Page 14 of Court of Evil

Besides, the fools were in such a rush, they left it open, like a fucking meal ticket . . . if I can get my legs to work.

I look down at the ruined meat of my thighs and take a deep breath, but I instantly regret it, having forgotten about my lung.

“This is going to fucking hurt,” I say loudly, and then I throw myself forward, the shackles on my feet long gone to give them better access to cut my toes and ankles. I hit the concrete hard, and the blow reverberates through my body. I know I won’t be able to walk, so I start to drag myself across the floor.

My thighs bleed with every movement, and the pain is so overwhelming, I have to stop. Turning my head, I throw up, noticing the blood before I snap my head back around and crawl forward with gritted teeth.

I’m running out of time.

If I can just get out of here, I can survive.

I have to.

I refuse to die here.

It’s the one thing that keeps me going when my body wants to give in and the pain becomes overwhelming.

Each torturous inch of dragging myself to that metal door feels like fire burning on my wounds as blood smears behind me. I know I must look like pulverised meat.

All that keeps me going is the thought of revenge.

When I finally reach the metal door, I give myself a second to breathe through the agony before I slap my blood-covered hand across the door until I can reach the handle. I yank it down, but my hand slips, and I fall, hitting the floor once more.

Gritting my teeth, I press my side to the wall and start to force myself up to my feet. My legs give way at least twice before I manage to stand somewhat, though I am mostly propped up by the wall, my entire body shaking and going cold.

The chill of death flows through me, cooling the fire in my blood. I thought the pain was bad . . .

The numbness that starts to flow through me is scarier than the pain.

No, no, no.

I can almost feel the touch of death as it tries to embrace me, and with one last Herculean effort, I force the door open, my body giving way as I fall through the doorframe and right into someone’s arms.

The last things I see before everything goes black are familiar dark eyes and a worried frown. Another set of brown orbs lingers over their shoulder, making my own widen for a moment.

“Hang in there, angel. I’ve got you.”

“Shamus.”

His name is a breath, a plea.

I cling to it as I fall into the darkness once more.

CHAPTER 8

“Iknow, I know, Ronan. It’s stupid?—”

“And dangerous. They will kill you on sight,” my best friend says as he floats by my side as I run.

For a moment, I glare at him as I try not to jostle the precious cargo in my arms. “Then it is a good job you are already dead and they cannot hurt you.”

“Shamus, if you die, I fully die, remember? I’m tied to you,” he hisses. “Is she worth the risk?”

“You tell me,” I retort as we stop before a mound of rock some miles away from Stalkers’ Rest. It’s in the ancient magical forest. We made a truce never to cross into it—until now.

Tate groans in my arms, and we glance down at her. She is covered in blood, and I can smell death on her. A minute or two later and it would have been too late. No, I cannot let her die. This is my fault. I put her in there, knowing the dangers. I thought I was prepared to accept anything that happened, but when Ronan found me, I realised I wasn’t.

Over the past few years, I have become fond of the little devil in my arms. She’s my new obsession, not just because of what I need her to do without her knowing, and I’m not the only one.

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