Page 52 of The Shadowed Oracle
Minutes, maybe seconds—that’s how much time it would’ve taken. How long before what lurked out there, at that very moment, heard her frightened stomping and took away any choice she had left.
A new nightmare was at her door.
Heavy footsteps clacked in the hallway. Close behind them was the sound of slamming doors and echoed shouts. The remote house, usually eerily quiet, now erupted with the chaos of a freeway collision. Ingrid shot to her feet so quickly that the wooden frame of the bed slid backward, lunging for her sword. She held it tightly at her side as the footsteps became louder, her jaw clenched so tight her ears began to ring. All the soreness and exhaustion she’d accrued in the training session just half an hour before had dissipated.
She was again unfeeling, unthinking.
The door swung open and a shadow of a man peered his head inside.
“Basement,” the shadow whispered. “Now.”
Ingrid didn’t move, didn’t speak. Only when Dean moved out from the darkness enveloping the hall did she take a breath.
He was shirtless, without shoes or any other articles of clothing save for his underwear. The muscles in his right arm flexed as he held a large dagger with a viseer stone embedded in the base of the blade.
Ingrid was frozen at the terror in his voice, staring at the myriad scars he had scattered over his chest and torso. He gestured silently to her sword, and she snatched it up before following him—sprinting as briskly as possible to the heavy door leading to the basement, then locking it behind them.
“What is—” she started to ask, but Dean stopped, turned, and placed his hand gently over her mouth.
He was so close she could feel his breath on her. With peeled-back eyelids, he gazed upward as if listening intently for a fly buzzing its wings. They were halfway down the stairs to theunderground fortress, but as anxious as Ingrid was to get fully submerged below, she stopped too, idle as deer in the brush.
Listening for what had somehow broken the cabin’s barrier, smashing those last lines of defense that Tyla had been so confident in.
The smell of it—that was what hit Ingrid first. The dank odor of blood and sweat seeped into her nostrils abruptly. Metallic, earthy scents filled the air. Her stomach turned, and before she could cover her face, a trembling growl sounded off from behind the door.
Whomever had come, Ingrid realized, they’d brought hunting animals with them.
Dean whisked her away down the rest of the remaining steps and into one of the long aisles.
“What should I grab?” Ingrid asked.
“Any weapons you can carry.” Dean lifted the first and second metal roll-up doors and pointed to one of the sets of armor displayed. It was black and gold, with a breastplate for a female of her size. “Put this on.”
She obeyed, lifting the heavy iron gear over her head, then fastened the belt, leg guards and plated boots in a frenzy. The weight of it left her feeling slow and bulky, but once Dean slid her sword into the sheath attached to her belt, she began to feel a little safer. Like she’d grown a second skin.
Growls turned to roaring barks and loud clanging against the door.
“Raidinn and Tyla are waiting for you in the portal room,” Dean said. “Go.”
Ingrid glanced up to see if anyone was coming down the stairs. “Are you coming?” she asked, turning back to him and realizing they were only inches apart.
“Yes.” He placed his hand in hers, assuring her with a stroke over her palm, “Right behind you.” He returned to the armoryand began filling a large leather satchel full of stones, weapons, and several of those jars containing odd plant-life.
The scene struck Ingrid like a lightning bolt from above.
This was it. They weren’t just leaving the cabin. Dean’s impenetrable hideout had been discovered, promptly punctured, and was no longer safe. They were surrounded by thick woods in every direction. They had been scented and cornered. This was it.
They were leaving.
They were leaving Earth.
Chapter Seventeen
Raidinn and Tylawere too fixated on the screens of the control panel to notice Ingrid entering. She took hesitant steps toward them, wanting to help but not knowing how. Keys clacked, beeps from the monitors grew louder and faster, while the twins scrambled back and forth.
“I told you.”
Ingrid was so concerned with the unexplainable mess that she’d forgotten who else was in the room with them. The imprisoned Wrane stood in the very center of the cell, a slight sway in its stance as if readying to charge the bars and escape.
