Page 163 of Deacon

Voices sound from the woods. I hear horses coming closer with a steady beat. My stomach sinks. We got close, but we’re not getting out of this one. There’s nowhere to run except out into the open field. The men and dogs will take us down before we get halfway there.

Another set of hooves joins the chorus.

Pounding from behind.

Cowed, I turn and tip over onto my ass in the dirt. A pale white horse skids to a halt, grass spraying, and a man swings down, coat whipping around his body. He pulls a shotgun from the saddle as his boots hit the ground.

His body turns in a graceful arc. The shotgun spins in his hand. The butt hits Aiden across the head with a sickening thud.

Someone is screaming. I think it might be me. Quicker than I can see what’s happening, Jack is in the saddle again, his huge ghost of a horse spinning on a dime. A hand comes down and grabs me by the scruff of Bittern’s flannel shirt, yanking me painfully off my feet.

Then, I’m in the saddle, an arm clamped around my body, and we’re riding hard into the dark.

My eyes stream. The air feels like icy cold fingers raking over my half-naked body. Exile runs like it’s the last time he’ll ever run. His huge body takes us through the dark so fast, I can barely focus on the trees flying by.

I squirm, trying to turn. Jack makes a sound in his throat, a harsh warning.

“Stay,” he shouts.

In the distance, the lights of the McClaine house fade. Bittern is back there with the men. He’s a defenseless bird, just like his namesake, and they’ll crush what life he has left in him.

“Bittern,” I scream, sick with desperation.

“He’s got a gun,” Jack says. “He can fight.”

He doesn’t know Bittern. Aiden will beat him and leave him bleeding out on the hill. When the frost comes tonight, he’ll die frozen, far away from his home.

“Where are we going?” I beg through the tears falling fast and hard.

He puts an arm around my body, locking me against his side.

“Hold on tight. We’re going to Sovereign Mountain.”

I think I misheard him—I’ve seen the road signs and heard people talk about that place. There’s no way he can make the run to Sovereign Mountain tonight, not when it’s down the highway past South Platte. By the map, it’s a two and a half hour drive via the most direct route.

I turn my head. In the distance, the mountains loom closer.

My stomach churns.

We’re not going by the map. He’s taking us into the mountains, the ones I don’t trust because they’re nothing like the cradle of the Appalachians. I squeeze my eyes shut and burrow my face into the shoulder of his coat. There’s nothing I can do but let him urge Exile on, the shadows deep from the overhead moon.

Deacon trusts Jack Russell to keep me safe.

That’s all I need to know.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

DEACON

I’m stretched out beside Westin, on the rise of the hill that overlooks McClaine Ranch. He’s the best sharpshooter I know. It’s why they call him Gunslinger, and it’s pissing him off that I won’t let him just pick Aiden off through the window.

Behind him, Sovereign waits with a rifle over his shoulder. He’s going to spot us going down the hill and take out Aiden if, God forbid, I lose against him and he runs.

“I can fucking see him,” Westin whispers, breath frosty. “An inch to the left, and all your problems are gone.”

“Down boy,” I say.

“Yeah, fuck you.”

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