“You’re fine. No one is going to hurt you here,” I tell myself as I watch clouds start to cover the moon. I move faster, trying to backtrack. This can’t be that hard. But the darker it gets, the more I start to panic. I’m pretty sure I’m going in circles.
My eyes burn with the need to cry. Which is dumb. I’m fine. The vineyard is safe. It’s then I realize I haven't cried in a few days. I guess I’m about to break that streak. I sit down in the middle of a grassy row and just try to breathe and think. The hills around me are too high to see the house. The thing is massive. How is that even possible?
I suck in a breath when I hear a snapping sound. Why hadn't I brought my knife? Because I let myself get too comfortable here in the lion’s den. Damn.
But whoever it is will help me. It has to be one of Cato’s soldiers. Or maybe a gardener. Or Flavia. Maybe that mean old bat got tired of cooking and came out here for a walk. I open my mouth but can’t bring myself to make a sound. Home isn't always safe. You never know who is really lurking. I know that better than most. So I remain as quiet as I can. Panic begins to rise in my throat.
I see something big moving. There’s no way that’s not a man, and he’s coming right at me.
“Gotcha, bitch,” he grunts.
I scramble to my feet and clutch the kitten tightly before turning to run. I take just two steps, when I hear and feel a hard thump on the ground. I glance behind me, then slow, then stop.
The man grunts and gurgles. Another man’s on top of him. The clouds drift open enough for the moonlight to show me Cato, his eyes on me and his dagger in the man’s throat.
He looks up at me, our eyes locking. The only thing I can think is that he’s saved me for the second time in my life.