Page 99 of The Last Hope
And…
I love him!
Water squeezes out of my eyes.
“Maybe it’s her bleeding,” Zimmer tells Stork.
I had my bleeding last week. I mutter under my breath, “It’s not me.” My mind is pulled in different directions.
Quietly, Stork asks, “Is it Mykal or Court?”
I freeze.
Why would he ask whether it’s them?
Does he know about…?
Gods…
He knows about our link.I gasp on cold fear.
Mykal and Court go absolutely still. Sensing my abrupt panic, they turn, and their feet are my feet. Running toward me.
TWENTY-TWO
Mykal
I’m running with no care to glance back at what I’ve left behind: a riled Kinden Valcastle. He wanted to wish his brother a good night, and what he saw was a watery-eyed Court, despondent from our uncoupling and exhaustion—and Kinden spun on me.
He used some foul words first, and I provoked him before he socked me in the gut. Ever since he knocked Franny unconscious at StarDust, I’ve been craving to lay a hand on him. But out of my feelings for Court, I didn’t touch his brother.
What’s happening in Stork’s barracks is a different story.
Franny is on a bed with them. Her fear rakes down my bones, and hands touch her hip, her shoulder—my blood boils and my legs pump more forcefully beneath my urgent gait.
Court reaches Stork’s barracks, quickly unlocking the puzzle, and I blow past him and barrel inside.
“Get off her!” I growl through gritted teeth, two paces into the room.
Franny hurls herself off the bed and races right into my arms.
I hold her tight, my concern stomping on my anger and banging questions at my head. Skin-to-skin, I sense her more clearly: thumping pulse, apprehensions squeezing her lungs.
She speaks with ragged breath, stumbling over words. “Who hurt you? Are you all right? He knows—he’s known all along.”
Which one knows what? I lose my chance to ask.
I’m rushing forward—no.I’m not the one truly movin’.Franny and I look up. Court is the slingshot, aimed for Stork, who steps confidently off the bed.
He’s taking my place, what I’d do if Franny hadn’t flown into my arms. With a lot more grace than I, Court glides across the room in a blink and thrusts Stork against the frosted bath door, rattling the glass.
“Heya!” Zimmer extends his gangly arms between us. “Last I checked, we’re on the same side. No need to start a stew.”
Boiling inside out with a curdling wrath, Court bears a rigid forearm to Stork’s windpipe. Muscle pressing on neck bones, Stork clears his throat in discomfort. Nothing but a tint of bitter sorrow behind iced blue eyes.
“If you hurt her,” Court sneers, “you are our enemies.”
Her pulse pierces the sky. Franny whips around in my arms, her back to my chest. “Stork didn’t hurt me. Zimmer didn’t hurt me—”
