Page 10 of Rook
“Yes,” Rook said, his gaze fixed on the body.
“Good,” she replied, fierce satisfaction warring with a tremor of shock.
She looked up at Rook. Fresh beads of sweat slid down his temples. He pressed a hand to his shoulder where the attack had landed, his breath coming in shallow bursts. Smoke curled from the singed fabric of his shirt. The sharp, sour smell of burnt skin tangled in the air. He was hurt.
Blood welled along the seam of his sleeve, a dark stain spreading. He was trying to hide the pain, but she could see it in the tight clench of his jaw. The remaining slavers knew where they were. It was only a matter of time before they came back.
She took a breath that was all char and pine needles. “Come on,” she said, her voice steady. She slid an arm under Rook’s good side, forcing him to lean on her. “I know a place we can go.”
He straightened, letting just a little of his weight rest against her. She half walked, half dragged him away from the ruined camp and deeper into the safety of the woods.
6
Sasha was doing her best not to think about the evil dragons in the woods.
A twig snapped. She nearly jumped out of her skin, her hand flying to her chest where her heart was pounding. She bit back a curse, squeezing her eyes shut to steady her frantic breathing. The night felt closer there, thick and electric, every creak of the forest feeding her paranoia.
She was failing miserably.
Rook’s breathing was getting heavier. He grunted every time they had to clamber over a fallen log or up a challenging hill. Whatever had hit him was taking its toll, and she did not need a dead dragon on her hands, at least not the one good dragon she could find.
Every so often, a crunch in the brush or a shiver through the leaves made every muscle in her body tense. The woods felt haunted, as if shadows watched her from behind every tree. Her mind kept flashing back to Erik, to the burst of blue flame that had devoured him alive. The smell of burnt hair. That sickening second where her brain insisted it was a special effect, not reality. Alien or not, this was her world now, and its rules had been torched right along with the rest of her night.
They really needed to update the guide manuals. She had no idea how to handle this situation.
Her feet crunched through another patch of dry leaves. The trees opened up, offering a wider slice of the stars. She could make out a twisted blue ribbon curling overhead, the Milky Way stretched above the tips of the pines. Instead of filling her with awe, the open sky only made her feel exposed.
A rustle in the underbrush, quieter than the last but closer, made Sasha press her lips together to bite back a scream that was half panic and half reflex. Her fingers curled tighter around the bag slung over her shoulder. Maybe she could whack a dragon with it.
“That’s not them,” Rook assured her, his voice a low rumble at her back. “These fugitives move in silence.”
“So we won’t hear them before they kill us?” Her voice was thin, rough with nerves.
His footsteps splashed in a puddle behind her as he moved closer. “I will not let any harm come to you.”
It would have been more reassuring if his voice wasn’t tight with pain. Even simple words seemed to cost him, each syllable clipped. She could hear how much it hurt him just to walk, every labored breath sharper than the one before.
She pushed on, leading them through the undergrowth, praying every choice was not the wrong one. Her mind raced. An old logging road? Too open. The stream? A potential trap. The only safe place was somewhere with walls.
After five more minutes of picking their way through a thick, black clump of firs, they broke into a sudden clearing. Moonlight spilled across a patch of tall grass. At its center stood a sturdy little cabin that looked more dilapidated than she knew it was.
Broken windows peered out from the log walls like dark, watchful eyes. Leaves and pine needles piled in forgotten mounds against the porch. The skeleton of a silent wind chime swayed from the eave.
“This is an old ranger’s station,” she said. “They don’t use it anymore, but it still has running water and walls. Campers mostly sneak up here to have sex now.” She bit her lip.
She should not think about sex and Rook in the same sentence.
Except she was.
She could blame adrenaline or the way her body vibrated with leftover terror, but that was a lie. Some reckless, traitorous part of her brain kept spinning wild what-ifs.
Was his mouth as hot as his breath? Would his hands be careful or hungry? She must be losing her mind. Apparently, almost dying triggered the world's least convenient crush. She chalked it up to hormones, panic, and the knowledge that tomorrow was not a guarantee.
“This place is …” He trailed off, taking in the half-collapsed porch and dirt-encrusted windows.
“Not up to your standard, my lord?” She shot him a sidelong glance, every word dripping with sarcasm.
For a second, Rook looked genuinely affronted. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he straightened, a flicker of dragon stubbornness in his posture. “I have slept in far worse environments.”
