Page 138 of End Game

His heart did a freefall, not stopping until it hit the earth’s core.

“Kayla!” He scrambled to his feet, a wave of dizziness forcing him to reach for the nearest tree.

“You need to sit down,” Rohan said, grabbing his elbow.

Ash wrenched away, stumbled forward until he crashed into the tree trunk. The heat from the inferno warmed the entire front side of his body. His gaze raked over the area around the house, searching for a familiar blond head.

“I have to find her,” Ash said through labored breaths.

“Ash,” Zeke said, flanking his other side, “no one could survive?—”

“She’s alive.” He couldn’t bear any other alternative. “Kayla’s smart. She would’ve figured a way out.”

When Zeke’s jaw set in an uncompromising line, Ash mustered enough strength to push away from his resting post. Only to be met with a large paw, shoving him back.

“You’re not going anywhere, you damn stubborn fool,” Zeke growled. “Rohan and I will check out the house.”

On the way here, they’d picked up the trail of the two fleeing guards. Zeke had sent Phin and Cruz to track them down. Now, Ash wished they’d all stayed together.

“I’m not staying behind while you guys head into danger.”

“Sit. Down,” Zeke said, as he limped toward the mansion in the distance. “You’re a liability right now.”

The pounding in Ash’s head was so strong now that nausea had begun to churn in his stomach.

Rohan winced and squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll find her.” Then he was gone.

Ash’s legs shook and sweat dripped into his eyes. He watched his brothers filter away. Shame, helplessness, and rage immobilized him.

Was Zeke right? Would he be a liability? Would he divert their attention away from saving Kayla and taking out that witch Elsie?

Probably. His body gave him every indication that it was done. That it had nothing more to give.

But he’d made Kayla a promise. Blackwells didn’t renege, and they sure as hell didn’t cower in the woods while their brothers went to war on their behalf.

Ash straightened and willed his legs into motion.

The soft crunch of leaves was his only warning before a large hand grasped his hair and yanked his head back, while the mercenary’s other hand rocketed toward his throat.

A six-inch blade leading the charge.

73

Kayla leaned against her mother for support while her wobbly legs remembered how to walk.

After escaping the burning house through the bedroom’s French doors, Jillian half-dragged, half-carried Kayla into the woods, fleeing in nothing but their pajamas and, in Kayla’s case, stockinged feet.

So far, her tender flesh had found every jutting thorn, sharp stone, and hidden stump.

When she went down for the dozenth time, she took Jillian with her. The older woman released a bone-rattling cough, then sprawled back on the forest floor, her stamina no doubt reaching its end.

Who could blame her? Kayla wasn’t a small woman. For Jillian to have gotten them this far was a testament to her mother’s single-minded determination to safeguard her daughter.

And Kayla was her daughter, in every sense that was important. Vicky might have given her birth, but she hadn’t guided Kayla through all the tricky parts of life. Sure, she’d swooped in and offered Kayla much-needed advice or uplifted her spirits, from time to time.

But she hadn’t made the million and one sacrifices mothers did for their children, as Jillian had.

It was time for Kayla to make a sacrifice. “Mama, you need to leave me.”

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