Page 175 of Oathbreaker

“Winter! August!”

My eyes swing to a form on the ground that I quickly determine to be Blair’s bloodied body. Her arm twitches, and she faces away from the entryway in a pool of crimson.

Then I look at August, trembling but clutching onto Winter, who sits up on the ground, holding on to August despite the crimson flowing down her arm.

“No!” I roar, sprinting to them both.

“Winter! August, are you hurt?” I say, assessing my son while I move my hands over Winter’s face. August screws his eyes shut, clutching onto Winter tighter and vocalizing with wild shouts.

The action makes Winter groan.

The MD500 still idles across the field. I could get us up in the helicopter and out of here in a few minutes, and I could be at the hospital in fifteen.

“August, I need to look at her,” I say, trying to sound calm.

August releases Winter, blood soaking his light-colored shirt.

“Winter, I’m going to get us all out of here,” I vow, but my voice cracks.

“H, can I just tell you that getting shot fucking hurts?” Winter grumbles, her face screwed up in obvious agony.

I move to get her into my arms and get us the fuck out of here.

“All you had to do was follow the plan.”

My head snaps up, meeting Blair’s gaze. Hot tears spill from her rage-filled eyes, and the gun trembles in her hand.

August makes a grating, distressed sound, but I don’t spare him a glance.

Because from this position, I watch as a bullet goes through Blair’s right eye socket in a flash.

August shouts, a guttural, then piercing sound, and I stare for a second, dumbfounded and unable to reconcile that my son just saved us.

He just killed someone.

“August.” My voice is a dread-filled rasp, adrenaline and despair commingling and tying my vocal cords.

The sound of pounding feet interrupts the moment, and in a second, Misha is there.

“Da-d.” August produces the word with effort, choked and low.

He turns to me, his hands trembling with such violence that the gun clacks to the floor.

“I’ve got you. We’re getting away from all this. Go with Misha. I’m right behind you.”

He trembles, still vocalizing his distress and pain and fear, but after a second in my embrace, he lets go and goes with Misha.

“Hunter…” Winter groans, weak. “I think I might pass out.” She blinks once, slow, as if her eyelids are heavy.

Her eyes slam shut again, and I don’t stall. I don’t look at Blair’s body. I swing Winter into my arms, choosing expediency over being gentle. The pain must shock her into alertness because she screams, her teeth gritted.

“We need to move, Sunbeam.”

“I put on the vest.” She pants. “You didn’t teach me about that.” Her voice rocks with each step I take.

I exhale. “Smart girl.” My voice shakes.

“Eh, some people think I’m smart,” she replies. Then she’s out cold again.

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