Page 3 of Pieces of Halves

My eyebrows go together for a second as I watch her try to hide her body from me.

“You will find this hard to believe,” I take a step back to give her some space, “but nothing. I saw you. You looked like you needed help, so here I am.”

I kneel to open the latch, but mostly, I don’t want to be towering over her right now. She seems like she has been hurt. How? I don’t know, but I want to find out.

The action must’ve helped because she drops her arms and looks down at me, contemplating and chewing on her lower lip.

“I caught her scent this way,” one of the vampires says somewhere around the corner.

Her eyes go wide. “Okay. Let’s go. Hurry. Hurry.” She practically shoves me inside the small hole.

I scrape my forearm on the way down, and before I have a chance to look up, her skirt is already in my face. Shocked at the sudden speed of her actions, I scramble to get my balance and catch her in the dark and damp space. Holding her by the waist with one hand, I reach up and close the wooden latch.

The only light we have are the small bits coming from the slits above, and that is barely enough for me to find the stolen lantern.

“It’s dark,” she whispers, her breath brushing my neck.

My breath hitches. The way my body responds to her closeness catches me off guard.

“Yes. That is a brilliant observation.” I joke.

“Shut up.” She taps my chest with her hand.

Letting go of her, I use the little bit of light coming from the top to find the stolen lantern and some matches. Without it, we will not be getting far. I could use my power to see, but she will be stumbling in the blackness. I don’t know who she is, so it is best that I hide my true identity from her. Those who know of beings other than humans will know that a halfling is powerful, and power tends to scare those who are hiding. If she knows what halflings are, she will run from me as well. I want to enjoy her company for just a little longer.

Running.

Chapter Two

ISABELLA

t’s dark, wet, and cramped. There is plenty of room for me to stand, but the tall, blond stranger in front of me only has a few extra inches to work with before he needs to bend down. He is working with a match to get the flame going, so I stand snugly next to him.

Small spaces suffocate me, so I try to think of something else – his hazel eyes that have more green in them than brown, his messy hair that’s strangely sexy on him, or the way he holds me. I should be repulsed. I should push away from him, but he feels safe; he stepped away when I asked him to, and he helped me run. Stupidly, I stay close, drawn by his magnetic pull.

I still want to claw my way out of this underground cave, which is making it hard for me to breathe, but the handsome stranger is right; staying up there is dangerous. Following a man that I just met is not the safest choice either, but nothing could be worse than going back to my father.

“Ha! There we go.” He places a small fire between us, and a pleased smile comes to my view.

I want to laugh at his simple spirit. He helped me escape my father’s men – still is, but he hasn’t asked for anything in return.Yet. That makes me suspicious, but just because my father is evil, it doesn’t mean everyone else is. To be honest, most people are good. My father is the problem.

“Shall we?” He extends his arm to the dark pathway in front of us.

The black stones lead into an endless abyss. I stare into the void, panic rising as my chest tightens.Small and dark space.My legs are numb. I try to inhale, but theair is not getting into my body.

“It’s okay. Breathe,” he whispers and rubs small circles on the small of my back.

His action should make me jump and scream, but I inhale and almost slump into his arm. The way his touch and presence soothe is confusing. Shaking off my fear and the things he does to my body, I straighten my shoulders and start walking.

My father does not define me. I will heal. I will be free. I will move on,I chant and take slow breaths.

“So, what is your name?” my stranger asks, his tone playful and energetic.

He reminds me of the days before last year – before my father came home. I smile up at him. “Isabella.”

“Bella,” he says, testing the sound of it.

“Isabella,” I repeat, my tone also playful.

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