Page 130 of Creatures that Breathe

It’s more than I’ve ever had. Still, I scrounge a short, chubby knife and shove it into my pocket. “Secret weapon.”

Before I’ve fully accepted what we’re arming up for, we descend the ladder and trace back our steps. The smell of blood tangs the air as we find the center of the fight. The once cozy living room has become a battlefield. Mangled bodies and crushed furniture are strewn across the floor, a pretty geometric rug is soaked through with pink.

Rage boils up inside me, hot and visceral. I reach for my knife.

“Down!” Luke shouts, shoving my shoulder and raising his gun. I duck, covering my ear, but before he gets a shot off, the male charging us careens to the left, collapses.

Cross’s gun smokes across the room. Waves of black roll down his shoulders, pool on the floor, and chase him as he stalks toward us. Me. “I thought I told you to leave.”

Luke just ignores him, so I do too, both of us charging onward, ready, armed.

Cross catches my shoulder—no, he snatches my shotgun. Aims the long barrel at an assailant and shoots.

“I can—” I start.

But Cross is already claiming the weapon for himself. “I don’t want you to. I’ll take the blood.” He hefts the polished black barrel on his shoulder. “You keep the wit.”

He takes my hand, black shadows gluing us together, and then we’re moving.

In the next room, Lev faces off with three males. He’s laughing, shirt in ribbons, suffering brutal punches without so much as wincing. A bulky blonde with Blackguard style—ruthless—crouches under the windowsill, picking off invaders on the lawn with precision.

Andromeda is locked in combat with a male in dark green, trading blows back and forth, so evenly matched, they appear to be dancing.

Luke swears. Cross steps in front of me.

Outside, menacing figures wait in a coordinated row for the first wave of the battle to finish. They wear dark green leathers, and spiked helmets, and when they’re grease smudged eyes find me, they advance.

Cross shoots without hesitation. Swears as the bullets dance off their chests. Bulletproof. A blessing from Hecate, or a gift from Hephaestus.

Either way, we’re screwed.

“Cross,” I choke out, watching them fan out to block potential exits. “This is strategic. They’re cornering us.”

“I know. Fuck.” He flashes me a panicked look. “Got a plan?”

“One.” But it’s never worked before.

33

Cross

den of HQ Foxtrot-Uniform-Kilo Pvt. Road, Colchester, New York, 12776, Enemies approaching

Leni’s hand clenches mine, her nails digging into my palm. My heart hammers as I scan the advancing Queensguard, their every movement limned with vicious intent.

“I never liked them,” Sin comments, reloading with an uncharacteristically cold precision.

With a flick of my thumb, I check my clip. Three bullets. One in the chamber.

The odds have been worse.

I’ve been weaponless. I’ve been alone. I’ve been starved, with a broken leg and only a broken arrow as a weapon.

Having Leni by my side is harder, feels like I'm walking around with my heart outside my body.

I made a vow to protect her, no matter the cost.

I will not fail as I once did.

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