeling at all.
She blinked.
Frederick started staggering backward, his hands high in the air in front of him, his mouth flapping. Whatever he was screaming wasn’t making it into her ears. Only ringing.
Boots. Boots in front of her eyes.
From her sideways view on the world, she saw Strider’s boots dig into the grass, dirt flying as he charged at his cousin. Steel flashed—a blade in his hand. A blade swinging.
Quick. Perfunctory. One slice across his cousin’s neck.
Strider stopped, the blade gripped in his hand, his stance wide.
The spent pistol dropped from Frederick’s hand as he grabbed at his own neck, trying to stop the blood. Staggering backward. Backward.
And then he was gone. Dropped over the bank of the river. Gone.
Strider whipped around, running to her.
Seconds. Mere seconds it had taken for him to dispatch his cousin. He had been holding back. Holding back for her.
His blade was so much easier.
Strider knew what he was doing and she’d been a fool to demand that he be anything different than what he was. Deadly.
His black boots thundered on the ground toward her. Slow, even though he had to be fast. And then he got blurry. Blurrier. Blurrier.
The colors of his boots and the grass and the sky and the trees bled together, swirling, until there was nothing but blackness.
{ Chapter 27 }
Something was wrong.
Deathly wrong.
Pen opened her eyes and saw Strider on his side next to her, his head bowed slightly as it lay on a pillow, his shoulder drooping, his eyes closed. Dark circles etched deep into his face around his eyes and his cheeks sank inward. He looked like hell had reached up and grabbed him, flattened him, and then spat him back up onto earth.
Dead.
He couldn’t be dead.
And why were they on a bed together?
The river. The races. His cousin.
His cousin with a pistol.
No. Please no.
She moved her right arm to grab him and her body instantly revolted, pain sweeping through her. No matter. Her fingers stretched out to him, reaching his chest, reaching the swath of skin showing above the top v in his lawn shirt.
Her forefinger moved, her fingernail scratching him.
No reaction.
