Page 95 of The Last Sanctuary
He wouldn’t save her, but at least he was here. At least he was on her side, sort of. It was something.
“Move faster,” Dekker spat from behind them. “You need better motivation? How about a bullet through your hand? Or your shoulder? You don’t need your arms to walk.”
Raven gritted her teeth and pushed away the pain, forced it into a box, and locked it up somewhere deep inside her. She had to keep walking, keep going, just a little while longer.
She focused on reading the signs of the forest. Three yards to the northwest, a gnarled trunk of an oak with knots in the shape of a triangle. Ahead to the east, an outcropping of rock beside a spruce with its top half sheared off. Familiar signposts.
They were getting close.
The wind howled through the empty trees, rattling the bare branches. The storm last night had shorn nearly every tree bare.
The men cursed occasionally. Thorns raked at their clothing. They tripped over roots and rocks hidden beneath the damp, matted leaves filming the forest floor.
Scorpio hunched inside his coat, glowering at the wet gleaming tree trunks surrounding them on every side. “How much longer? I’m freezing. My balls are colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra.”
“We’re wasting time,” Dekker said. “Just give me the girl and we’ll be done with this mess. We could be warm by the fire with hot food in our bellies, not out here wandering around the wilderness like damn fools. Hell, she’s probably got us lost.”
“We’re not lost,” Raven said. “I know exactly where we’re going.”
“We’re done when I say we’re done.” Vaughn’s voice was sharp with warning. Scorpio and Dekker fell silent.
They reached a steep incline. Raven shuffled past the stump of a great oak as tall as her shoulder, the broken shards of trunk jutting like teeth. On her right lay a cluster of boulders. Mountain Laurel bushes creaked wetly in the wind.
She stepped into the clearing and lifted her head. The sky was dark and chaotic, though it couldn’t be past 10 a.m. yet. Turbulent clouds churned overhead. The meadow of ferns glistened in the rain.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dekker stepped into the clearing behind her. He gripped her arm and yanked her around to face him. “If you’ve tricked us, so help me?—”
“We’re here.”
Raven whistled. One long note, two short ones.
Chapter Forty
“The white wolf’s den is here,” Raven said. “Across the clearing.”
Dekker sneered. “You better not be lying, you little?—”
“I’m not lying.” She pointed straight ahead, into the shadows of the trees on the other side of the clearing.
The Headhunters moved around her and entered the clearing, their legs swishing through the thick damp ferns. They spread out, rifles up, scanning to the left and right.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lightning splintered the sky. Raindrops splattered her face, soaking her hair.
It was a huge risk to bring the Headhunters here. She didn’t know what else to do. She was out of options. No other moves to play but this one.
It was a desperate move—a rash, reckless, foolhardy choice in an array of awful choices, each worse than the last.
There was one slim chance to get out of this alive.
If it didn’t work, at least she would die on her terms.
Adrenaline flared through her veins. Her tense gaze swept the tree line. She strained her ears, listening hard for any sounds over the drum of the rain.
There was nothing to hear.
There was nothing to see.
There wouldn’t be. Not until it was too late.
