Page 104 of The Last Sanctuary
Someone seized her arm.
Terror spiked through her veins. She reared back, about to head-butt her assailant, rip out a chunk of his cheek with her teeth, whatever she had to do?—
“Hey!” Damien’s voice pierced through her fear. “It’s me! It’s me!”
Raven staggered to her feet, chest heaving. She spun, searching for a weapon.
Damien’s face was ashen, his eyes wide and stricken. “Let me help you. I’m here to help.”
She nodded, too terrified to argue. “The gun. I need the gun.”
He bent, grasped the rifle, straightened and slipped the rifle strap over her shoulder and across her chest. He took her elbow and helped her shuffle haltingly to the edge of the clearing.
They were still just inside the tree line, sheltered beneath the broad trunks of the hickories. Damien paused. He shot a nervous look across the clearing. Numbly, she followed his gaze.
She could just make out a blur of movement and color in the clearing. So much red. The tiger had brought down another Headhunter. The body lay bloodied and unmoving.
A fourth man screamed and crawled through the ferns, his shredded leg dragging behind him.
Vlad had disappeared into the forest on the other side of the clearing. Headhunters screamed and shouted, their panicked voices flat and thin in the rain.
She knew what would happen next. The tiger would hunt them down one by one in silence, then attack from behind when they least expected it. They’d never see him coming.
A terrible pride filled her chest. “I hope he kills them all.”
Damien shrugged her pack from his shoulders and held it out to her by the straps. “I brought it for you, just in case. It has your LifeStraws, filtration tabs, the wire for snares, a compass, binoculars, filled water bottles, and some food. I added granola bars and nuts I found in the lodge. I couldn’t get your map back, though. I’m sorry.”
She touched the hoverboard sticking out of the top zipper with trembling fingers. Her whole body was shaking so hard, he had to help her shoulder the straps of the pack.
“Here.” Damien pulled something out of his pocket. Two small bottles, one filled with antibiotics, the second, prescription-strength painkillers. “It’s not much.”
He handed her the bottles. She took two of each, swallowing them dry, and shoved the bottles into the backpack and zipped it. “It will help. Thank you.”
“Your throat. It’s bleeding.”
She touched it gingerly. Her fingers came away red. “A flesh wound.”
Behind them, a gunshot exploded. Then another. Vlad roared. Someone screamed in fear and pain. The agonized sound cut off abruptly.
Damien flinched.
Raven met his gaze. Rain plastered his hair to his forehead and dripped down his face. It softened his features. He was still sharply handsome, all hard angles, but he looked younger, more vulnerable.
She felt a pull, deep inside her. He had tried to do the right thing despite his circumstances. He could’ve done nothing. He should have left her to the Headhunters, but he hadn’t.
She was still alive because of him. The words slipped out before she could stop them. “Come with us.”
The briefest smile creased his mouth. It brightened his face for a moment. Then resignation darkened his expression. “I want to. I wish I could. But I can’t.”
“You aren’t like them. You don’t belong with them.”
He shook his head. His mouth pressed into a grim line. His gaze darted toward the clearing again. “I owe Vaughn my life. I can’t just?—”
“Yes, you can.”
“He’s family. He protected me.”
“You don’t owe him your life. You don’t owe him your soul.”
