Page 12 of Deadly Knight
Smelling likethemwill keep this night alive. She must be clean. Body and soul, they must be scrubbed from her.
But no amount of wiping is enough, and my hand slides through her hair to cup the back of her head, resting her on my shoulder. She cries louder, her noises muffled as though she still has the cloth in her mouth.
I want to speak but don’t know what to say. What to reassure her with.It’s okayis an utter lie when it’s not okay. It’s not okay to have been taken viciously by monsters. It’s not okay for me to have been forced to witness it. None of this isokay.
“Dimitri…” Her voice cracks at the end, her voice fading into nothing.
“I’ll kill them,” I vow, hearing her speak my name giving me the ability to open my own mouth. “All of them. I won’t stop hunting them until they’re burning inAd.”Hell.“I’ll hunt them across the entire fuckin’ world if I have to. I’msosorry,moya dusha.”
Sorry.It’s not enough; it’s nearly laughable. It’ll never be enough.
Her hand scrapes against my chest, fingers curling in my shirt while she shakes against me. Shock, cold—all of it. Her quivers are a result of me not protecting her, and I fucking hate it. Them most of all, but also myself for failing her.
“Can I dress you in my shirt?”Noisn’t really an option, because her shaking has to stop. Making her warm is all I can do,but I also want to give her the option. For her to have a say in one thing happening tonight.
She nods into my chest, and I straighten slightly to pull the material over my head, managing to get her into it with minimal movement. She’s limp in my arms, but my night vision is slowly kicking in and making out what the darkness has hidden from me: the complete and utter brokenness in her normally deep, soulful gaze.
Fuck.
She needs a hospital. Medical help I can’t give her, especially sitting on the throne of her devastation.
Then I need a weapon. And names. And a fucking direction so I can find who did this.
But before any of that, I hold her. Let her cry into my shoulder while I plan the destruction of everyone who harmed her.
Myself included.
The bastards tookboth our phones and my wallet, which isn’t all that surprising, so we’re left with nothing to call for help with. I gather Katya in my arms, ensuring my shirt is tucked around her before carrying her from the warehouse and down the connected road.
The sky’s a deep purple. It’s that hour before sunrise hits when nighttime lingers in the sky. It should highlight the beauty of the world and our lives ahead instead of being the backdrop for two broken souls walking away from the hell they suffered.
Katya hasn’t spoken in hours. I assume shock finally hit her system. At this point, I’d rather she be numb and retreat to a place in her mind that protects her from reality. She’s beenstaring at my neck, her eyes dimmed and empty. Every once in a while, I feel her breath coast along my bare chest, and when she breathes, so do I.
They might have broken her soul, but it’s only temporary. That I vow. She’ll be better soon—physically and mentally. I’ll walk to the next country over and never stop if that’s what it takes. I’ll carry her until my body physically breaks down. Anything to get her help.
I walk until finding a road, then take the shoulder, hoping I’m heading in the correct direction to a town. Or for a kind person to stop and help, but the road remains desolate.
It’s at least another ten minutes of painful steps before tires scrape on the pavement behind us. I turn in the sound’s direction, hoping the driver takes pity and stops.
Thankfully, the rusted tan car comes to a slow stop. The passenger window rolls down and a middle-aged woman leans over, her attention solely on Katya limp in my arms.
I don’t give her a chance to ask for details before bursting out, “Hospital. Please help us.”
“O-of course.”
She flicks the lock, granting me entry to the back. As I slide in and across the bench, I keep Katya pinned to my chest, her face hidden from the woman’s probing gaze. Once the door’s shut, she doesn’t leave right away, which grates on my nerves. Can’t she see we’re in severe need of help?
She eyes me in the rearview mirror. “I have to ask… What are two kids doing this far away from the city like…this?” Her undescriptive question implies she doesn’t know how to categorize what she’s seeing. I don’t blame her, because neither do I.
“Mem, please. Just drive. I promise I didn’t do this to her. I’m trying to get her help.”
She scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip, and whatever she finds in my desperate gaze has her pulling the car off the shoulder and continuing down the road.
“How far away from Moscow are we?”
The woman glances at her GPS in the car’s dashboard. “Twenty minutes’ drive or so.” She glances over her shoulder, pin-straight blonde hair falling like a parting curtain. “Is she okay?”
“Nyet.”I manage to look away from Katya, who shows no sign of comprehending we’re in another’s presence, to ask the woman, “What’s your name?”
