Page 45 of Creatures that Breathe

He shouts other commands too—stay low, hide, protect my neck, bunch my knees, curl into a ball and hope this works out. Hope two cursed males can take on the army chasing me? Fat chance.

I shove to my feet.

Thundering footsteps crash onto the dock. Wood creaks. The struggling pier lights shatter, raining chunks of fogged glass into the water.

Just as my eyes adjust to the storm, Cross unleashes, and darkness swallows everything. His power is wanton, tendrils of black stretching out from him and lashing, mute and malevolent.

The air grows thick and heavy.

Gunshots. Small bursts of flames light like spotlights. Cross shoots them with lethal precision, shoulders back, zero hesitation.

Shouts and grunts are quickly followed by the familiar sound of flesh striking flesh.

Someone grabs my ankle, and I react instinctively—kicking and thrashing. My ear’s bleeding. My body aches everywhere and my only thought is:

Is this it?

Will this be enough to tip me over the edge?

Is this how Yaya felt?

More gunshots. Lev’s frantic shouts are barely audible over the chaos. Russian, not Greek or English. He gets no response.

My heart constricts. The moment I kick free, I run.

Pushing through the black is like swimming through molasses. Cross’s shadows stick to me, dragging me, clinging as I sprint for freedom.

I don’t slow for anything. Not even when the darkness wraps around my legs and burns like fire.

This is my choice. I am in control.

No male will ever rule me. I decide my own fate.

The ocean is mean, and cruel, waves pounding when I launch myself into it.

Cold consumes me, and it’s glorious.

10

Leni

too gray: disqualified from beach status

I don’t have my coat.

I don’t miss it. I can hardly see my hand in front of me for the darkness, and blissful, pulsing heat slides up my thighs to my shoulder.

It’s quiet. I’m warm. Nothing hurts. But I don’t have my coat.

And if I don’t have it … memories percolate at the back of my mind. Me, twirling on tiptoes in the hotel mirror, checking the delicate lace cups of the bustier, the sheer blush stockings, the light boning along the curve of my ribs.

Clothes for seduction. Clothes to entice a male.

Clothes that are not really clothes at all, but wires and straps and beading and lace, all of which, without my coat, are entirely on display, and soaking wet with seawater.

“Was it because I didn’t say please?” a smokey voice whispers against my ear. Warm water drips onto my neck and I can’t see him, but I know Cross is not smiling. Same as I know this is his warmth I’m stealing, his arms under my back and legs, his slogging heartbeat under my cheek.

His fingers sink into the exposed flesh of my hip. “I know you’re awake, Leni, don’t pretend otherwise.”

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