Page 64 of Looking Grimm

“Torch the place,” was the immediate reply.

The color drained from Nash’s face. He spun away, looking at the mountain of rocks but not reaching for them.

“Nash,” I repeated.

He stood with his back to me, hesitating.

It chafed my brain. Rubbed my neurons the wrong way to worm a thought into his unguarded pocket and snag the bottle. The cork shot out on its way to me, bringing the openvial straight to my mouth for a single, gulping swallow.

Nash whipped around to watch the bottle fall and shatter against one of a dozen discarded rocks. The sound seemed deafening in the sudden silence. Indeed, it was loud enough to merit a question from the invaders in the entry.

“Did y’all hear that?”

Nash’s face twisted intoa look so rife with anger I thought he would stick his hand down my throat and scoop the potion out by the palmful.

“You stubborn bastard,” he growled.

A string of words followed, but I didn’t hear any of them as everything that had been carrying on at half speed picked up to triple time. The throbbing ache in my shoulder and opposite hand filtered to the back of my mind, overwhelmed by the sudden need to draw deep, lung-swelling breaths while my heart drummed up-tempo.

Frankly, it felt amazing. I felt all the right things, more in control of the thoughts racing by and able to channel them. I cracked a grin at the thought of the wannabe Hex members littering the entry hall. They wouldn’t know what hit them.

Nash kept talking, cursing me, I assumed. He was red in the cheeks, and his fists were clenched like he wanted to grab me and shake.

My smile stopped him cold. I saw the pallor return to hisface before I glanced over my shoulder toward where the rookies would soon come into view.

“Fitch, just move the damn rocks and we’ll go.” Nash’s caught hold of my upper arm. “There’s no sense fighting…”

I moved the rocks, all right. I thrust my towel-wrapped hand toward them with a rocket of force that sent them scattering backward. They tumbled across the scrubby brown grass, letting in bright light and air.

“Go.” I nodded to the clear path ahead. “Get your car.”

Nash balked. “And leave you here? No chance.”

We both knew where this was headed. Adrenaline potion or not, I was badly injured, and the only legitimate medical help was miles away at the Capitol. Holland would sooner leave me in a puddle of my own juices on the Bitters’ End floor than waste government resources healing me. Honestly, if I died here, it would save them a step.

All the deep breaths rushed my brain with oxygen and the faint smell of smoke. They said they were going to burn the building, but not if I could help it.

I tipped my chin toward the open doorway and said, “Don’t wait up.”

Turning on my heel, I started toward the entry. Nash’s rough grab on my shoulder hauled me a step back. It should have hurt more than it did.

“Fitch, I’m not a child,” he retorted. “I’m not Donnie.” He dragged me around and set his grip, his fingers pressing in inches above the knife wound in my chest. I felt the warm wetness before I saw it; rich red blood began to seep out.

Nash saw it, too. He stared so hard and so long that my heartbeats became like seconds ticking off a countdown clock.

“No, you’re not.” My reply stirred him from growing shock. “And you won’t end up like him, either. I learned from that shit. Get out of here and let me handle this. Please.”

Nash released me, but he didn’t leave. I would shove him if I had to. Send him skittering to safety and lock the door behind him.

He took the smallest step of retreat. “I’ll wait for you,” he said.

The words, and the mention of my brother, caused my heart to twist. For many years, Donovan was the only person in the world who gave a damn about me. He asked me once if I loved anyone besides myself. I’d loved him. Now, I loved Nash. I had someone else who cared… for the next few minutes, anyway.

I didn’t watch him go. It felt too final, so much harder than throwing myself off the bluffs last night. This was better, though. I would die in battle rather than running away from the life I’d never wanted.

The smell of burning and the whooping cheers of Grimm’s brute squad carried through the bar. I moved toward it while familiar sights blurred by in my peripheral. As I reached the pass between the bar and the entry hall, small balls of fire floated toward me. They weren’t hurtling like comets through space but rather drifting, almost aimless, and landing to die in scorched spots on the floor.

One passed very near my head, carried by lazy wing beats. I scrutinized it. The tiny creature was made of folded paper in the shape of an origami crane.

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