Page 22 of Flirting with Darkness

The man stepped back reluctantly, pulling Filip along with him.

I looked at the newly opened space between us, a pang of desperate longing in my chest. There it was. Four feet of space between me and my assailants, and endless possibility I couldn’t seize.

I had always been quite comfortable with who I was. I was never the athlete, the warrior, the runner, the magic wielder. I had plenty of other skills. But now, I longed to be someone else. Someone who could take advantage of this moment, cut these men down, and free myself.

Instead, I was helpless, just as I had been helpless against the illness that took bite after bite of everything I loved.

I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t run.

So I started unbuttoning my dress.

I made it three buttons down when I heard a strange sound behind me, like a great unnatural rustling of air. A shadow fell over the streak of moonlight that illuminated Filip’s face.

His eyes went wide.

I started to turn around, but before I could, a blur of movement swept from behind me. Something warm spattered over my face.

Before me, a sword impaled Filip’s chest. I took in the image of him standing there, eyes wide like he hadn’t yet realized what had happened to him, for only a split second, before chaos erupted.

I stumbled backwards. I couldn’t see anything—in the darkness, I just saw limbs and movement and chaos. I tried to seize the chance to get away, but the bearded man grabbed me.

“Back off!” he called out, into the night. “I’ll kill her!”

His voice shook.

The figure, who until now had been a smear of shadow, turned.

Vale.

At first I thought I was hallucinating—from exhaustion, or the blow to my head, or both.

But no. Unmistakable. It was him.

And gods, he was a monster. I now understood why people whispered of him the way they did. This was what I had been expecting to see that first time I met him—a shepherd of death itself. He looked like he had come very quickly, his clothing thrown on hurriedly, his hair messy and unbound and now whipping about his face.

And his wings… they were incredible.

They were fair, which I hadn’t been expecting—silvery-white, ghostlike in the night. Even in this moment, I wished I could examine them, appreciate them for the marvel of engineering that they were.

Vale took in my captor, face cold.

My eyes fell to Filip’s body, bleeding out on the ground. His hand twitched, reaching up—reaching for his friend.

I felt ill.

Vale lunged.

Pain erupted through my shoulder. I hit the ground so hard I heard something crunch.

I couldn’t move. I tried to push myself up and couldn’t.

A heavy weight fell to the ground beside me. My attacker’s bloody, vacant face stared into mine. Behind him, I could make out only blurry shapes—white of Vale’s wings, and red of blood, and the shadowy silhouettes of body after body hitting the ground.

Wait,I tried to say.Stop.

But I couldn’t speak.

I couldn’t move.

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