Page 110 of Forcing Fate

I collapsed face-first into the snow. The icy powder filled my mouth and nose. I couldn’t breathe. I gasped, only to have the stuff suck into my lungs. Unable to cough, to move, I choked in silence. Garbled shrieks surrounded me, oblivious to my struggle.

Footsteps crunched toward me, bringing someone closer. They rolled me over and I gulped for air, too desperate to register which man crouched beside me. After a few mad lungfuls, I focused on his face.

A single dark eye glittered dangerously as General Rafe tugged my cloak over my chest. He rose and walked over to a body on the ground. I couldn’t see who it was, but the man whined as General Rafe stood over him.

“Don’t look.”

It took a moment for me to realize General Rafe directed the comment to me. I watched as he braced his feet on both sides of the man’s body.

“Don’t–” He eyed me, his lip curled in a snarl. “Curse it all,” he growled and stomped back over.

Questions warred with my terror. I stared at my savior as he gently turned my head away to face the quiet building. Whimpers only came from one man. What happened to the others? Had they run? Were they unconscious? Were they dead?

“No! No, please!”

Victyr’s voice distorted into one I’d never heard. I wasn’t accustomed to that shrill, pleading tone. General Rafe gave no reply as Victyr begged and screamed and shrieked.

Why was no one coming? Did no one hear his screams? It seemed to go on for ages before it settled into tortured sobs.

“You’ll have the rest of your penance served in the morning.”

General Rafe’s words rumbled across to me—placid and still. He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to raise his voice to convey his rage.

Weightlessness embraced me, and his hand cradled my head as he held me to his chest. He struggled for a moment, trying to pull my cloak to cover my body. After a few fumbled attempts, he cursed aloud and threw me over his shoulder. My head bounced against his back as he walked, taking us away from the carnage. Red splatters caught my gaze.

Blood in the snow.

I wanted to ask him where he was taking me. I wanted to ask him why he stepped in after swearing he wouldn’t.

I wanted to thank him.

I wanted to thank him from the bottom of my heart. How could I? There weren’t enough words to convey what he’d done for me—what it meant to me. This was the second time he rescued me from such a situation.

Limply, I hung over his shoulder and wondered if anyone saw us. Did they see my boots? Did they think I was nothing more than a kill from his hunt? I sighed and took a deep breath. He smelled of woods. Earth. Leather. Some kind of spice. A warm spice, perhaps cinnamon, or cardamom… maybe nutmeg.

My head had surely taken a hard hit if I was trying to dissect a man’s scent.

He slowed, and a drawn out creak signaled a door opening. The lighting changed as we entered some building and he walked me to a corner. Pulling me over his shoulder, he laid me down on a bed.

It was dark, though an eager fire burned and crackled in the hearth. I glanced around the room as much as my immobility allowed. He’d brought me to someone’s private quarters.

The area was sparsely furnished. A desk tucked off to the side was littered with parchments. Weapons hung on the wall, and animal pelts were draped over a bench.

General Rafe tucked my cloak around me and peered at my face. I blinked up at him—helpless. Why did he bring me here? Shouldn’t he have taken me to the Healers’ quarters?

“You can blink, aye? Blink once for yes.”

I clamped my eyes shut, then held them open, staring at him.

“Do you feel the cold? The heat? Once for yes, twice for no.”

I blinked twice.

“Do you feel pain? Once for yes, twice for no.”

I blinked twice.

“Small mercy,” he grunted. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his chin before he rose and crossed the space to his desk. “Do you have any sensation coming back?”

---