Page 43 of Creatures that Breathe

I freeze, heart pounding.

“Thinks she’s got a choice.” the soldier in front sneers at me through chipped teeth. “Like we’re asking permission or something.”

The males chuckle. It’s a crowd favorite. He’s the comedian.

I mentally punch him in the dick.

“Please,” forces its way from my lips instinctively.

“Please,” Laugh Riot taunts. The pad of his pointer appears surgically attached to the trigger of his gun. “A beggar. Aren’t you into that shit, Odie?”

Odren’s eyes rake over me, viewing me as more property than person. The sea behind us roars in warning, but I can’t focus on anything else but the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

He grabs my throat and pulls me closer to him. “Maybe I should give you a little test for His Grace. See if you’re worth this trouble.”

Pure terror crashes into me as blood trickles down my chin. The heels of my boots slide over the slick wood of the dock.

Run. Run. Run. My mind screams at me, injects inexplicable energy into bruised, sore muscle.

Where? I almost shout it, almost sob. Where can I run?

I ran across a country, an ocean, and now I’m being walked down the plank.

The spymaster was right. I am reckless and stupid. I never stood a chance.

“… not fucking listening!” Odren’s hand strikes into me with the force of a whip, sending me crashing into cold, wet planks. Stinging, angry pain scorches my wrists and knees as I scrape the rough wood. My head falls back, dazed and disoriented.

Thunder shakes the dock, as the sea showers me with freezing water, numbing my senses. I struggle to keep my eyes open, fighting against the darkness creeping in.

A loud voice curses about whores and their place as a rough hand snags my throat and hauls me up onto unsteady feet. Warm blood spills down my sternum, glazing my tattoo.

Did I black out? New fears gnaws at me. Desperately, I claw at Odren’s arm, trying to loosen his grip.

Bile bleeds out from my stomach, starts shutting down internal organs. He’s going to kill me. “… yeah, princess?”

I wasn’t listening, but there’s a sick implication in his tone. I think I’m going to retch.

Odren laughs. Horrible and demented. It’s the worst sound I’ve ever heard until he gasps.

Hot blood splatters the front of my coat.

He chokes. Gurgles. Stumbles back to reveal the end of a knife sticking through his chest. His white, wide eyes meet mine before he lets out a choppy groan and collapses backward.

I don’t even flinch at the thud of his body hitting the ground at my feet. I’m too focused on the male standing behind him.

His shirt’s torn. Dark, wet hair sags into his eyes, and the mouth that just started healing is split again, angrier, redder, like he tore it with a fish hook.

Dark patches of blood litter the angle of his jaw, a deep dribbling cut climbs up his neck, and shadows, pitch black, flow and swirl and writhe in his wake, a personal storm of unholy darkness spilling over the dock.

“Leni,” he growls, and there’s a whole realm in the word. Relief and anguish. Fear.

My heart flounders inside my ribs, beating out an uneven rhythm as Cross steps over Odren’s body to stand before me.

“Can you stand?” Cross’s voice is heavy with grit and shadow and there’s savagery in the way he bends his heaving body over me, how he doesn’t bother to let go of the tainted murder weapon as he gently tucks my hair behind my ear. “Leni?”

Of course I can stand.

But … I can’t feel my feet, and it dawns on me that Cross isn’t standing with me. He’s holding me. And I’m leaning into him, clutching at the sopping wet shirt beneath his jacket.

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