Page 18 of Reckless
My mind screams the three words I’ve been so terrified of, drowning out any hope of a rational thought. I’m paralyzed in his arms, powerless in his hold that once felt so safe. His chest rises and falls against me, a feeling that was once so familiar. Now it is foreign. Frightening.
How did he find me?
I’m still trying to puzzle out why I’m still alive, despite being carried to my doom by Death itself. He’s holding me. He’s taking me back to Ilya. Back to Kitt and the wrath I’m sure is waiting for me—
He killed my father.
That one thought saves me from insanity.
I will not hesitate. Not again.
Forcing myself to breathe, I hone in on the hand around my shoulders, easily assessing the best angle in which to snap his wrist bone. It’s his legs I focus on next, the fatigue in his stride, the unsteadiness that will aid in sweeping him off his feet. How long has he been carrying me? Where are his men? I scan the inkiness surrounding us, seeing nothing but the city we are walking into.
I can feel a thin blade strapped to his belt, and my heart skips over itself. But the hilt is plain, smooth against my hip. I take a moment to swallow my disappointment at the loss of my father’s dagger before forcing myself to focus.
Take him down. Then finish the job you haven’t been able to.
After that, I’ll simply blend into the city, camouflaging myselfwith the chaos I’m so used to. No one will ever find me again. He is the only one who could, and after tonight, he will no longer be a threat to my existence.
Envisioning every move before I attempt to make it, I suck in one final steadying breath.
And then I’m moving.
A scream tears from his throat when his wrist snaps under my palm. He stumbles, all but throwing me out of his arms. I anticipate his ungraceful toss and drop to the ground, sand sticking to my sweaty palms as I sweep my leg back to catch his ankles.
He topples to the ground with a grunt. I’m straddling his chest within the next breath, my knees pinning down his arms, pressing my weight onto his broken bone.
My words cut into his strangled cry. “I’ll admit I’m a little disappointed.” I tug at the dagger on his hip, freeing it from its sheath before settling the infuriatingly dull tip against the throat I can hardly see. “I was hoping you’d put up more of a fight.”
“W-what? Look, I saw you in the desert from my post, and I thought you were dead, but when I got there you were breathing.” His words come out in a rush with a voice that is very much nothis. I blink as my eyes begin adjusting to the darkness, revealing the very frightened face of a young guard. “I was just carrying you to the city, all right?” He’s panting now, pleading with me to understand.
“I…” I blink again, taking in his messy brown hair and crumpled red uniform beneath me. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Yeah, well, clearly you don’t need my help.” His eyes dart to his hand. “And if you’d get off my broken wrist, I’ll gladly leave you be.”
“Oh.” I smile sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry about that.” I slide off him after returning his dagger to its sheath, watching as the guard stands to his feet, cradling his hand. I’m suddenly fighting the urge to sprawlback onto the sand as the adrenaline slowly begins to seep from my body. “Thank you for coming out here for me. Truly. I’m sorry that is how I repaid you for the kindness.”
He grunts a response, stepping back toward the city we are now bordering. “I need to get back to my post.”
“Right.” Feeling incredibly awkward, I begin walking beside him at a safe distance. “Um, sorry, which city are we walking into right now?”
He throws me a bemused look. “Dor.” Another questioning glance. “What were you doing in the desert anyway?”
I swallow. Imperials may not be a problem in Dor, but there will still be guards with pressing questions for me to avoid. And I haven’t the slightest idea if Ilya’s surrounding cities know of my reputation. As I open my mouth to spew a relatively convincing lie, his gaze sweeps over my ragged body in a way that has me bristling. He scans my face, seeming to scrutinize, to search.
“Hey, you look… familiar.” He pauses, pondering what he sees. I turn away, aware of the suspicion in the subtle movement. The whisper of fingers through my hair has my gaze snapping back to his. “Silver,” he says softly, as if it were a thought that slithered its way out of his mouth. “Interesting.”
“Is it?” I ask lightly, attempting to discern what it is he knows.
“Well, such a color wouldn’t be unusual in Ilya.” His skeptical gaze has shifted into something far more confident. “But here…” The hand that slowly grazes the hilt of his dagger doesn’t go unnoticed. “You wouldn’t happen to be that king murderer, huh? You know, the ‘Silver Savior’-turned-killer?” The dagger is gripped in his hand now, angled toward me. “You are worth a pretty penny, you know. Ilya has a hefty price on your head.” I take a step away, my gaze glued to the blade inching closer to my chest. His next sentence is strung together with a smirk. “Dead or alive.”
Moonlight glints off the steel he swipes at my chest.
I twist, saving my heart from the blade but not the shoulder it drags across. I bite back a scream at the searing pain, feeling hot blood begin to gush from the gash. The guard doesn’t waste a single second before sending his knife stabbing upward toward my stomach. I dodge again, feeling sluggish as I’m forced on defense. Every bit of exhaustion and accumulated ache comes flooding back, reminding me that I slipped between Death’s fingers yet again. Perhaps he’s come to finally finish the job, claim his vengeance.
“Look,” he pants between gritted teeth, “just come quietly, and I won’t have to hurt you.”
I duck under another attack from his blade. “I’d believe you, but you seem pretty eager to repay me for that broken wrist.”
