Page 34 of Love Is A Draw
The basket shifted violently, its fragile balance lost as it toppled sideways into the icy water. Victor had her in his arms for a heartbeat—then the plunge tore her away. Above them, the vast silk canopy collapsed, spreading over the surface like a smothering tide, sealing them in an oppressive, murky trap.
“Gail!” Her name tore from him, sharp and guttural, a command and a plea spun together. Pressure from the leathered envelope over the basket forced the air into a thin, damp haze that seared his lungs. The smell of burnt leather and wet smoke nearly overwhelmed him, clawing at his throat with every breath, but his focus refused to shift. She was out there, in the darkness, and he needed to find her.
The water surged higher, lapping at his chest now, slowing every movement. Plants or roots or something terrible wrapped around his feet, making it impossible to swim as though the water itself were conspiring against him. His fingers brushed the soaked edge of her skirt, and hope ignited. He grasped at the fabric, pulling her small, limp form toward him.
She emerged from the shadows of the leather, and the sight of her pale face, strands of hair plastered against her throat, nearly brought him to his knees. “No!” He trembled as hedragged her close, his arms circling her once more. She shivered violently, her breath uneven and shallow. But she was breathing.
“Stay with me,” His lips drew dangerously close to her temple as though proximity alone could tether her to him. “Gail, wake up! Do you hear me?”
The leather continued to descend, pressing harder against the water, turning the air thick and impossibly stifling. He shifted Gail higher in his arms, struggling to keep her head above the rising water as his legs pushed desperately against the unrelenting splashing of water.
“Victor,” she whispered, the word barely a sound. Her fingers gripped weakly at his coat, her strength as fragile as glass. His name carved through him like a blade, and his arms tightened.
“I have you.” The words came as both promise and prayer, his breath brushing her damp skin as he pushed toward the edge of the basket. His back braced against the silk canopy’s sodden weight, every muscle in his body screaming with the effort of keeping her upright. The acrid tang of smoke lingered in his nose, stinging as he fought for air.
The pond swallowed them deeper. Shallow enough that his boots struck mud, too deep to stand—he staggered, half-wading, half-treading water, Gail’s weight threatening to drag them both under. His vision blurred as the last shreds of lanternlight dwindled above.
For a heartbeat, panic cut through him: the pilot—had he surfaced? Was he gone beneath the silk? The thought tore at him, but Gail’s limp form against his chest demanded everything.
His fingers searched and, after what seemed like a painfully long time, found the basket’s edge, slick and heavy with water. He gripped it with a ferocity he didn’t know he still possessed. With a brutal push, he hoisted them higher, his chest heaving from the exertion. Gail’s head lolled against his shoulder, buther faint breath against his neck drove him forward, kept him grounded against the rush of terror threatening to sweep him under.
The leather above shifted, creaking ominously as it settled lower.
Air. Need Air.
One final effort, one last surge of strength, and he shoved forward, his shout ripping through the oppressive haze as he broke through to the surface, the murky water clinging to their sides.
Air hit him like fire, cold and raw in his lungs, but it was air nonetheless. He choked on it, gasping as he pulled Gail closer to him, her wet lashes fluttering weakly against her cheeks. “Breathe,” he urged. “Breathe, Gail.”
Her small chest shuddered as she drew in a shallow sip of air, and that single sound shattered something inside him. Relief and determination flooded his veins, sharp and overwhelming. They weren’t safe yet. The leather lay above them, listing and dangerous, but he wouldn’t stop.
His arms ached, his legs trembled, and the cold gnawed mercilessly at him. Still, he tightened his hold on her, his eyes narrowing as he fixed on the sliver of open water ahead. Whatever it took, he would get her there. He had to. There was no other option.
The light hurtGail’s eyes. She blinked, turned her face away, but still the brightness slipped through her lashes. Her nose and throat stung, her chest hollowing with sharp, shallow breaths. Her legs trembled beneath the weight of her body, her sodden skirts pulling her down, clinging to her like something alive. Shedug her fingers into the cold, muddy grass, grasping for anything solid as the ground churned and spun beneath her.
Victor’s breaths came as wheezing gasps, his chest heaving against her shoulder, water dripping with each ragged exhale. The weight of it dragged on her nerves, rattling inside her head. Her heart hammered erratically against her ribs, sending a hot surge of nausea spiraling through her stomach.
She stared at the mud caking her hands, streaked thick across her fingernails, and scrubbed her palms against her gown in jerky movements. The grime clung stubbornly, refusing to disappear no matter how hard she tried. Her breaths stuttered, faster, tighter, until no air seemed to come at all.
Her eyes darted to Victor. He emerged from the water, pulling at the shredded leather, face taut with exhaustion. For a fleeting moment, she thought she might scream, the width of the pond suddenly suffocating. The edges blurred, the stretch of still water growing wider, darker, until there was no pond. No end. Only endless murk surrounding her, pulling at her legs, her own skin turning clammy and cold.
“Are you there?” The pilot called from the other side of the pond. “Are you hurt?”
Victor only waved to him as he stared at her. “Gail?” His voice was muffled, distant, its edges warped and hollow, as though she were hearing the echo from another world.
She pressed her palms harder against her ears, the mud slick and cold, trying to drown the sound, but nothing stopped. Not his calls, not the relentless cold crawling up her spine, and certainly not the ragged gasps forcing their way out of her chest.
She clutched at her bodice, the wet fabric plastered to her heaving ribs, and dragged in a shuddering breath that did nothing to fill her lungs. A keening whimper escaped her lips before she could lock it away. She curled forward, shaking so violently the world swayed around her.
“Where did it go wrong?” The question tumbled out in a whisper, her voice broken and raw. “When… How…” Her hands dropped into her lap, clutching fistfuls of her ruined gown. The tears came, hot and unstoppable, sliding down to mix with the dirt streaking her face. The earth seemed to tilt, to tip her sideways, the pressure building beneath her skin until her eyes prickled and spots clouded her vision.
She pushed her palms against the mud, trying to find an anchor, but her hands slipped, and her muscles burned from the effort of simply being. “Stop it,” she hissed at herself. “Stop crying.Stop.”
Victor loomed beside her. She felt him drop heavily to his knees, his presence palpable and warm beside the cold that had settled deep in her bones. He reached for her, his hand brushing her shoulder in a firm but tremulous grip.
“Gail,” he said, low but urgent.
His touch sent a fresh wave crashing through her, sharp like vinegar on tender wounds. She wrenched away, shaking her head frantically. “No,” she said. “Don’t… don’t touch me. Don’t.” Her arms wrapped around herself as if to ward off his presence, as if her own touch might glue her back together. “Everything went wrong.”
